#Your honor she is business in the front very serious business in the back its not a violation of the work code of conduct policies

[stanbirbs]

Assorted Ara sketchposting, Part 2

Hehe i hah the wives with big boobers

[mothhball]

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

 “Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter Four: Minor Skirmishes - Okatsu discovers why Mitsunari needs a bodyguard, and another plate of stewed eel meets its doom.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Generally, a skirmish can be a minor battle, or even short fight, as part of a larger military campaign, a smaller force drawing out a larger to test resilience, or to gather information about the size of the opposing army. Occasionally, it is itself the cause of the larger campaign.

Or, sometimes, it’s simply a matter of a misunderstanding, an incident in which two groups are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Personal comments:

Being engaged, even if it is only a pretense, takes more effort than battle. At least in battle, one only has to wear armor, define and implement a strategy, and pay attention to the commander.

Being engaged? Requires one to converse.

While Lady Okatsu seems pleasant enough, I am not convinced she is necessary. I’m not ungrateful - I appreciate the effort that Mitsuhide has made on my behalf to acquire her expertise. However, I have never had any difficulty focusing on reading in the past and believe that on my own, I can discourage interruptions of any sort. Events have already been set into motion now, and it’s too late to switch courses. My engagement has been announced – for it to be unannounced within a day of the announcement would simply cause too much confusion.

At least Lady Okatsu is competent… and… There is something about her which is familiar - I believe we have met before. Though I know little about women, I am at least aware that saying, “I think we have met before, but I cannot quite remember you,” would not be received positively.

Getting attacked by a mysterious intruder was not on my Sengoku bingo card.

I brought my dagger up, and my attacker’s sword met it with a ‘clank.’ “Wait – I mean you no harm.”

“Harmless people don’t sneak into rooms through the ceiling.” I held my dagger steady in front of me. It wasn’t the best defense against a sword, but if someone was coming after me, I was going to make sure to do some damage of my own.

“My apologies for disturbing you. I seem to have landed in the wrong room.” My maybe-not-an-attacker edged backward. “Perhaps you could pretend you had a bad dream?”

Mai had given me her room for the duration of my stay here since she had moved into Nobunaga’s. Was my attacker after Mai?

Except… now that my heart wasn’t thundering in my ears, it occurred to me that my attacker’s voice was familiar. “Sasuke?”

“Yes. Do I know you?” Like me, he kept his weapon ready, but his posture relaxed somewhat.

I found the lantern and lit it, then belatedly remembered to double check that my kimono was fastened shut.

My moderately awesome ninja friend stood in the middle of the room, squinting at me. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and pulled down his mask. “Katsu? Fascinating. This is your most effective disguise to date.” He blinked a few times, darting a quick glance at my cleavage, then back to my face. “Wait. ‘Katsu’ was the disguise, wasn’t it? This is who you really are.”

“More or less.” I combed my fingers through my hair and stuck it behind my ears. “Katsuko… although I suppose I should get used to being called Okatsu.”

He laughed. “I’m obviously not a moderately awesome ninja if I never detected you were a woman.”

As far as I was aware, Mitsuhide and Mai were the only two people who instantly realized I’m female, so he was in good company. “What did you want with Mai?” I hoped the two of them weren’t conducting an affair under Nobunaga’s nose. At the very least, he’d consider that a serious insult to his honor.

“I need to return to our home, er, village for a long visit, and came to say goodbye.” Sasuke wandered to the writing desk, where I had left out my brush and paper.

“Oh… is Mai the girl you were talking about earlier this summer?” Even then Sasuke had seemed rather attached to her, no matter his claim of platonic friendship.

Sasuke nodded. Then he indicated the paper and brush on the desk. “If I write her a note, can you get it to her?” He paused, then added, “Why are you here?”

“Here in Mai’s room? Or here in Azuchi castle?” I plopped back down on the futon and rummaged through my pack until I found – yes, still had some dried pears left. I offered some to Sasuke, as it had been our tradition when we encountered each other on the road. Also, I was still hungry, as Mitsuhide’s roofieing of Masamune had effectively ruined dinner.

“Both.” Sasuke accepted the offer of snacks.

“I’m in Mai’s room because she is in Nobunaga’s. I’m in Azuchi because… well… it’s complicated.” I gave him as brief of an explanation as possible. “So, while we are at Genba castle for a month or so, I get to portray an Oda Princess.”

“You lead a very interesting life, Kats… er, Okatsu.” He folded up the message then turned to me and with a bizarre change of topic asked, “What’s your opinion of the Azuchi warlords? Have you met Ieyasu? Has any of this…” he gestured to my things now spread out on the futon, “touched Ieyasu?”

“We met. I have not touched him. He has not touched me. And as for the first question, if you are asking for reasons of spying, I’m not going to tell you.” I might be only a ‘temp,’ but temporary loyalty is still loyalty. “Remember, I do know who you work for.” Kenshin and Nobunaga might be in a truce, but I was not confident that it would last.

“I’m asking out of pure academic interest. I’m rather an admirer …” He paused, then seemed to reconsider his words. “Since I am going to be gone for a while, I want to make sure my friend is safe.”

Sounded like a lie. Or maybe a truth wrapped inside a lie. But I didn’t think he meant any harm to Nobunaga or the rest of the people in Azuchi. “As long as she is with Nobunaga, she’s perfectly safe from his vassals and allies.” Although as Nobunaga’s woman, she’d be a target for enemies. I didn’t need to point that out to Sasuke. “As much as I’m able, I’ll keep an eye on her as well.”

Hm, Sasuke hadn’t mentioned where his and Mai’s village was, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask him to look for my brother. I got out the drawing that Francisco had made for me. “I know I’ve asked you before, but please, especially if you are on a coast, if you see Toshiie, tell him how to find me.”

Sasuke refamiliarized himself with the drawing of my brother. “I will. Thank you for watching over Mai… and take care of yourself as well.” He bowed, then scampered back into the ceiling.

“You too, Sasuke. Beware of carnivorous trees.” I listened as his soft footsteps faded away into the night.

I would miss him. Not that I had been able to predict when we would run into each other; but knowing Sasuke was no longer roaming the byways of Japan made me feel even more alone than ever.

“Sorry that I got food all over it – at least… it’s not blood?” I handed Mai the kimono she had loaned me. She had stopped by “my” room with more clothing for me. “I’ll be more careful with this one.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was inevitable.” She held up a light blue kimono with a darker blue pattern, and a mint green one with silver embroidery. “I think these will do, until I can complete the custom ones. Do you like them?”

I nodded. They weren’t really my style, but at least they weren’t pink, and she didn’t have to keep giving me her own clothes. “They’re very pretty. But even if I didn’t like them, I would wear whatever they want me to.”

“On that note, Mitsuhide reminded me that he wants you in pinks.” I made a face at that, and she laughed. “There are many shades of pink, and you’d look good in most of them.”

I wondered if there was any specific reason that I was required to dress in pink other than the fact that Mitsuhide knew I didn’t like it. “Did he say why? Is it an official shade for Oda Princesses to wear?”

“I don’t know.” She handed me the blue kimono and busied herself with displaying the mint one on the kimono rack. “Mitsuhide does and says a lot of things I don’t understand. But deep down, he’s a good person. Also. He can read minds, so watch out.”

Sure.

Odds were that, like Aki, Mitsuhide was simply very observant. Clearly, I wasn’t going to get any helpful data out of Mai. “So be it. Pink. Maybe it’s Mitsunari’s favorite shade?” Though if that were the case, why had he asked me if I liked blue?

She looked over from where she was smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “Mitsunari wouldn’t notice what color you’re wearing unless he was required to memorize uniforms for battle.” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry. He’s your fiancée. I didn’t mean that way it sounded. He’s lovely, a perfect angel… but a little…”

“Absentminded. I’ve noticed. And, reminder, fake fiancé.” I shrugged into the kimono she’d handed me. It was so soft! I mostly lived in cheaper fabrics, either in the ugly brown maid kimono Fume made me wear, or the sturdier dark green kimono and hakama I wore as Katsu. Color aside, I could get used to this Princess thing.

Mai came over and made some minute adjustments to the fit, humming happily as she did so.

Damn! I was being a bit absentminded myself. Almost forgot. “Mai, I had a visitation from a ninja in the middle of the night.” I grabbed the message off the writing desk and gave it to her.

“Oh no!” Mai put her hand to her chest. “Did he scare you? I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to warn you about him. He’s a friend, and harmless. Alright. No. He’s not harmless, obviously, but he-”

“Mai! It’s ok. I was startled, that’s all.” And sure, startled enough to come at him with a knife, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’ve been friends with Sasuke for a couple of years. I’m used to his quirks.” Though popping through ceilings like Spiderman was a previously unknown facet of his personality.

She relaxed. “I forgot he’s been here that long.”

Weird response.

Quickly, she skimmed the letter. “He wants a chance to say goodbye in person. Kats- er, Okatsu, do you want to go into town with me? I can show you around, then we can meet up with Sasuke at this bookseller he frequents.”

Ha! I bet I know which bookseller that is. Though I was already familiar with Azuchi, thanks to my ‘observational activities’ earlier this summer, it wouldn’t be the worst idea. “I’d like that, but of course, I need to report in with Mitsuhide first. He might have other plans for me.”

“We can take Mitsunari with us. That way, you can be seen together. And if I mention bookseller, he’ll be happy to go along with it.”

That was actually a pretty good idea...

We tracked down Mitsuhide at Hideyoshi’s manor, where, as it happened, they also thought Mai’s idea was a good one. Mitsuhide gave her an approving nod. “We might make a strategist out of you yet, Mouse.”

“You on the other hand.” Hideyoshi looked me over with a frown. “What were you thinking, sticking a sword into the obi? You’re a princess, not a warrior. Azuchi is safe enough within the confines of the town.”

“I’m used to being armed.” I handed over my sword. It had only been a diversion, as I had my daggers strapped to my legs and a throwing knife hidden under my sleeve.

Mitsuhide studied me. “That… was too easy.” He put out his hand.

I unstrapped one of the daggers and handed that over as well. I could work with one dagger, the throwing knife, and the joy of knowing I had won.

“You can keep the other weapons,” Mitsuhide added, “as long as they stay hidden.”

If Mitsuhide ever ends up in the future, he can rent himself out as a metal detector.

It was easy enough to find Mitsunari, as he was holed up in his quarters, reading. It was slightly more difficult to get his attention, but once Mai executed the ‘bookstore’ command sequence, he was willing enough to set aside his book and join us.

I wasn’t sure whether Hideyoshi had given him an additional lecture, or if Mai was a mitigating presence, or, if Mitsunari was getting used to me – whatever the reason, he was more present and willing to discuss landmarks of interest.

At one point, I paused in front of a metalsmith’s shop – I could use some more arrowheads – both the blunted ones for target practice and the sharper ones for hunting and defense. The sound of the smith at work carried into the street. “Is this where Nobunaga gets his ammunition?”

“Some of it.” Mitsunari led us inside the smith’s shop to examine the wares. “Nobunaga has a private swordsmith he uses for his sword collection, and we have metalsmiths in the castle for ourselves and Nobunaga’s personal guards. As you might imagine, when there is active fighting, we need more than what we make. And of course, our guns come from the Kunitomo village gunsmiths.”

I nodded. Most of the guns made in Japan were made in the Kunitomo village, though I knew there was still a big market for European-made muskets.

The weapons inside the shop were of higher quality than what Aki could acquire. I picked up a fully assembled arrow and examined it. It was slightly longer than what I used, and the feathers were different as well.

“Sea eagle,” the smith replied when I asked.

That made sense. Azuchi was closer to the coast than Akihira’s household.

Mai mimed drawing a bow. “Are you any good at archery?” I already knew enough about Mai to know that she had no interest in weapons of war, but it was nice of her to ask, and she was doing a good job pretending not to be bored.

Was ‘Okatsu’ good at archery? Many women in this era were, as they needed to be able to defend their homes while their husbands were at war. And since legendary female archers such as Tomoe Gozen were part of literature, I figured it would be acceptable for “Okatsu” to have this skill. “As long as I practice, yes.”

She twirled an arrow around her fingers like it was a baton, and I could see the smith wince in the background. “Ieyasu’s teaching me.”

“Willingly?” The question came out before I had a chance to edit my words. Eep. I’m usually better tha that, “Er, I mean, how did that come about?”

Mai simply laughed. “It was after a strong suggestion from Hideyoshi. Anyway, you should join us in the mornings if you want to keep your skills up.”

I nodded. I would do that. Belatedly recalling that I was supposed to be developing a rapport with Mitsunari, I asked him if he too practiced.

His response was to proclaim proudly, “Ieyasu is the best archer in Azuchi.”

That… was not the question I had asked, so I tried again. “Do you ever practice with him?”

“Oh. Yes. Sometimes. Ieyasu says he prefers the solitude of archery, but he kindly allows me to join him.” There was that beatific smile again. Maybe his first love was books, but it seemed like his friends could inspire that smile as well.

Deciding that it would be a good test of my skills to practice with the longer arrows, I purchased some, as well as some blunted arrowheads. Mitsunari bought a couple too, saying that he would have Ieyasu practice with them as a way of testing the vendor. Happy with our purchases, we continued toward the booksellers.

“Do you expect to need additional vendors?” It was mostly a small talk gambit. Nobunaga was not currently at war with anyone, but it would be good to know if that was on the verge of changing.

“No immediate expectation, although as Lord Nobunaga continues to push the country toward unification under his banner, there will naturally be more resistance.” Mitsunari turned to look at me, and immediately tripped over air, and stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance. Unfazed, he continued speaking. “In any case, if we waited until there was a need, it would be too late.”

“Good point. Also, always a good idea to create goodwill with your local merchants.” I knew that both local and international trade was important to Nobunaga, and it seemed he was doing as much as he could for the merchant class.

Mai appeared to be a favorite with the merchants as well and pointed out a large stall belonging to a fabric deal. The merchant smiled and waved at her. “We’ll stop in in a bit,” she called to him. She turned to me. “I want to pick out some fabrics for your wedding.”

Alright, enough about that, even from Mai. This was an over the top, just to fool one seventeen year old girl. “Have you met the Kanamori princess? Does Mitsunari really pose that much of a threat to her engagement?” I couldn’t imagine any woman of this time being that willing to act counter to her family’s wishes.

“I don’t know her personally, but as for your other question… well, it’s easier if I show you.” Suddenly she raised her voice. “Misunari! Thank you for coming shopping with us!”

Even before she had finished speaking, women popped up all over the outdoor market, looking a bit like prairie dogs scenting food. Or well… something like that.

“Misunari?”

“Mitsunari’s here?”

“Where? Where is that angel?”

In moments, Mitsunari was surrounded, while Mai and I were pushed back by the tide.

I see.

Or, well, currently I could not see, but I understood.

When my ears adjusted to the pandemonium, I heard several of them invite him to tea, and a fight almost broke out. “Ok. Needs a bodyguard. Got it.”

“Okatsu. He probably needs one right this moment.” At least two of the women had their grips on his arms and Mitsunari looked from one woman to the next, trying to follow six conversations at once. “He might accidentally promise himself to a second, third and fourth wife.”

I gritted my teeth and waded in. Yeesh. I’d been to K-pop concerts that had less of a scrum. “There you are, darling.” I tucked my arm in his, carefully dislodging one of the women in the process.

“Ladies.” Mai scooted in behind me. “This is Princess Okatsu. Mitsunari’s fiancée.”

If glares were arrows, I would have had more holes in me than a pincushion.

Now I was the one who needed a bodyguard.

By the time we had made our escape to the booksellers, Sasuke was already inside, leafing through a book that appeared to be a translation of Greek mathematics. Takauji (the latest of Aki’s messengers to be stuck wearing the dreaded wig and beard bookseller disguise), called out an automatic welcome when we entered. He seemed dismayed to see Mitsunari, then surprised that I was with him. But he didn’t break character, at least.

Once Mitsunari was camped out with a book and Mai was chatting with Sasuke, I made my way over to Takauji. “Do you have any poetry?” In truth, I have no strong feelings about poetry, but I knew the few volumes Aki had were kept on the other side of the shop, so Takauji and I could talk undisturbed.

“Kaya, what’s going on? Did Aki send you to check in with me?” He handed me a slim scroll.

“Not exactly. One of Aki’s most frequent contacts asked us for help with a specific task. I’m based in the castle for a couple of weeks.” I unrolled the scroll – poetry illustrated with pen and ink sketches – and pretended it was fascinating. “He didn’t have any message to you.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a while.” Taka handed me a book to leaf through. “I was really hoping you were my replacement. I’m getting a skin rash from the damn beard.”

I shrugged because what could I say? Every one of Aki’s couriers knew the beard itched. “I told you to bring rash cream. Anyway. You know Aki. He’ll be in touch when he wants something. Meanwhile, since you’ve been here all summer, is there anything going on that I need to know?”

He scratched around to corner of the beard. Oh yeah, I could see the top of the rash. Poor guy. “Nothing big since the conflict with Uesugi earlier this summer. There’s been a gang of sailors causing trouble for the smaller shopkeepers around here. They don’t really bother with me, but I know the restaurant owners are upset.”

Sailors? I perked up a bit at that. Of course, my brother would not likely be in a gang that caused trouble, but if a new ship had docked in Osaka, then it might be worth seeing if I could finagle a trip down there to check things out.

“Really the most trouble I’ve had these days, comes from him.” With a jerk of his head, Taka indicated where Mitsunari had made himself comfortable with a book. “He always makes a mess.”

Sure enough, Mitsunari was leaning against a table, and the stack of books above was swaying dangerously. “Watch it,” I said to Takauji, mostly to clock his reaction. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about.”

Then I zipped over to Mitsunari to rescue him before he concussed himself.

As I restacked the books in such a way that they would be less likely to fall over, Mitsunari finished scanning the book he had in his hand. He gave me an odd look, as if he had forgotten who I was. Hm. I hadn’t thought he was that absentminded.

Mai completed her goodbye to Sasuke, who had given me another farewell wave before vanishing into the throng of people on the streets. Then, donning her authority as Azuchi chatelaine, she insisted Mitsunari pay for the book in his hands, and successfully herded us out of the booksellers and right into a fabric dealer.

It felt weird to be picking out kimono fabric for a wedding that wasn’t going to happen, although I’d likely get a lot of use out of the rest of the wardrobe once we got to Genba.

Mai held a swatch of something pink up to my face. “I don’t know why you have such a problem with this color. It will look good on you.”

Well, I didn’t know why some people were so fond of pink in the first place. My mother had always wanted me dressed in pi… well. Some people liked pink. I was not one of the people. But Mai was the expert, and I hadn’t the heart to tell her that overall, I didn’t think clothing was all that interesting to begin with, especially when it was clearly her passion. So, I faked enthusiasm for the fabrics she picked out – and really, aside from the dreaded pink, I liked everything else she bought, as she stuck to the blue and aqua shades I preferred. She even bought a coordinating piece of fabric in a deeper shade of teal for Mitsunari, so that we would have matching outfits for our first night in Genba.

Mai… it’s not prom.

After that, she declared herself hungry – actually, Mai has quite the bossy streak - so we headed for a restaurant nearby that she said was good.

For the record, I maintain that what happened next wasn’t completely my fault.

After we ordered our food, my attention was caught by a group of sailors on the other side of the restaurant. Hard not to notice them – they were loud. Would these men, possibly, hopefully have an idea where Toshiie might be? Couldn’t hurt to ask. Before Mai and Mitsunari could stop me, I grabbed the portrait and scooted over to the table with the rowdy sailors.

Normally, such discussions followed the same pattern. I would introduce myself to the sailors, establish a rapport, show them the drawing of Toshiie, they would shake their head, I would thank them, and then be on my way.

That’s what normally happened… when I was dressed as Katsu.

But dressed as “Okatsu,” I attracted the wrong sort of attention. “Pardon me. Have any of you seen this man?” I held the drawing out to the table at large.

Instead of taking any time to look at the drawing, one of the sailors grabbed my arm. “If ya want a man, wench, there’s a whole table of ‘em right here.” He pulled me onto his lap.

Hell to the no on that, dude… I jammed my dagger into his forearm.

“Fucking bitch!” He leaped to his feet and had his sword out instantly.

Damn Hideyoshi for confiscating my own sword.

I deflected the initial cut with my dagger, but he immediately tried to catch me with the backswing. When I leaped backward to avoid getting hit, Mai’s too-long skirt tripped me up and I stumbled into another of the sailors, thwacking him across the arm with my dagger.

In an instant, the entire table of sailors had their swords out.

The first sailor came at me again, but at the last moment, another party came to my rescue, deflecting the strike with a gleaming katana - Mitsunari had leaped in to protect me. Yikes, please don’t get stabbed, Mitsunari! He slung me out of the way, back toward Mai, and I lost track of him almost immediately when the entire restaurant erupted into fighting.

A dagger wasn’t going to be the most useful weapon, but I couldn’t leave Mitsunari unprotected. Arms and legs flying, I jumped back into the fray, and immediately got jabbed in the eye by someone’s elbow. I heard a rip, then realized, I had again ruined another one of Mai’s kimonos. Shit. She was going to hate me.

I glanced back toward her, just in time to see her clonk a sailor over the head with a tea kettle.

A sword clattered on the floor and landed at my feet – Mitsunari had disarmed his first opponent.

Well, I wasn’t going to look a gift sword in the mouth. I grabbed it off the floor and was back in the middle of the melee.

The sailors weren’t unskilled, and their weapons were of surprisingly good quality, but some of them were pretty drunk. Of course, with the entire restaurant now involved in what had become a sword and food fight, it was becoming difficult to tell the enemies from the friends.

And so, after I kicked a sailor in the stomach, when I sensed a presence right behind me, I grabbed a plate of food off the table and flung it…

…at Hideyoshi.

Well, it isn’t really a good fight until someone gets whacked in the face with a dish of stewed eel.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[blackjackkent]

Rakha makes her second visit to the forge after everyone else has settled in camp. She trudges back an hour or so later with a large item wrapped in her cape under her arm.

She's aware that both Wyll and Lae'zel have sat up, watching for her return; normally she goes to the fire and sits by herself until Wyll joins her, but this time she pivots towards Lae'zel's tent and comes to a halt in front of it.

Lae'zel looks up at her with narrowed eyes. "Is our business here finished, then?"

"Yes," Rakha says. "There was one more piece of mithril to be used." She unwraps her cloak from around the metal under her arm and lets it fall onto the animal skin cushion next to the tent. It hits the material with a soft, metallic thump. "For you. If you want it."

Lae'zel looks down curiously. The forge has crafted the raw mithril ore into a piece of armor - heavy and solid, much more so even than her own githyanki half-plate. It glints in the firelight with a pale green underlight. "For me?"

She sounds doubtful, and no wonder - the first piece of mithril they found became a shield for Wyll, and given the current state of things in camp, it certainly read like a deliberate statement.

Rakha hesitates. "A... peace offering," she says slowly after a short pause. "We have been... at odds."

"Yes." Lae'zel's nostrils flare with a sudden sharp breath inward. "I... did not expect this," she says honestly.

"I know." It's not really fair to be disappointed that Lae'zel isn't as effusive in her thanks as Shadowheart was for her gift, but nevertheless Rakha feels an odd flicker of disappointment. "I thought you might find use of it."

Lae'zel frowns and leans down to pick up the armor, running her fingers over the grooved inlays that texture the metal. "Yes," she agrees again after a while. "It is a fine piece. And I will wear it with--" She trails off abruptly and seems to consider a moment before finishing the sentence. "With honor," she finally says.

Rakha relaxes slightly. Silence stretches heavily between them as Lae'zel fidgets with the armor's fastenings, testing its weight. "I have hurt you," Rakha adds abruptly. "I did not mean to."

Lae'zel sighs softly. "And I did not mean to mislead you, in bringing you to the creche. So we have each had cause for anger." Her lips twitch in a flash of muted humor. "And yet we have not come to blows - what more could be asked?"

Rakha breathes out heavily in a silent almost-laugh, but her eyes remain serious. "I would rather we be on good terms," she says quietly. "You have taught me much."

Lae'zel snorts. "Chk. What have I to teach? Even the things I thought I knew have proven false."

"I thought the same at first, in anger," Rakha says gravely. "But I find I return to your advice every day. At each moment of crisis, I think of your words."

Lae'zel's eyes flick up from the armor and she looks legitimately startled. Then her gaze narrows, examining Rakha's face intently, looking for a sign of falsehood or mockery. But Rakha's expression is as steady as ever, oddly sincere in its guileless intensity. "You speak truly," she says after a little while, and it isn't a question so much as an expression of surprise.

"Yes."

"Well." Lae'zel considers this for a moment, then sets the armor carefully down next to her pack, ready for the next morning's use. "Then I have served some purpose yet. And you..." She trails off into silence and thinks over her words carefully before going on. "You were an ally at a moment when I needed one most. And will continue to be, as long as we both breathe."

Rakha actually does smile, very slightly. "Good."

[fumikomiyasaki]

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Paloma

Apple of Fortune event- Join the Raffle

Carol sighed as she saw the whole huge crowd pile up around her as she set them straight so they could form a line and she could give each person an apple... why did she have to do so many and Meyra and Andrew have a easy to look over amount. She was flattered by so many wanting to see her but it was a bit exhausting after a while.

Andrew meanwhile suddenly got a little excited by the next person that approached her... of course he met Paloma before but given her attitude he moreso expected her to just not walk up to him... yet here she was and he couldn't stop staring at her a little before she spoke up.

"I didn't came here for you, I just saw a certain apple in your basket looked the most up my taste."

"Let me guess, it was this one."

He placed that one on purpose, it was like an apple with carrot decor, held together by herb curd. He wanted to get her attention somehow and with a smirk he handed it to her.

"Don't be so cocky about it."

"Then how about that, if you get a good fortune, you will go out with me? I don't know which fortunes are attached to these cause someone else did it so, that at least would get you to know I am serious."

She pouted at him but then sighed and slowly opened the envelope... groaning in annoyance as it was actually good fortune for her.

"Fine... meet me after the fest by the marksman stands... then we will talk about it... "

The Noble bowed and looked at her a little cheeky... even if this wasn't a full sucess it was at least enough for him to get to know her more and spend time with her.

Meanwhile Carol focused back on the line, many familiar faces greeted her but given she noticed Andrew before of course she would guess many other Stallmare students would be here given their general love for apples... and so she was approached by another she knew well herself. Oskar each time she visited the school sticked very close to her, she was on friendly terms with him but some comments often got her off guard.

"What a beautifull Queen, do you mayhaps need a knight to protect you?"

"Thank you for the offer but I am fine."

His head went down a little but she tried to focus on the task and took out a pretty green apple out of her basket and handed it to him.

"That you would hand me something as pretty as you, I am honored."

"I... am sometimes concerned about all the comparison around here... but I still hope it taste well for you."

"I can't help it, among all those apples you are just the sweetest I see."

Before he could blabber on cause she kinda grew tired of these compliment attempts as apple comparisons she pointed to the fortune.

"Maybe it will bring you some luck."

With a calm smile she looked at him as he slowly opened the envelope, looking shocked at it, because of a bad fortune. She slightly tried to pat his back but given the height that was a hard thing to do.

"You can still undo the bad luck over there... I still do hope you enjoy this festival."

"Maybe if you would accompany me I-"

"No can do, sorry. I will be pretty busy for the rest of the day and after I likely just fall into bed. I appreciate the compliments and kindness but... I am kinda under stress right now so."

"I understand my dear queen, but let me at least after this fest is gone bring you a gift the next days."

As he left with his apple, chewing on it, she let out and exhausted sigh. He was nice but often a bit too overbearing for her to handle.

At least who followed after him was to her a more refreshing sight.

"Magnus! Its nice to see you."

"Are you really alright with all those people eating away at your family, Applerol?"

She nodded and had a warm red smile on her.

"Its all good after all the apples are in good hands."

She really much never could help but lighten up hearing how innocent his view of the world could be... it was somewhat cute to see, she looked into her basked and pulled out a bright red apple. As he was still confused she took both his front hands and placed the apple in them.

"This one is for me?"

"Its a special once compared to the others you will eat here. It also has a fortune on it. "

A somewhat slight smile appeared on his face, still focusing more on taking a bite of the apple and opening the envelope with his other two hands. Practical to have those she thought as he looked inside.

"Is gold something good?"

"Its very good fortune, lucky you. Maybe something good will happen to you today."

As she said that with excitement he noticed somewhat something in her food seemed odd, slightly catching her cause she was about to stumble. Seeing her face a little red.

"S-sorry."

"Applerol, you should not do too much... but I thank you for this special apple, I will keep it in memory."

"Thank you and I will try."

She still kinda held his hands which she noticed Oskar from afar grew annoyed by and many others started staring. She quickly withdrew and smiled.

"Anyways, I hope you enjoy the festival."

And with nod to calm her down she got back to work. Seeing Meyra approached by a blue haired student and Andrew suddenly getting more people she sighed in relief that things looked up more.

[residentdormouse]

Make Note of those Nifty ‘N’ Words

Now knowing there's a necessity to narrow the given narratives, I may neurotically nitpick my selections less I become negligent about neutralizing all nonchalant news of upcoming nonsense. (insert River Song here) No need to nullify natural nuance that builds in later narration unless necessary. Maybe it's all for naught? A bit naive? Or maybe just narcissistic? Nevertheless, I will try and note only needed sections and limit the numerous spoilers regarding the gang and their notorious nightmare man.

(Also honored that you started reading this absurdity, @mrsmungus. I hope it doesn't disappoint!)

My Words: Name, Needless, Nasty, Nausea, Notice

Your Words: Outrage/Outrageous, Offer, Offend, Obey, Objective

As always, if you think it looks fun, don’t hesitate to throw up an ‘@’ and throw up your ‘O’ words!

Name

By evening, Hayden found herself back by the fire with Glen sitting next to her. Harold's music had now been replaced with his, and the vape pen passed back and forth, shared between the two.

"So you really think we just drop this? No more attempts?"

"You didn't see what happened, Hayden."

Using her chosen name always threw her for a bit. Giggles was her name to him, and she loved it. Hayden was formal, reserved for more serious matters. A warning label that implied, ‘do not follow with snark.’

"What happened there, can’t say it was normal, and--"

"Which is why I don't think we should treat this like it’s normal! There's no hard science researching this, Glen. Uncharted waters here on out.  Think we need to explore every--"

"Correct me if I'm wrong here Giggles, but you can't very well explore if you're dead.”

Needless

(This is only used twice between both stories. And I’ve also used both of these before - Another fail. At least I could go back a little further with this one, so its not all a repeat.)

"How much of this did Glen rehearse with you?"

The offense at the questions was taken immediately, and she made a note of just how little prompting it took to wind Lloyd up. “Hey! I am capable–”

"It's not commentary on you as much as observation of him, I promise.” She didn’t feel the urge to needlessly work him up; the fact that he was here now showed he cared in his own way. But she could see when a script was given, and Glen’s direction was shining through. “You can't tell me I'm wrong, though, can you?"

“The two of you are fuckin’ stupid for each other, you know that?!”

That got a smile from her. She wished that she knew exactly how he was aware of this fact. What they had done to warrant it. Examples. Stories. Memories she should have. But the lack of information on her end did not alter the truth in his statement, and she did not doubt he meant what he said.

Nasty

(Pretty far into Diving, but the rest were really bad on the spoiler deal.)

"Drink? I'd recommend the Macallan, it has aged quite well."

For as much as Max tried to make it seem otherwise, she knew very little about the woman in front of her first hand. And from what she could gather, not many did. Deliberate measures for sure, couldn't be anything else at this point. Her reputation preceded her, though, and Max knew there was no way to be around as long as her, get as high up on the ladder, without having some nasty business in your past.

The logic was enough for Max to justify retaining a resistant stance, despite Quinn's now questionable judgment.

"Little rich for my blood. But speaking of..."

There was no more to her sentence, it already served the intended purpose.

A polite laugh resounded while Gwen turned to mix something for herself. A carafe of dark red mixed with the translucent brown in an exquisitely crafted glass. An object made specifically for her no doubt.

"It pairs very well with A positive, I must say. O negative would do in a pinch. But if you're going to break into the good stuff, why tarnish it with an inadequate mixer?" From her peripherals, Max could see Harold stiffen at the open admission, and with how rigid he was to begin with, she could barely believe this was possible. “Perfectly fine in a glass, of course. No need for extracurriculars. Unless one would be into that type of thing.”

Nausea

With a small step, Fran stood to the side allowing her entry into the home. “Thank you for coming over. I wasn’t sure who else to ask.”

“Yeah, absolutely!”

It was then she noticed quite a few boxes stacked on the side of the porch. Susan grabbed the top two, and began to head to the living room. The post Fran held at the side of the door now relieved, she made her way forward towards the stack of items. Two steps forward and she was cut off with a very loud throat clear.

“Uh, I think not. You. Sit down over there. I got this.”

Fran didn’t need to be told twice. She was nearing the end of the pregnancy, and everything ached. Her feet and legs were swollen and screaming in pain at her. Random kicks to her kidneys would have her crying out at odd points in conversations. And the nausea… The plain cereal she just forced down was threatening to come up at the thought alone.

She let out a deep breath and relaxed into the couch. “I seriously can’t thank you enough. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do without Stu here–”

Notice

"Oh! Oh. No…it's not like that. Not that I wouldn’t… its just...” 

She didn’t expect campfire confessionals to be turned on her, especially on something she hadn't even fully admitted to herself. Of course Glen was a great guy. She’d be a damn liar if she said she didn’t think about him when he wasn’t there, that she didn’t feel a calming grounded energy around him. There was something more about him… a good nature and levity. He was funny, and... 

'Shit..’

She took a deep breath, reigning in the flustered energy. 

"Ok. Well played. Tables sufficiently turned.”

But if Fran had picked up on this… 

“...am I that obvious?"

She laughed, "No, you’re fine. I just thought I noticed a connection there as well, but I wasn't sure." Just as contagious as Glen’s, her laugh shifted the atmosphere to a more favorable one.

[jwood718]

In the News -- With Opinionated Commentary (call it a rant if you like, and it does scroll on a bit).

Bradshaw/Wood

As is probably well known by now candidate Mehmet Oz has been lambasted on late night TV and the internet for saying “...decisions over abortion should be left to ‘women, doctors, local political leaders.’” [1]  I saw the clip* and it almost sounded like he was going to say such decisions should be those of women and their doctors, but there was a split-second of “oops” before he remembered to iterate the talking point that elected officials should be involved, too.  I ask you: is that keeping government out of our personal business?  Doesn’t sound that way to me.

It reminded me of John Curtis from Utah who said he wished he, “as a man,” didn’t have to make such decisions! [2]  Uh, dude?  There seems to be some cognitive disconnect in your attempts to legislate.  Pick one: government (at any level) either keeps its distance from family matters or it doesn’t.  If you or someone in your family wants or does not want an abortion, or is trans, that’s no business of mine -- nor of elected office holders.

San Francisco: street blocked at Pelosi residence.  CNN

Say what you will about Nancy Pelosi, but a man breaking into her California residence at 2 AM screaming “Where’s Nancy!” and then continuing to attack her husband while the police are on the scene! just shows how people have let fear of change take over their lives.  “It was reported by CNN that the suspect intended to tie the victim [Paul Pelosi] up ‘until Nancy got home’ and that he had posted rightwing and conspiracy theories online, including content promoting the lie that Donald Trump was deprived of victory in the 2020 election because of voter fraud.” [3]

Oh yes - voter fraud.  A huge swath of candidates are standing up in front of the voting public stating “You should vote for me and as long as you vote for me -- and I win -- then the vote was clearly legit BUT IF MY OPPONENT WINS IT WILL ONLY BE BECAUSE OF FRAUD!”  There’s probably something listed in that mental disorder manual for this kind of belief.

Oy.  Anyway --

Lesley McClurg reported for NPR on All Thing Considered [4] about a Texas family that re-located to California for the sake of their transgender daughter:

“After decades of building a life in Texas, a mother suddenly worried she might be investigated for child abuse.  'We were stunned that – it was no longer safe for us to be there.'  She requested we not use her name, because earlier this year Texas governor Greg Abbott ordered Family Protective Services to investigate parents with transgender kids. 

The mother started hearing stories about children who were pulled out of classrooms and interrogated -- 'With their parents not being there, and these were children that had only socially transitioned; all they asked for was to be called a different pronoun.  That's terrifying.' Her own twelve year-old daughter socially transitioned three years ago when she asked her family and friends to use feminine pronouns. 'And so we sat down and we talked to our kid; we gave her a little card to go to school with that listed her rights and told her what to do if somebody came to investigate us.'  

But the family could not relax; they sold their home, and this fall they packed up all their belongings and moved to Southern California. 'It feels very good to not feel like you're in danger; y'know, on that really critical place of, like, our family being ripped apart.'”

State senator Scott Wiener (above) who has experienced serious on-line trolling and death threats himself, has authored a new law for California that shields families from investigations from other states, and guarantees access to hormones or puberty blockers. He says that California law enforcement will not follow the laws of other states or honor subpoenas that criminalize such families, nor will California “send them back.”

But of course supporting families goes against the grain for some; Greg Burt of California Family Council opposes the law.  He believes that children will regret making any transition, saying that hormones and puberty blockers make “permanent” changes.  He would rather “encourage young people to try and get their minds to match their bodies.”  That in the face of suicide prevention organization The Trevor Project finding that “45% of transgender youth have considered killing themselves in the last year.”  Burt’s comments sound an awful lot like a re-hash of the very discredited “conversion therapy” that was promulgated against the gay community.  “Just pray it away!”

In contrast to Dr. Oz, Executive Director Kathie Moehlig of TransFamily Support Services in San Diego says “The politicians should not be making medical decisions for anybody, nor should they be making parental decisions for anybody.”  Her son got puberty blockers 10 years ago when at age 11, and Moehlig believes 'My son would not still be alive if we waited to 18...' because of the stress he felt as his body developed.  Today the young man is studying theology in college.

Kathie Moehlig (right) and her 19-year-old son, Sam, pose for a selfie at Spirit Day 2020 in San Diego. Courtesy of Kathie Moehlig via KQED.

It seems that what I’m hearing, at least in the sound-bites, is that there are some politicians who want government to strenuously protect individual rights, and especially property rights, and support “family values” (remember that bumper sticker?) and even want parents to have significant input on teachers’ and schools’ educational choices -- unless those individuals are women or the families have transgender children.  “Keep government out of our business!  Unless you’re pregnant!  Or queer!  Then get all up in that!  Fuck yeah!”

Women’s work: anything, basically, that men decide they’re bored doing: chopping wood, making dinner, tending the children, banking the fire all year long, making and mending the clothes --- and to think people actually re-enact this shit: not your average cottegecore.  Virginia State Parks.

Do they want to make women property?  Is this the 18th Century?  Do some people desperately want it to be the 18th Century?  Are witch trials next?

[1] Adam Gabbat for The Guardian  

     * YouTube post of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert

[2] Ramon Antonio Vargas for The Guardian

[3] Ed Pilkington for The Guardian

[4] Lesley McClurg for NPR audio track only (transcripted/quoted here by Jake Wood; any mistakes this author’s).

[sagesolsticewrites]

Guitar Man | Steve Binder x fem!reader

It’s love at first sight when your childhood friend Elvis asks you to be a part of his comeback special. But there’s no way Steve Binder, director extraordinaire, feels the same way… right?

Request from @love-munson

a/n: thank you so much for the request darling!! I absolutely loved writing this, and I look forward to writing more for Steve in the future!

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: a couple swear words, a Mean Girl™, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

Being a dancer who was childhood friends with Elvis Presley and still kept in touch with him to this day definitely had its perks.

Like, for example, when Elvis called you up and hired you and several of your fellow dancers to be in an NBC special he was filming.

Your jaw drops. “You’re serious? You want us to be in your special?” You were from a fairly small studio, surely there were some larger, more experienced groups he could have asked.

“Of course, Y/N,” he laughs, “I know you’re good, and I know your friends are too. Plus it’ll give us a chance to hang out a bit. I know we haven’t gotten to see each other a whole lot recently, and I’d like to fix that.”

“I’d really like that, Elvis. I’ll let the other girls know. Thank you so, so much,” you beam, “Oh, and just be prepared? They’re all really big fans.”

“I’m always prepared, Y/N, don’t you worry.” He replies, and you can hear the smug grin in his voice.

“Alright, when should we expect to see you and your ego?” you tease

“Steve and Bones wanna do a pre-rehearsal meeting next Saturday, is that alright?”

You nod, “Yeah, sounds perfect! I’ll make sure everyone’s there.”

Your friends and fellow dancers are, understandably, ecstatic at the idea of dancing in Elvis Presley’s special, and one of the girls jokingly comes up with a pact that if this happens to lead to one of the girls’ big breaks, the six of you will support each other no matter what. You all eagerly agree, with one glaring exception: Marie.

The snooty blonde simply rolls her eyes, scoffing “If it’s going to be anyone's big break, it’s gonna be mine, and I promise I won’t need you all when I’m at a studio that actually appreciates my talent.” She throws a pointed glare your way. The mood ruined, the rest of the girls go to pack up their things. They mumble amongst themselves, used to Marie’s moods by now. You sigh as you collect your belongings. You and Marie have been unofficial rivals since the beginning of your career at the studio, where the two of you were neck and neck competing for a lead spot until your director picked you for the position. You were shocked and honored, as you had been sure that Marie was going to get it, but leaving Marie in second place had carved a rift in your previously somewhat-friendly relationship that you had never been able to fix.

A week later, your group is set up in a hotel that Elvis picked out for you, and the girls are chatting excitedly— all but one. Marie had already found several “problems” with the hotel, and rather than being practically giddy about this opportunity you all had, she was almost detached, as if this was simply something she deserved. You take a deep breath and try to ignore her as you set out for the studio.

The gaggle of girls, with Marie cooly leading the charge, enters the studio. You slink to the back to quickly comfort Lucy, a fairly new addition, who suddenly looks very nervous.

“Hey, there they are!” You hear Elvis cheerfully proclaim, no doubt recognizing some of the girls in the group. You give Lucy’s hand one last squeeze and step in front of Marie to greet your friend. You ignore her glare burning into the back of your head as you pull Elvis into a hug, “It’s good to see you, thank you so much for this.”

He smiles as you step away, looking from you to your girls, “No, it’s really me who should be thanking y’all. I’m excited to see what we do together. Now,” he claps his hands, all business, and turns back to the table set up, where there are two other men sitting and waiting.

“This is Steve Binder,” Elvis says, gesturing to the man with neat brown hair, an ascot tied around his neck, and the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen in a man, “and this is Bones Howe,” he gestures to a man with darker hair and round glasses, “These fine gentlemen are the directors and producers of the show, really the masterminds behind it.”

This is clearly a cue for them to speak, but there’s only silence, and Steve is… staring at you? You flush, hoping you don’t have something on your face. Eventually Bones takes the lead, explaining their ideas for the special while Steve pulls himself back to reality.

They take time to answer any questions you all have, and the conversation concludes. The other girls leave the room giddy as can be, while Elvis pulls you aside, leading you over to Bones and Steve.

“Boys, this is Y/N, a very dear friend of mine,” he says, “I know I’ve already told you about her—” at that you shoot him a questioning glance, but he ignores you, continuing “— but I wanted you to meet her personally.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bones says, reaching out for a handshake.

“We’ve, uh, heard a lot about you,” Steve says with a smile.

“All good things, I hope?” you reply, shooting a teasing glance over at Elvis.

“All fantastic things,” Steve assures you as you shake his hand, and you may just be imagining things, but it seems like his hand lingers in yours for just a little longer than normal. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and your face flushes at the genuine compliment.

The four of you make small talk for a bit before Steve and Bones have to leave, presumably working out more behind-the-scenes stuff for the special.

Elvis gives you a knowing smile as the two of you exit the studio together.

“What?”

His smile widens, “Nothin’, just… you and Steve sure seemed to hit it off.”

You feel your face heat up. “Yeah, he was nice,” you shrug.

“Aw c’mon, Y/N,” Elvis nudges your shoulder, “I’ve known you for too long, you can’t hide a crush from me. Don’t worry, Steve’s good people.”

“I just met him, Elvis, he definitely doesn’t like me like that,” you reply, no longer bothering to deny it.

“You never know. I’d be happy to talk you up, if you like.”

“Sounds like you already did that,” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What? I can’t brag about my friend?”

“Well, I never said that.”

“Y’know, I’m sure I won’t even need to talk you up,” he says as you finally approach your respective cars, “He’s gonna see for himself how amazing you are during rehearsals.” His tone turns a touch more sincere, “Seriously, Y/N, I really appreciate you bein’ here. I’m so excited for this.”

You smile at the gleam in his eyes, “Well, thank you for calling. I’m really excited, too. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“See ya tomorrow. Steve’ll be there, too!” he calls cheerfully as the purple Cadillac pulls out of the lot.

You sigh to yourself as you start the drive back to your hotel. He’s going to be absolutely insufferable about this.

“So, Y/N,” Marie sidles up to you during a break in rehearsals, the other girls crowding around you, “how long have you known Elvis?”

“Oh, um… we’ve been friends since we were kids, grew up together in Memphis,” you explain cautiously. Marie had never shown an interest in your life, what was she up to now?

“Hm, I see. You must’ve had an enormous crush on him, right? I mean, I know I would’ve,” she says with a smirk, eyes glittering with barely-hidden malice.

“No, actually,” you correct her cooly, “He’s more like a big brother to me. Been that way all our lives.”

“Oh,” her smirk falls, “whatever, then.” She turns and walks away, as if that piece of information just ruined whatever game she was playing.

Before you can wonder just what she’s up to, the girls begin clamoring for more information about what it was like growing up with the Elvis Presley, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

Steve comes down from the control room more and more during rehearsals, claiming that being down on the studio floor will help him figure out good vantage points for the cameras. You try to avoid engaging him in conversation, not wanting to distract him, but somehow he always ends up near you during breaks. Not that you’re complaining, of course.

You fail to notice Marie watching you like a hawk as the two of you chat over the course of rehearsals.

During one such break, you decide to bring up the fact that rehearsals have been going on for nearly two weeks, and he’s been down on the studio floor for your performances for nearly half of that time. “Is it really that different from when you’re up in the control room?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, the view is much better down here,” he says with a small smile, and you could swear his eyes rake up and down your body for just a split second before he adds, “uh, for placing the cameras, I mean.”

You feel your face heat up, and you hope it isn’t too noticeable. There’s no way he’s flirting right now, right? Before you can respond, your choreographer, Lance, calls everyone back, leaving you to push all thoughts of Steve to the back of your mind.

At the end of rehearsal, Steve calls you and Elvis over.

“So, we wanna try to get some extra shots, for promotions, lighting tests, etcetera,” he explains, “it’s gonna be mostly one-on-one shots, I figured the two of you would be the most comfortable with that versus one of the other girls.”

“Sounds good,” Elvis says as you nod your agreement.

It turns out the shots Steve needs are some of the more… flirtatious ones, which you recognize from the Guitar Man sequence you’ve been working on.

Steve, to your surprise, stays on the studio floor rather than going back up to the control room. As you go through the motions— Elvis standing just behind you, your heads turned so your noses are almost touching, his hands resting on your hips; teasingly pushing him down into a chair, your prop fan in his face— you happen to glance over at Steve, and… you’re sure it’s your imagination, but you could swear you catch a glimmer of— is that jealousy?— in his eyes.

A crew member comes up to touch up yours and Elvis’s makeup, but he stops them as he sees the clock.

“Hey, Steve, I’ve gotta get going,” he says apologetically, “I promised I’d meet Cilla for dinner, but you guys can keep goin’ without me right? Just… go through the motions or somethin’. See how it looks in the lighting and whatnot.” He shoots you a quick wink, mouthing have fun as he scoots out the door, leaving just you and Steve, plus a couple of crew members in the studio.

“I mean, we do kinda need these shots so we can adjust the lighting properly,” Steve says hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

“I wouldn’t mind walking you through some of the moves, if you’re comfortable with that?” you suggest softly, doing your best to sound like your heart isn’t racing at the thought of Steve taking Elvis’s place.

“Sure,” he agrees, “uh, where do we start?”

He steps onto the tiled floor and you walk him through some of the tamer moves before one of the crew speaks up.

“Hey, we’re gonna need you guys to do some of the uh… closer ones?”

There’s only one part of the routine that comes to mind, and your face flushes. You nod, “Okay,” and turn to Steve. “Are you… comfortable with that?”

“Sure, yeah.” he nods.

“Okay, so,” you clear your throat, doing your best to appear professional, “for this one you're gonna stand behind me.”

“Like this?” He moves so he’s standing about a foot away from you.”

“Uh, a little closer.”

He steps forward so his chest is just barely brushing your left shoulder, “This better?”

You hum an affirmation, taking a deep breath to calm yourself at his sudden proximity and instead breathing in his cologne, which only makes your heart race even faster. Be professional, you scold yourself.

“Now you’ll, um, put your hands on my hips.”

“Alright.” His hands land on your waist.

“Um, a little lower.”

You pray he doesn’t notice how your breath hitches as his hands slide down to your hips, and his breath hits your cheek as he says softly “Here?”

“Y-yeah,” you exhale, “now, uh, you just turn your head towards me and—“

Your breath catches as you turn to find him staring at you, his nose just barely brushing yours. Your eyes, as if on instinct, flick down to his lips then back to his eyes, only to find him staring at a spot below your eyes. The two of you stay frozen in that moment, your tongue darting out to wet your suddenly very dry lips before you whisper, “I, uh, I think they’ve got what they need.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies distractedly before seeming to snap back to reality, “Y-Yeah! Right,” he says, releasing you and taking a step back.

You feel the emptiness of the space he once occupied next to you, and your heart slowly sinks as he stammers, “I should, uh, get back up there,” he gestures to the control room. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

You nod, forcing a smile on your face as you wave goodbye, “See you tomorrow.”

Your hand drifts to where his hand laid on your hip, a weak semblance of the way he held you, before you shake yourself, heading towards the dressing room to get out of your skimpy pink outfit. Be professional.

You’ve been fairly successful in hiding your feelings for Steve since then, but everything changes the day you’re finally filming the Guitar Man sequence.

Lance calls for a break and you slide off to the side for a sip of water. The smirk on your face at the sight of your friends crowding Elvis for the moment turns into a surprised smile when you see Steve standing nearby. He was usually up in the control room during filming, what was he doing down here?

You don’t notice Marie’s eyes locked on you as she saunters over to Elvis.

“So…” she begins, squeezing onto the small bench with him where he had just grabbed a Pepsi and sat down, “Is Steve single? Because I really feel like we’d be perfect for each other.”

Elvis chuckles politely. “I’m not quite sure you’re his type, darlin’,” he says, his eyes flicking over to you for the briefest of moments.

Brief, but not brief enough for Marie to miss it. She stands up again, hiding a smirk. “Well, never hurts to try,” she singsongs as she walks away.

You’ve finally worked up the courage to approach Steve but just as you smooth down the pink miniskirt serving as your costume and start to walk over to him, Marie saunters over.

Now, an ordinary observer would’ve seen how Steve tensed up when Marie placed her hand on his arm, standing much closer to him than most would deem necessary, and the way he seemed to look around for help as he engaged her in a stiff conversation.

You, however, only saw the smug look Marie threw your way as she flirted with the man you were head over heels for.

That look was all it took for the courage you worked up to come crumbling down. You slip past your friends, making an excuse about needing some air, and out the back door, where you collapse against the rough brick exterior of the studio.

You feel pressure building behind your eyes and force the tears back, taking a deep breath in and out. You had known it was silly to hope that he would ever have feelings for you beyond platonic but Marie… you certainly hadn’t imagined her being his type, but based on what you had seen, you couldn’t really blame him. Wasn’t a tall, willowy blonde what every man wanted?

Your wallowing is interrupted by the sound of the back door opening, and you look up to see Steve approaching you, a worried look on his face.

“Sorry, I would've been out here sooner but Marie sure does like to talk,” he jokes, an attempt to lighten the mood, “I saw you slip out, are you okay?

“I’m fine,” you try to assure him around the lump still present in your throat, “Don’t worry about me,” you add with a tight smile, “go on back to Marie, I’m sure she’s wondering where you went.”

He frowns as you’re unable to hide the bitterness in your voice. “You know I don’t really, uh, like talking to her, right? I much prefer talking to you,” he says, his eyes soft.

Your heart flutters at the compliment, “You do?”

“Of course,” he laughs, “Why do you think I always ended up next to you during rehearsals?”

You process his words for a moment; he prefers you over Marie?

“I like talking to you, too,” you say, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“So, uh,” he turns to face you, leaning against the brick wall, “what made you run out here?” he asks, concern clear in his voice.

You shake your head, “It’s nothing, really,” you insist.

“Now I know that’s a lie,” he raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have to tell me, but I wanna help if I can,” he adds softly.

You can’t find it in you to lie to his face, and the words come tumbling out, “I saw you with Marie, and I hated it. She was only flirting with you to get under my skin, I know it, but then it didn’t seem like you were discouraging it or anything and that hurt so much because—“

Your brain finally catches up to your mouth and you stop yourself before you completely ruin the friendship you’ve built.

But Steve isn’t having any of that. “Because…?”

Well, no going back now. “Because… I really, really like you,” you finally whisper, keeping your eyes on the ground to avoid seeing his reaction.

There’s a pause, and your heart crumbles before two fingers come up under your chin to gently tilt your head up. Sparkling blue eyes meet yours, and you hear a whisper of “I really, really like you, too,” before his lips meet yours and your mind is void of everything but him: the softness of his lips on yours, one hand cradling your face as the other gently grips your hip, pulling you close, your hands finding purchase in the lapels of his suede jacket.

He pulls away much too soon for your liking, and it takes you a good few seconds to blink back to reality as you’re greeted by the sight of Steve giving you a shy smile, the hand that was cupping your face now resting at your waist.

“You kissed me,” you say oh-so-cleverly, your mind scrambling to process the event that had just occurred.

“Yeah,” he laughs shyly, “I hope that wasn’t too much?”

You shake your head, “No, that was… that was perfect.” you beam, moving to smooth out the lapels that you had had in a death grip.

“Good, because I’ve been wanting to do that since the first day of rehearsals,” he admits with a laugh that’s absolutely adorable, and you’re about to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss when the back door swings open once more.

You freeze as you hear, “Steve, is everything okay out here, people are wonderin’ wh—“

Elvis cuts off at the sight of the two of you, “Oh. Well it’s about time, you two! Take your time, don’t worry.” He turns, yelling to the rest of the studio something about an extended break.

You and Steve collapse into giggles as the door closes, feeling like teenagers who just got caught by their parents.

“Hey,” Steve says as the two of you calm down, “are you free on Saturday? I’d… I’d really like to take you out on a date,” he chuckles.

“I’d love that,” you smile, “There’s this Italian place near the hotel that I’ve been meaning to try?” you suggest.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll pick you up at 6?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you beam, and you can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips before the two of you head back inside, your heart much lighter than it was before.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper @eliseline @yourselenite @hallecarey1 @adoreyouusugar @obetrolncocktails

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings

Word Count: 5680 Rating: T Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala ----

Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.

He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.

But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.

This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.

(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)

(His sister only laughs.)

It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.

"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.

"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."

"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.

He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.

"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.

(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)

(They no longer ask.)

"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."

Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"

"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."

He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."

"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."

"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"

"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"

"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."

Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.

She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"

"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.

"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.

"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.

Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.

----

"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."

He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.

"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."

"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.

"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"

"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.

Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.

Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."

Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"

Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"

Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"

"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."

"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"

"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."

Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"

"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."

"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."

Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.

"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."

"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."

Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.

"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."

She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.

The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.

Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.

----

It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.

"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."

Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.

Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."

Or not.

"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."

That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"

Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.

She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.

"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.

"Time for Shmi?" she asks.

Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."

"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."

"Don't start."

"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."

"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."

"You ended a civil war, sir."

Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.

"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."

"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."

"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."

"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.

"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."

"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.

"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."

"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."

"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."

Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.

She can do it.

It's just annoying.

Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.

----

"Can I see your fonts?"

Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.

"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"

"Mando'a, please."

He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.

She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.

Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.

Half an hour, and then Ben returns.

He points to a font. "This one."

"What's it going to say?"

"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."

"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."

She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.

"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"

"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."

"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."

"That too," she agrees.

When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.

"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."

Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.

He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."

He's such a polite child.

It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.

----

"Hi!"

Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.

That's new.

"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."

"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"

"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"

"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"

"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."

Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"

"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."

"Thank you~!"

----

Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.

----

Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.

His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.

Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.

Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.

"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."

Ben shakes his head. "No way."

"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"

"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.

"No!" both immediately yelp.

She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.

Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.

"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."

"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."

"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"

"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."

"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."

Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"

"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.

Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.

"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"

"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.

"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.

"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."

"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"

Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.

"No," Ben says.

"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."

It's a neat enough explanation.

It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.

She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.

"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."

Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.

"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."

"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."

"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."

"Is that why you want me to take that route?"

"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."

Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."

"Imagine his face, though."

Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.

"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."

----

Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.

There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.

Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.

"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.

"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."

"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"

"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.

She can almost feel the coming question.

It does not come from the human she expects.

"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.

She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"

"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."

"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.

"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."

It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.

"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."

He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.

Ben mimics his father.

----

She gets to attend the wedding, months later.

The food is very, very good.

(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)

(So does Shmi.)

(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)

----

"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"

Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.

"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.

Or until she gets bored.

"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"

They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.

At great volume.

(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)

"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."

"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."

"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."

"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."

Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"

"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"

"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."

"Ehhhh..."

Nope.

Not paying attention.

----

"These are House Kryze colors."

Ylliben's breath hitches.

He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.

"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.

"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."

Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.

"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?

"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."

"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."

Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.

They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.

"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"

"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.

She does not ask further.

----

"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."

Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.

Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...

"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.

"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."

"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."

Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.

"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."

She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."

"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"

"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."

"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"

Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."

"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"

Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.

"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."

Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"

"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.

"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"

"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.

----

As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.

(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)

There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.

For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.

Then, the Jedi and his children leave.

(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)

(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)

[robininthelabyrinth]

i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

-

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

-

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

Okay but what about Orc!bucky and Goddess!reader ..😳🤭 Shes an Aphrodite, I can imagine her looking down and seeing orc!bucky and just craving him. They be a great power couple ...

Hi hun! I'm sorry it took me so much time to write this fic, and, well, since most of us already have some depiction of Aphrodite in mind, I decided to make the reader her daughter. Guess the story turned out something very different from what you wanted, but I still hope you will enjoy it!

Somebody to Die For

Pairing: orc!Bucky x goddess!Reader

Warnings: violence, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2385.

____________________

"I will fight for you till they cut off my arms, my legs, and my head."

You looked at the warrior in front of you, his heavy body clad in armor, his arms holding a spear and a shield you brought to him yourself, earning a slap from your mother, the goddess of beauty who forbid you to help humans so shamelessly, and yet, you always did.

The man standing in front of you was neither orc nor human but the descendant of the both of them, the only hero who could possibly defeat the evil forces when every other man had failed. He's rough; he's rude; he knew little of honor, but he's the one who still fought when the ones before him had long given up. Despite the prejudice against orcs, now even humans understood he was their only salvation.

You hoped he would survive the last battle. Not just because you needed the human kind to have a savior, a leader, the one who would aid them when nobody else would, but because you had grown found of him, the man you had been guiding for years, helping him to protect those who detested him, bringing him hope when he was ready to give up, embracing him when he no longer had the power to hold his spear. A daughter of the goddess of beauty, you were to bring this beauty to the parts of the world where your tired mother could not, but you brought hope instead.

"Fight for me, and if you win, I will fulfill your wish, soldier." You whispered through your golden mask that covered your face entirely, only your eyes visible to the orc standing on his knees.

Your mother never approved of it, but you had seen people going mad from having just one glance at you, your immense beauty blinding them, driving them insane, making them forgot who they were. It was a curse, not a blessing. It was the reason you wore your mask at all times, only showing your face to those your deemed worthy, strong enough to withstand the charms you had no control over.

You knew your hero wanted to see your face more than anything else in the world.

"I will bring you the demon's head on a golden plate, my goddess."

You'd chuckle at his attempt to please you, but you were scared, you feared he would fail, fall, die in the hands of evil forces feasting upon human kind and threatening to destroy all the gods had created. You could not fight along him, possessing no skills to win that battle; moreover, your mother would most certainly kill you if you intervened, breaking the oath you had given to her. You could only help the hero you had chosen while staying in the shadow.

"Stay alive, Bucky." Those were your last words when you pressed the cold lips of your mask to the orc's forehead, giving him your blessing and hiding the tears behind the cold metal.

If only you could fight, but your hands grew cold every time you touched the hero's spear, unable to wield a sword or a mace. The war was not your domain, all the gods kept telling you when you plead them to gift you enough strength and courage to engage in battle. No, your fate was to shine like a golden statue, blinding all those who dared to look at you, bending them to your will like you mother had always done. They couldn't understand your ardent desire to watch over the humankind and all those who needed your help, spending your time healing soldiers, aiding orphans and the elderly, bringing food and water to all those in need. The gods cared little for mortals. Even when the Great Evil appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on the lands belonging to people constantly praying for gods mercy, the immortals were too busy with their own affairs, realizing how serious the matter was when it had been too late.

When the orc you clad in charmed armor stood in front of the army of the undead, the diabolical creatures with horns and gaunt wings growling behind them, ready to strike, you prayed for him to come out of the battle alive. It was his fate to be the last hero standing between the chaos and all what was dear to the living, yet he bore no responsibility for it - he didn't ask to be the hero, to fight when his spear was long broken, go forward while the undead broke his bones and demons feasted upon his flesh, ripping pieces of meat before the orc could crush their heads with his mere hands. You kept casting spells to aid him, knowing your mother would whip you, but you didn't care, healing your hero's wounds so he could fight until he would cut off the head of the Demon King with his own sword.

Your hero was laying on top of demon's dead body, still holding the head even while unconscious as you sneaked into the field full of corpses, bodies of demons and bones of the undead rotting under the blazing sun. Your hero was dying from his wounds, bleeding so much his skin was loosing its color, and now it was your time to bring him back to the living before it was too late.

Oh, you knew your mother could kill you for stealing the salve meant only for gods to heal their wounds, but you no longer cared. What did it matter if the one who saved you all was to pay with his life for everything he had done to protect the living? No, it was unfair. The orc stood to gain nothing from his heroic deeds, gods being too arrogant to acknowledge him properly, but he had the right to keep his life.

And so you carried his heavy body to the springs, washing his wounds, applying the salve generously and casting as much healing spells as you did in your entire life to keep him alive, praying and hoping the gods would take mercy on him. Yes, he was three quarters an orc; he was barbaric, savage, ferocious, but he had kindness in his heart like no other, agreeing to fight for humans who had always utterly despised him. Despite being a brute, he was kind to children, women and elderly people. He had never lay his hand on those weaker than him, except when they attacked him on their own. In the end, he was the only hero who answered your call when all those you had asked for help died on the battlefield, unable to fight the demons and their army of corpses.

It had been three days and three nights you spent tending to his wounds until his heart started beating like of a living being. You cried your eyes out when you heard it. The salve had finally worked, and the open wounds closed, leaving his body scarred but healed; his breath steadied, and soon your hero would come back to you, you knew. Gods had answered your prayers for the first time.

"Am I dead?" Bucky asked you when he opened his eyes on the fourth day as he saw you tired face, your mask long abandoned the moment you brought him to the springs.

You smiled at him and held him close, his head laying on your lap while you witnessed his awakening, his body covered in salve, making his skin shine like pure gold.

"You are alive and well." leaning to him, you left a kiss on his forehead, brushing his dark disheveled hair out of his face, and the orc made an odd sound as if he were purring like a giant cat. "You will live a long life, cherished and honored by those you protected, I promise you."

"Will you keep that one promise you gave me, my goddess?"

He's impatient, he had always been, and you laughed at his eagerness, knowing his body still hurt, but the orc didn't seem to mind it. Was he unhappy with seeing your face? You didn't think so, and yet, apparently, he wanted something else. Gold? Women? Immortality? The last one would be quite hard, that is if gods wouldn't struck you with a lightning or something just to teach you a lesson to be more pliant and respectful.

"What it is that you want, my warrior? I will do whatever you ask me to if it is within my powers, just like I promised."

"It's within your powers, I'm sure." He grumbled, making you laugh even harder at his unusual grumpiness, touching the tips of his tusks, and the orc laughed at you, too.

"What is it, then? Don't keep me waiting, mortal, for even I grew tired of tending to you over four days." Winking at him in the most frivolous manner just like your mother had taught you, you giggled then, and the hero's face lightened up.

"This is not how I imagined it to be, but who cares, anyway." he muttered to himself and sat up, turning to you and hurriedly searching the pockets of his torn pants, obviously empty after his long, intense battle. "Shit! I've brought you golden rings and necklaces and bracelets, but those flying bitches made holes in my clothes. I should have hidden my gifts under some rock before the battle."

"Oh, you should have!"

He's impossible, you thought as you both snickered, his huge, calloused hands touching gentle yours. He brought you gold? What for?

"Well, whatever, I'll find more for you later if you don't mind, goddess. Will you give me the honor of becoming my wife even if I didn't bring you the gifts?" The orc tilted his head to the side, looking at you as if it were just a mere matter of something minor, unimportant, but soon, as he watched you openly gape at him for his audacity, he quickly bowed his head, kneeling in front of you.

You were speechless. For once, you had never for once suspected of the hero having these feelings for you. Surely, he prayed to you, he respected you as a mortal should respect their deity, he was intrigued by your true appearance you had concealed from him, but his spoke of marriage seemed preposterous. Was it your face again, your mother's charms? No, no, it couldn’t have been it for the hero intended to bring you gifts, wedding gifts, that is. He had come prepared.

Unbelievable. Did his feelings grow while he didn't even know how you looked?

"Forgive me my insolence, goddess." he mumbled, realizing his offer could be a grave offense to you, a being standing way higher than him. "But I can serve you till the end of my days, do whatever you tell me to. If I have survived the last battle and brought people salvation they wanted, I must be good enough, right?"

"Will you serve me even if I am not your wife?" You asked him quietly, looking at your hands covered in the balm you stole from the gods just to heal his wounds, knowing you were attracted to him despite your feelings never being voiced.

For a couple of seconds the orc grew silent, watching the carpet you put him on to tend to his wounds: it had been soaked in his blood that now dried out.

"I will serve you even then." He uttered grimly, refusing to look you in the eyes, his gaze on your hands as he kept sitting in front of you.

Afraid to speak, you fell silent too, wishing to touch him, brush your hand against his disheveled hair. Oh, didn't you want him? Didn't you wish to be embraced by the very hero you spent years guiding and healing so he would continue his journey? Didn't you deserve to be loved, the daughter of the goddess of that very same love you'd been craving for so long?

But your hero was a mortal. You were frightened to even think what gods would do to him for his impertinence.

Oh, evil gods. You spent years to teach and guide the mortal hero they despised who brought the salvation to the lands they were so afraid to lose, and yet neither him nor you were given anything in return. Instead, they were granting you a torture of refusing advances of the only one dear to you.

Please, darling.

Your mother's irritated voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you froze, knowing she was rolling her eyes at you, watching you secretly like she often did.

You have a heart of stone if you reject the man who is standing on his knees in front of you. I grant you my permission if you so need it.

As her mighty voice rang in the complete silence of a cave, Bucky shivered, immediately getting on his feet. Of course, he knew nothing of your mother except that she was a goddess, and he had never heard her voice. It didn't matter to you, though, as you stared at him, dumbfounded.

Permission. She granted you her permission to marry him. You were free to act as you like, knowing the gods wouldn't bring their wrath upon your hero.

"I will have you if you promise to love and cherish me like no other, protect me, and be loyal to me until your last breath." You whispered, your eyes full of tears as you watched him from below while he towered above you, and the next second he was on his knees again, taking your arms in his and kissing your tears away.

"Even if my face will be disfigured, my tongue cut off, and my body dismembered, I will love you till my last breath." his voice was so quiet, yet you heard him as if he were screaming at the top of his voice. "I promise to worship you and come to you aid whenever you need me."

Hurriedly ripping a piece of his ragged, soaked in blood clothes, he wrapped it around your finger like it was a ring he had lost.

"My soul, my heart, and my sword - everything I possess I give to you."

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

Yoongi is cooking, but when y/n comes home she tells him she ate with some friends. Maybe a bit of jealous/domestic Yoongi? I'll let you figure it out ♥️

Ps: do I need to tell you I love your work..? BECAUSE I DO.

You smelled the food in the air the moment you walked into your apartment. You groaned at how nice it smelled, kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket.

“Babe?” you called for your boyfriend but got no reply. When you reached the kitchen, you found Yoongi with his back to you, in front of the stove, just sweatpants and an apron on as he busied himself with a pan. Your eyebrows rose high at the sight. “Babe, I’m home.”

This time he heard you, looking at you over his shoulder and giving you a bright, gummy grin. “Hey, love! Come here, give me a kiss,” he asked, pouting his lips as he wanted for you.

You chuckled and walked to him, giving him a quick peck. Your hand landed on his bare back, stroking him slightly as you peeked over him to see what was on the pan. A thick, golden-brown steak was having a hot butter bath underneath Yoongi’s spoon, sizzling as he kept coating it again and again with its own juices.

“That smells delicious,” you told him.

Yoongi smiled. “It’ll be ready in a minute, love,” he explained. “There’s also smashed potatoes in the oven, can you get those out for me?”

You nodded and opened the oven. Even the potatoes looked amazing, crisp and well seasoned. You sighed as you placed them on the counter. “They look amazing, babe. I’m jealous.”

Yoongi frowned. “What do you mean jealous?” he asked as he turned off the stove and place the steak on a plate. Then he looked at you all serious. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Actually… I just ate.”

The man’s mouth and shoulders dropped. “What?”

You rushed to his side, holding him in an attempt to be forgiven. “I’m sorry! You know, I was out with the guys and-”

“But you said you were going for drinks after work, not for food!” he whined, body still and not reciprocating your hug.

“I know, but we got hungry…” The guilt was pooling at the pit of your stomach; you really hadn’t thought about this twice, and Yoongi’s heartbroken face was killing you.

“But I made all of this for you!” he whined even more desperately.

Your arms closed tighter around him, mimicking his tone. “I didn’t know you were cooking. I’m so sorry, baby!”

Yoongi pushed you away, looking at you with a prominent pout. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, you decided to eat out, you should let me know so that I can decide what I’ll eat too, right?”

You bit your lip as you slowly reached for him, trying to grab him by the arm. “You’re right. I’m really sorry. I screwed up.”

The man huffed, pulled away from you, looking around the kitchen. “I cooked all of that… Now it’s all a waste.”

“No, no, no…” you quickly said. “It’s not a waste. Look, I’ll eat some too, okay?”

“No, but you just ate…”

“It’s okay, I want to try some anyway.”

Yoongi gave you a glare through his lashes and snorted. He grabbed one plate with a steak, added a few potatoes, and plumbed on his seat with that same pout still on. “Whatever,” he mumbled. He cut into his rare, tender steak almost aggressively and shoved a bite into his mouth. The corners of your lips were turned downward as you watched him, nearing very slowly as if you were scared he would run away like a wild animal.

You sat right next to him, a hand landing on his thigh and stroking him softly. “Baby,” you called, but he ignored you, eyes never leaving his plate. You moved your head closer, chin resting on his shoulder. “Baby, please don’t be mad…” You peppered kisses on the side of his neck, but he still didn’t budge. You sighed. “Yoongi, baby, why are you so upset? It was a simple miscommunication. How was I supposed to know you were cooking dinner if you didn’t tell me either?”

He finally looked at you, still pouting even as he was chewing. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi turned back to his plate, playing with his food a bit. “I got home early, and since you were out, I thought I’d make you something delicious to eat. You are always the one who cooks, and I wanted to make something for you for once.”

“Baby…” you sulked.

“I tried to make it really nice,” he continued. “I got annoyed because I wanted to treat you nice and I can’t.”

“Of course you can!” you chirped. “I told you, let me try. I want to honor your food, babe.” And you opened your mouth wide, waiting for a bite. Yoongi chewed the inside of his cheek a bit, but cut up a piece of meat and fed it to you. Looking at you expectingly as you took your time to savor it. “My God, it’s amazing, baby!”

“You like it?”

You nodded so fast. “I love it. Makes me want to eat the whole thing.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him many kisses all over his face, Yoongi grimacing and pulling away, his little act of not wanting affection. “So perfect, my baby!” you praised him. “You are an amazing cook and boyfriend! I’m so lucky, I literally have the best man.”

“Yah! That’s enough. Let me eat,” he whined, but you could tell his whole mood had changed from the way he was trying not to smile.

“You know,” you whispered, your hand playing a bit with his hair before stroking his naked back. “My stomach may be full, but I’m definitely hungry to eat something else.”

Yoongi looked at you with wide eyes before narrowing them, a smirk on his lips as he licked them slowly. And you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“Sure,” he said with a raspy voice. “That might be a good start to make this up to me.”

Masterlist

[mrsmaybank]

Tate Langdon x Reader 18+

“Daddy?” Tate playfully questioned, “Does that make you my little girl?”

A/N: In honor of me rewatching Murder House, here’s some absolutely disgusting dead people sex. I know Tate is a horrible person, but he’s incredibly sexy.  Sorry. He could kill me. LOL GIRL ANYWAYS SOOOOO... Also, does anybody know where I can find more stories like this? I could literally only find like two good ones. I barely write smut and I didn’t reread this so if it sucks, well my bad. Anyways, I hope you guys like! 

TW: SMUT VERY VERY NSFW, DADDY KINK, HEAVY DEGRADATION, DEAD PEOPLE?, DRUGS, SPITTING KINK?? LITERALLY EVERYTHING, DON’T READ IT IF YOU’RE NOT INTO THIS KINDA STUFF! 

TATES POV 

“Only reason I haven’t killed her yet is so I can jack off to her while she showers.” I smiled as Y/N walked through the front door and up to her room. I was kidding of course. There was many things I wanted to do to her and murder her was not one. 

“You’re a sick little fuck.” Hayden scoffed and walked away. 

“You’re a whore. With daddy issues. Fucked an old married guy.” I whispered to myself. The house was “empty” now. Just me and Y/N. She was the only living soul there. Her parents were out, doing what I could care less. 

I followed Y/N up to her room. She was sitting on the floor behind her bed, perched on the window sill, shoving pinches of grinded weed into a bowl. Her hair was a mess per usual. A wild but perfect mess of hair. I wondered if the ‘I-just-got-fucked’ look was on purpose, or she was naturally disheveled. She took off her sweater and grabbed a lighter from her purse, leaving her in a tiny black tank-top that left just the perfect amount to the imagination. Good god. Her tits looked sculpted by Satan himself, tasked to taint the minds of all thy tempted. I did my best to take a mental note of the sight. Her perfect lips attaching to the pipe, her chest rising and lowering with every inhale and exhale of smoke. “Fuck.” I sighed. 

She twitched. Fuck she heard. I wasn’t paying attention to whether or not I was allowing her to hear me. She laughed to herself. “Fuck, I’m tweaked.” She plopped herself on the bed, my bed. And played a song on her laptop. It wasn’t music I was familiar with. It was probably new, but it was good. Very good actually. I confirmed she had good music taste when she hung up a poster of Kurt Cobain in her closet. I’d also heard her tell her friends she couldn’t wait to go to hell to fuck him. Her family was devout catholic. It’s weird though--it seems she believes everything the church says. However, the amount of disgusting things I witness that girl do on a daily basis leads me to believe she gets a kick outta being a sinner. She’s a pothead, once coke-whore, communist, cocksucking, intrepid, audacious bitch and yet--she’s beautiful and clever and kind to those who deserve it. I like her very much. I watched with wide eyes as her hand moved to her perfect tit, grabbing it harshly and massaging it until a tiny moan made its way out of her mouth. I wanted nothing more than to stop her, punish her for being a little slut and take her in every way I wanted, but obviously I could not. She slid her hand into her pants, moaning at the sensation of her own fingers. Jesus fuck. 

I walked to her door. Opened it. Stood on the other side, closed it, appeared and knocked. “Dad?” she practically screamed. Not quite. 

“No,” I laughed, opening the door to let myself in, “Neighbor.” I pretended to look surprised at her messy hair and big eyes. 

“Did I interrupt something?” I questioned. 

“No.” she said firmly. “But you’re not my neighbor.” 

“Yes I am. I live in the house behind you. Makes you my neighbor.” 

“How’d you get in?” She was scared, but not surprised. 

“Someone left the back door open.” I bumped my head to the guitar of the song. 

“This is great. Whose the artist?” 

“Uh, Arctic Monkeys.” I laughed, “What a weird name. They’re good though.” 

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

“Yeah. What’s your name? I’m Tate.” 

“Y/N.” 

I got closer to the bed where she sat. Looking down at her as she looked up to me with doe eyes. “Y/N,” I tucked a hair behind her ear, “Are you--” 

She grabbed my face and stuck her tongue down my throat. Horny little bitch. I pulled her hair back and detached her face, she needed to be put in her place. “God fuck Y/N.” She laughed and I laid her down on the bed, crawling on top of her. I smiled at her as she  tugged on my shirt. “You’re such a bad girl. You’re really, really bad.” I kissed her this time, it was passionate and she would not stop tugging on the hem of my long-sleeve. I stopped for a second, panting. I went to kiss her lips again, but I changed my mind. I kissed her jaw instead, leaving sloppy kisses down her neck as she whimpered and mumbled. I was so busy with marking her neck I didn’t notice her hand slide down to grip me, that is, until I did. I moaned into the kiss, until she pulled away to whisper in my ear. “Fuck me daddy.” She smiled devilishly back at me. 

“Daddy?” I playfully questioned, “Does that make you my little girl?” 

“Yeah,” she laughed. “Now fuck me.” This time it was my turn to laugh, “No.” I pushed her back down and continued to kiss her. Exploring her mouth as I pleased until I pleased. I got up, dramatically taking off her pants to reveal the cutest, daintiest, black little panties. 

“These are adorable.” I played with the hem, “Absolutely adorable.” She whimpered in desperation, “Please. Do something already.” 

I traced my fingers lightly on her clothed cunt, noting the wetness that had gathered. I removed her tank top to reveal her bare tits, and god, how great it was to finally touch them. I made my way up her body, kissing up her stomach until I got to the place I wanted to be. I took one in my mouth and the other in my hand as she writhed under me in pleasure. Moaning and panting all ‘cause of me. It was cute. While my mouth continued it’s assault on her literally godly boob, I used the other hand to dip into her--soaking--pussy. “Fuuuckkk.” she threw her head back in ecstasy. 

“You’re dripping like you’ve never been touched.” I told her. She only continued to whimper in response. I made her cum twice before I was so hard I thought I might finish before even getting inside. 

I kissed her lovingly, her lips were swollen and there were tears in her eyes. “Is it too much baby?” I teased her clit before she could respond, she twitched but then to my surprise gained her senses. “Fuck me. Now.” 

“Okay.” I aligned and entered. “Jesus christ.” I could barely speak. “You’re so,” I thrusted hard, “Fuck!”, I went deeper, “Tight.” I wanted, I swear to god I tried to be gentle at first, but between the absolute desire I had for this girls perfect body, the sound of her cute little whimpers and curses, the ripping my hair out, the fucking tightness of her pussy--I couldn’t. I rammed into that girl over and over, harder every time. She was purring like a little kitten, tightening around me every time I called her a little slut. She opened her mouth, practically an invitation for me to spit in it. 

I slowed to a stop, my dick still completely inside her. She was a mess of course, a needy little mess that needed me to keep going, “Hey,” I calmed her down, “Hey.” I used a hand to gently caress her forehead. “Open your mouth.” She opened wide and I spat. Right in her mouth. She swallowed it. 

I bottomed out and thrusted back into her and she screamed. “You needed to swallow something didn’t you?” She tightened and whimpered, “Hm?”, she clenched again moaning, but I wanted an answer. “Whore?” I shouted, fucking into her with literally every bone in my body. 

“Yes, yes, please. I’m gonna--” That’s when my evolutionary senses took over and I felt the overwhelming need to fucking nut as deep in her as possible. I pushed into her deeper, feeling her walls spasm around me, “You want me to cum don’t you? Your pussy wants it. It’s practically milking my--” She clenched a final time and I fell into the ecstasy of orgasm. I fucked it into her a while, she came again. And all I could do was giggle to myself as I laid on her bare chest. Her painted black nails scratched at my scalp. 

“Hey, Y/N? I’m dead.” 

“Hey Tate? Me too.” 

I got up to look her in the eyes, she was serious, and I was confused. As fuck.

[thefanficmonster]

Take That!

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female) ft. Streamer Gang

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Suppressed Sadness, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What is a friend? Your smile through the tears. The umbrella over your head when it starts raining. The ointment to your wound. But if you wanna put it in a more literal manner, a friend is something that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It can be the person you sit next to in class or the person who’s hundreds of miles away from you and you’re connected to through a Discord call.

Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your request, sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read if you happen to come across the fic. Love, Vy ❤

There are those days when I wake up excited for a new day. There are also those days when the thought of playing Among Us with my friends is all that gets me out of bed. And then there are those days when not even that can get me to budge. Today is one of those days.

I’d still be in bed right now had I not needed to use the bathroom. On my way back to hide under my covers, I heard my cat’s meow from the kitchen, reminding me she needed to be fed. After tending to that task I just sort of lost will to return to bed either. Speaking truthfully, today is a will-less day. The type of day where I have no idea what to do with myself because I feel so odd and uncomfortable: heavy and bustling head, motivation below zero no matter whether I have zero tasks to tend to or a mountain high pile of work. It’s a laying on the floor and letting my mind eat away at me type of day and I can’t say I appreciate it.

The only thing I have to look forward to is the game of Among Us Corpse invited me to yesterday. Had I known I’d wake up feeling like absolute shit, I wouldn’t have accepted. I just know I’ll be a downer the whole time because I suck at covering up how I feel - my smiling masks and faux happiness don’t cut it but staying quiet is even worse because I’m typically and energetic and bubbly person, always having something to say or a comment to add to the conversation. Always looking to make people laugh.

Well, it’s hard to make people laugh when you feel like a deflated balloon.

I can’t describe the feeling any better than that - I feel empty, maybe a little sad somewhere in the mix, unmotivated. I keep these feelings to myself cause whenever I bring them up people just blow me off, saying I’m describing laziness but more dramatically. Either that or burnout which is sometimes the case, but I’m more than sure that it’s not the culprit for today. You can only blame burnout so many times.

Anyway, I make a mental note, promising myself I’m not gonna bail on my friends regardless of whether my mood gets better or worse. Who knows, maybe a gaming session with them is exactly what I need.

                                                              *  *  *

Not much has changed with my emotional state - I’ve spent a good chunk of the day surfing through TV channels and my socials with nothing else to occupy my mind but the overwhelming knowledge that I’m not feeling ok and that hyperawareness of a void that I feel but cannot describe. At one point, Corpse sent me a text to confirm I’d be participating in the gaming session and I was this close to saying no. This close to coming up with some bullshit excuse and bailing but I didn’t, thankfully. 

Here’s the thing about this drop in mood of mine - I know it’s gonna be gone by morning. It bullies me, beats and batters me for only twenty four hours - never more, never less. Like clockwork and as precise as a Swiss watch. And so fucking annoying. No matter what I do, I can’t end it prematurely and I can never wake up feeling down and unmotivated the next morning - there’s always a surge of motivation coursing through me and it drives me to be super productive as if making up for what I didn’t do the previous day when I was in the dumps.

It’s a twisted way of it showing me I’m powerless and at the mercy of a force that, despite being mine and existing within me, I’m completely unfamiliar with. It’s so fucking unfair, it’s disheartening.

“Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.“ I greet the five people who have already gathered in the Discord call and the Among Us lobby.

Yeah, sorry I’m late, I was contemplating not showing up at all last minute

“Don’t worry about it, many people are running late as you can see.“ Rae replies reassuringly, “How’s your day? Anything spectacular happen?“

I can’t help but scoff, “Yeah sure, a TON of spectacularism in my life on the daily. From the large stack of papers I couldn’t bring myself to touch, to the dusty surfaces all over my apartment I didn’t convince myself to clean - it’s all fabulous over here.”

Fuck, that was too real

“Whoa, where’d all this sarcasm come from?“ Rae asks, sounding genuinely baffled rather than teasing, “It’s never been your strong suit.“

“Neither has unproductivity.“ Corpse, my best friend, chimes in, “Everything ok?“

Well, I admit, I should’ve known better than to have an outburst like that in front of people who have known me for a while now and can probably gauge my emotions even without me admitting to them. I truly don’t know where it came from. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m just being lazy, I guess.” I’m quick to withdraw and brush off any suspicion. The last thing I want is to worry my friends or, even worse, receive the same response from them: that I’m being dramatic, that I’m attention-seeking, that I’m just lazy and unmotivated as are most people of my generation.

“You know, what people often self-diagnose as ‘laziness’ often turns out to be something more serious. I don’t mean to scare you, but it could be depression.“ Corpse says after a brief moment of silence in the call, his voice soft and cautious as if explaining a complex problem to a kid who’s bound to be hurt by what it’s told.

I can’t help but chuckle. He has no idea how much he’s relieved me by saying that. I always ‘don’t want to talk about it’ and ‘want to change the subject’ while what I truly need happens to be the complete opposite. I need someone to hear me out, I need someone who will not brush me and my concerns off like we don’t matter. I need someone who’ll understand. And if these people who have openly struggled with anxiety or depression don’t get me, who will?

“Yeah, I genuinely thought I thought of myself as a lowlife while I was in college cause I started losing motivation for everything and started fearing what was to come. I began avoiding going out and talking to people cause I felt like I was the sore thumb in the friend group I had - the only one without any specific goal or a dream.“ Leslie says out of the blue, “Turns out I suffered through a burnout so bad it turned into an anxiety/depression combo that I just blamed on being a lazy college student.“

“Same here!“ Toast pipes in, “I was bedridden for a while during the first days of my streaming career, for a very ridiculous reason - I believed I didn’t deserve the attention I was getting and I wasn’t doing as well as people gave me credit for. So that had me crippled with self-doubt for a long while.“

“I still don’t believe I’m doing as well as I get credit for, but oh well.“ Leslie laughs, “I already told you all about my dumpster-fire of a brain, so I’m instead gonna say: what you need is an appointment with a therapist. Also - you need to stop underestimating your struggles. Invalidating yourself and what you’re going through is gonna make things only worse for you. You need to love yourself.“

“And you need us!“ Rae exclaims, “You need the best support you can get and, lucky for you, we’re the best in the business. Count on us always being there for you, Y/N. Cause we always will be.“

“You’re never alone. We’re all just a call or a text away. Especially me.“ Corpse adds, “I’m basically at your service 24/7, just like you’ve always been for me. What are best friends for if not sharing mental struggles and lifting each other up afterwards?“

I don’t know when this smile made its home on my face but it seems to be rather happy with where it is and wants to stay. Something tells me that thanks to these guys, it will indeed stay there for quite some time. And every time it tries to slip away, they’ll be there to bring it back.

“Then let’s lift each other up, shall we? I mean, what better way to do it other than killing each other and getting away with it?“ I attempt a giggle, hiding my emotions behind it like my life depends on it. Chances are they heard all I’m feeling in my voice, but I can only hope they’re not gonna mention it.

“Y/N, hun, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but....you never get away with it.“ Corpse wheezes, causing me to narrow my eyes and frown.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it now!“ I exclaim, cracking my knuckles before getting my hands on my keyboard, “Start the game! I have a point to prove!“

And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the clouds have shuffled aside to make path for the sunshine to grace my brain with positivity I was not expecting to feel until tomorrow morning. I can’t give myself the credit for that though - it all goes to these amazing people I have the honor of calling friends.

I may have no power over it on my own, but with the gang’s help, I can take full control of it. And as a middle finger to the melancholy, I’ll do it all with a bright smile on my face.

Take that, brain!

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[heshoes]

Uni Daze

She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.

Warnings: Slow burn, smut, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse

Pairing: Harry Styles x OFC ( face claim Zendaya)

Uni Daze Masterlist

Chapter 4 (word count 11.2k)

Harry

Usually a busy day keeps me grounded and out of any possible trouble that Michelle could help get me into, but today was different. It seems like whenever there was something toolook forward to, the day seems to drag and the minute and second hands on the clock move at a non existent pace. Any other day I would almost dread going to work the front desk in the first year halls though I know it had to be done. Today, however, I looked at it as four hours that I could use to talk to Rion.

There was a two hour gap in my time frame today due to a professor sending out a bullshit email telling us the reasons as to why his class was cancelled. He was one of the youngest professors at the university with a track record of hanging out with his student's. But what he did behind the closed doors with Lumen, the girl who lived down the hall from Michelle and I was none of my business.

After I'd taken the spare time to shower, change clothes, and read a chapter and a half ahead in my anatomy text I found myself antsy and ready to go to work, much to Michelle's amusement.

"Just sit down. You have twenty minutes left yet. Did you not have some kind of I'm an important person meeting that you could have went to? Or any equations that you could crack in hopes to surpass both Galileo and Einstein combined? Over achiever."

"Michelle, your grade mark average has been higher than mine since birth and I'm older than you."

“True. But I just don't put as much effort into it as you do."

"That's what makes it all the more annoying. No, I don't have any meetings lined up for senior class. You could be a part of it you know. All you have to do is come to a meeting."

"I'll pass on that. Thanks."

"It looks good on job applications."

"And so does First Class Honors at an Ivy League Uni." Michelle spoke, paying little attention to me as she smiled down at her phone. Ten minutes had passed before I stood from the couch, drawing Michelle's attention again. She smirked at me while shaking her head.

"I'm gonna walk. It's a nice night out, plus if I work a little earlier I get paid more and that doesn't hurt."

"No, I'm sure it doesn't. Especially if you're not really in it for the money in the first place, Hershey. Ask her out today, yeah?"

"I just enjoy talking to her. I don't want to ask her out. It's too soon. It's cliche."

"Says the man who was turned down once and then gave up completely. You don't have to date her Harrow, but stop lying to yourself. It gets you nowhere fast. Ask her to the party."

****

The walk to the first year halls was quicker than I expected. I wasn't sure if it was due to the distraction of the scenery change or my pace, but a fifteen minute stroll was cut down to one that only took ten. When I walked into the double doors I saw her again, seated at the front desk with her eyes focused on the pages of her book taking in each word with a lazy grin on her face.

“Hi Rion. How are you?" I asked somewhat loud, causing her to jump. "Sorry didn't mean to scare you."

“No, it’s fine. I didn't see you walking up. I should pay better attention sitting here. Sometimes I just get so engrossed in the words that I forget what's going on around me. How are you this evening?"

I grinned at her before running a hand through my hair and taking the hair tie that I'd stolen from Michelle off of my wrist before pulling it halfway up.

"I'm alright, but I think I asked you a question first.” Rion looked down at her half way finished novel that she had barely scratched the surface of on Monday and then smiled up at me as I made my way around the desk, taking the seat next to hers.

"I'm doing quite well actually. I have no real complaints." Her face dropped.

"That face that you're making is telling me that the last thing that you said was a lie. Clearly."

"Well..."

"Go on. Say it." I grinned while pushing my chair back and resting my feet on the shelf of the desk in front of us.

"My flatmate."

"Yeah?"

"She had company last night.” Rion's voice lowered to a whisper and her cheeks twinged the lightest shade of pink.

"And?"

"And they were very...loud. I didn't get much sleep and every time I had time between classes and I went back to my dorm to take a nap I would always oversleep. I could swear I was late to almost every class today, but my professors were kind of understanding. They all cut me a break because I'm new." Rion rested her head in her hands before she began to shake it back and forth. "I mean I don't want to be that girl who switches dorm flats because their flatmate makes them uncomfortable. She's a really nice girl you know?"

"Uh-huh." I chuckled. I didn't mean to laugh at her misfortune and bad day, but she looked so distressed while explaining it all. No wonder she was rushing about today.

"But I can't risk being late to class, or miss classes because her and her girlfriend insist on having loud goes at each other. My parents had to pay so much for tuition here and I'm working at least three jobs to pay the loans I've taken out myself."

"Yeah that's-Wait what did you say?"

"I said I'm working three jobs to pay off loans and my parents for school and-"

"Wait, no. Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off, but what did you say before that?"

"My flatmate and her girlfriend have loud goes at each other."

"Your flatmate is a girl?"

"Yes." Rion tilted her head, looking at me as if I'd lost it. When you live on campus, the dorms are usually co-ed, but the actual rooms aren't.

"And you said she had a girlfriend?" It wouldn't be her. It can't be.

"Yes she's a les-"

"Lesbian."

"Yeah. And it's not that, that makes me uncomfortable. I believe love is love no matter who you find it with. It's just that they were so loud and I think sex is a very private and sacred thing… And I mean it was so disrespectful because Alison knows that I have to be up so early for my first class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday but she was— they were both...and then there was this buzzing sound. I think toys were involved."

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. The mix of the story, the situation, and the toys made it too good to be true. Rion pouted, but I could still see a trace of a smile on her lips.

“Sorry. It's not funny. You were just making a funny face. Did you say your flatmate's name was Alison?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?"

"No." It's really not a lie. I don't know her.

"Oh. She's a really sweet girl, but I need sleep."

"You do. Three jobs is a lot to juggle. It makes me feel like I'm not doing enough."

"You do though. You work, you have more classes than I do, and you're president of senior class. We both are tackling a lot…But, I can't help but feel like something is missing from the equation for the both of us. I just can't quite put my finger on it."

“Yeah, me either. Do you know Alison's girlfriend. Have you seen her?" I don't know why I'm hoping that there's a chance that this Alison is playing the same game that Michelle is or that it's a completely different girl.

"No. I'm sure that she said it at some point last night, but I put my earphones in to try and muffle the sound as much as possible." Rion sighed as she turned around to face the desk again, looking back down at her book.

"It kind of sounds like you need an escape." I say, hoping that she would turn back around to face me.

“It's only the start of the year. Usually I'd be fine, but I'm already tired. Cambridge comes with a price, but I'm more than willing to pay it. A get away sounds good."

"Well, there's this party on Saturday that practically the whole school contributes in. I've even seen some professors there, the younger ones at least."

"Really? At a school like this?"

"Rion, Cambridge may seem mysterious, with all of its prestige, low acceptance rates, and student's who attend with big brains, but it’s a university first. Parties exist here and because we're not supposed to be considered a school known for parties, they exist a little bit more than your regular university. We just keep it a secret. You should come."

"I'm not really that much of a partier. The last one I went to was after I finished all of my GCSE. I was talking to this boy that I liked and I'd never really drank that much, but I was with my friends and peer pressure and all... It just didn't end well."

"Let me guess. You threw up on him?"

"No... I— I can't! I can't tell you it was so embarrassing!" Rion laughed covering her mouth before she stood up to help a first year out. I swear its only Wednesday and more than a fourth of the first years who live in this building have already lost their keys. I'm sure that after the party on Saturday and the excessive drinking that's going to take place there's going to be a line outside the door for key replacements.

Chelle: I'm so bored so I'm gonna clean the apartment. Starting in the living space, then your room, then mine. Anything that might stick to my fingers if I touch it this time? 😜😷

To Chelle: Don't clean my room! It's already clean! And please don't tell me you touched anything in my bin?😨😳

Chelle: I haven't, but I assume the worst. And I may or may not have changed your name in my phone to Mr. Tissue. I will never let you live that down.

To Chelle: Call one of your bitches and leave my shit alone, pimp daddy. I'm buying a lock for my door.🔒

Chelle: 😼Bitches? What good will a lock do when I'll have the spare? 🔐👀

To Chelle: We'll discuss this when I get home. I’m Busy.  🗣DO NOT TOUCH MY SHIT!

"You alright?" Rion asked pulling me out of my text war with Mitchell.

"Oh, yeah. Just texting my flat mate."

"Mitch, right?"

"Yeah," I snickered, shaking my head while thinking about the well being of my things, "So are you going to tell me what happened when you were at this party years and years ago talking to the boy you liked?"

"Ugh, no I can't. I absolutely can't embarrass myself that much again. It would be like reliving it."

"I'll tell you one of mine. My most embarrassing, but you've got to tell me yours first.” Rion hid her head in her hands peeking out at me between her fingers and laughing.

"Fine. But please don't judge me. It was my first time being drunk. Promise?"

"I promise that I might not be able to not laugh and I won't judge you but tease you for it later."Rion squinted her eyes at me processing what I said before she turned around facing away from me in her swivel chair. I heard her take a deep breath before she started.

"I'd never been drunk before and we were at this party because everyone finished their GCSE. We weren't really old enough to drink-"

"No shit?"

"Don't interrupt," she laughed dragging out the words, "All of the toilets were taken in the house so I was waiting outside of this one when Flynn came up to talk to me-"

I laughed out loud for the third time today and the story wasn't even over. "His name was Flynn?"

"Yes. He was very cute! Let me finish!"

"Okay, soz."

"So we were talking and I was really drunk and I really had to go and....I peed! Don't laugh! You said you wouldn't judge me!” Laughing was an understatement. My stomach hurt and my eyes started to water.

"You pissed yourself?!"

"I didn't talk to anyone for a week, even my best friend for letting me get that drunk."

"Why didn't you go wee outside?"

"Well it's so easy for boys to do that isn't it? You can just whip it out, shake it off, and put it away. Girls have layers that they have to get through, and I'm a lady."

"A lady who wet herself."

"And what's your story?"

"And it appears that we're out of time."

"Oh no you don't!" She laughed wiping the corner of her eye and pouting, "You promised!"

"Alright I guess. I was out with one of my friends and his parents had just gotten divorced so he was living with his mum at the time. We'd went to a bar and I'd gotten so drunk that I forgot where I was-"

"That's it?"

"No, I wish it was but no. We went back to his place because my mum doesn't like me drinking and I didn't want to hear her nag. But when I got back to his place, I started stripping off."

"You didn't!"

"I did. I took off everything.... Everything. My friends mum was at work at the time but when she came home the next morning I was ass naked in her hallway sleeping on the floor...on my back...and it was morning...My friend had went in his room and closed the door. But, now every time I come home to visit him and his mum is there she winks at me and pinches my bum."

Rion was in tears the same way that I was a few minutes ago and I didn't even care that the story was embarrassing, because her laugh was as cute as she was. I looked at my phone to check the time and our shift would be over in five minutes. Any other day time would have dragged on, but it always seems when I'm here with her it goes by a little faster.

"I can't believe that." Rion spoke while wiping her eyes again.

"Well believe it, because it happens every time. Makes for a good story though." We both started to gather our things to leave but before we left the building, Rion tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and began to write on it.

"Here. Um, that's my number. I don't know about the party just yet because I have to check my work schedules and everything else, but I don't know. Just text me sometime before then?"

"Sure. I mean yeah of course I will.”

Rion grinned at me while biting her bottom lip before walking away and the walk home that usually took fifteen minutes now felt as if it only took five.

****

I closed the door behind me with an exhaled  breath and  a smile on my face before  inhaling the scent of pine and citrus. Michelle poked her head out into the hallway that led to the door where I stood before she stepped out of the kitchen fully wearing pink rubber gloves, a pair of my favorite Green Bay sweats, and a t-shirt that also happened to be mine.

“Honey, I'm home."

"Bitches?"

"Excuse me?" I looked at my best mate confused as she crossed her arms across her chest after removing the gloves from her hands,  tilting her head to the side as she spoke again.

"You said I have bitches, Styles. Apparently there's more to discuss."

I walked away from the door removing my work shirt and tossing it at Michelle. She tried to move out of the way and dodge the laundry that I'd threw at her but it still landed on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, causing it to land on the floor before shouting at me.

"I've just cleaned this entire apartment and you come in here making a mess! Pick it up and take it to you're room you quadruple nippled fuck."

"Girls don't mind my bonus nipples. It even sometimes becomes interesting foreplay, when I was having sex that is."

"Gross!"

I laugh and duck when she launches the shirt back to me causing it to land in in a pile on the kitchen floor. We both look at it and step over it before I grab two beers out of the refrigerator, one for myself and one for Chelle.When I try to hand her the beverage, she frowns at the twist off cap and then pouts at me causing me to scowl before I open it for her.

"You're so useless sometimes, Chelle."

"Says the man who doesn't clean, yet looks around at a spotless household that smells of cinnamon. I wonder who did that? Ah, it must have been the useless one. Now," Michelle spoke before clicking the neck of her beer with mine and then taking a sip, "What's this about my bitches?"

I chuckled as I took a gulp of my drink and headed for the living-room with Michelle close behind. We sat on the couch on on opposite ends of each other, relaxing after a long day as we usually do.

"Maybe not bitches in the plural sense. Maybe there's just one?"

Michelle stretched out on the couch putting her mitch-matched sock clad feet on my lap, drawing a displeased look from me but ignoring it entirely as she dramatically massaged her temples with her free hand.

"I can't deal with your game of clue today. The chemicals from the cleaning made my brain go fuzzy and I don't think the beer is helping. Just tell me what you think you know so I can tell you that you're wrong as usual."

I smiled at her, placing my half finished beer bottle on the table in front of us and then began massaging her calves causing her to close her eyes and hum in appreciation before taking another swig of her drink.

"Alison."

Michelle opened one of her eyes before quickly closing it again.

"What about her?"

"Was she a part of your plans B and C last night? Because something or someone tells me that she may have been." Michelle's eyes snapped open and she looked at me in shock. "It's okay if you like her. You can't help who you like."

"I don't like anyone," Michelle looked down briefly at her lap as she shrugged off my discovery. If I've learned anything about her from being her friend its that when she fails to make eye contact, she's lying. "Gianna stood me up last night and Alison was my backup plan. It's simple. I got what I wanted and left in the morning before she even woke up."

"Okay," I smirked at her before picking up my beer again, finishing what was left of it.

"I'm serious. I don't like anyone. I don't feel anything for anyone anymore. Senior year, up the ante, remember? I barely like you."

"Alright," I chuckled before pushing her legs off of me, returning to the kitchen to grab another drink.

"Harry!"

"I believe you, I believe you. You you're an emotionless drone," I spoke as I opened the refrigerator, "We need to go to the grocery store. This is getting ridiculous. We don't have anything in here besides beer, fizzy drinks, and water."

"There are plenty of noodle cups in the cabinet. We'll just tell people we're on an all liquid diet if we ever get visitors. We're not done talking about the other thing. Stop changing the subject. How did you even know I was at Alison's last night?"

I closed the door to the refrigerator with a smirk on my face walking past Michelle to go back into the living room. She followed behind me while lighting a candle that smells like oranges to keep the citrus scent going.

"Well? Come on Har. I don't want to have to chase you around the apartment all day for answers."

"Make me a noodle cup and bring me a bottle of water and I'll tell you."

"You were just in the kitchen!" Michelle speaks as she throws her lighter at me but does what I ask.

When she gets back, she hands me a fork and places the bottle of water on the table in front of me. I smile at her as a thank you before I speak.

"Rion."

"What?"

"Small world right? Or, small campus? Rion, is Alison's flatmate and she kind of, she heard you two last night. I mean, unless that wasn't you and there's another girl named Alison on campus? She said you guys kept her up because you both were too loud."

"There very well could be another Alison, Harry. It's not like there are only four lesbians that exist on earth. But Rion? The girl that you work with? The one that you have the hots in the pants for, Rion?"

"Yes and I don't just like her that way."

"Hm. Of course you do, you've only known her for three days..."

"What, hm? What do you have to say about her?"

"Oh, nothing except Alison calls her prudence. She says she's a real goody good and she's annoying."

"Thats sad," I say as I finish all that I was going to of my noodles leaving the rest for Michelle to eat. She takes the cup from my hands and takes a bite while looking at me to finish what I was going to say, "Rion says Alison's really nice and sweet."

“Well, I don't know. Rion may very well be Princess Peach. You know I don't do girly gossip. It gets on my last nerve. Alison just feels the need to talk to me when I'm there and its like shut the fuck up, girl. I didn't come over here to hear you talk, now get between my legs and-"

"Woah! Okay, and Mitchel is back. How are ya bro? I haven't really seen you in a few days."

"Fuck off Harry." Michelle laughs. "I hear the sordid details of you and the lads sexcapades all the time...well not you so much now, but you know what I was getting at."

"Yeah but, it's kind of different..."

"How?" Chelle quirked an eyebrow and turned her head looking to me for an answer that I'm not sure that I wanted to give her.

"Well, because... I um... and it's just that sometimes-"

"Wait! Harry you pervert! You get turned on by it don't you? It gives you a stiffy?"

"No!"

"Yes! Yes it does! You're turning all red!"

“No it doesn’t, Michelle!"

"Then what's your valid reason?"

I couldn't think of a lie fast enough and Michelle started to laugh, nasty snort and all. I took a pillow from the couch and threw it at her, making her fall backwards on the floor and stay there, using the pillow to her advantage as she lied down on the throw rug that covered the majority of the hardwood flooring in the living room. Our apartment was pretty nice considering that it was still school property, then again we did luck out putting in our bid in order to get into the newer buildings.

"Okay Hersh, I'll keep my dirty details to a minimum for the sake of your tight trousers. I can only imagine that, that gets uncomfortable. Anyway, did you ask prudence- sorry, Rion, to the party this weekend?"

"I did." I smile as I think about the neatly folded piece of paper in my pocket with her number written across it.

"What did she say?" Michelle looks up at me from her place on the floor.

"She said that she's not really that much of a party person." I smiled again a bit harder than I had before.

"So she's not going and she turned you down again? Maybe she is a prude. Don't worry about it Harry, there are plenty of other girls out here on campus just as smart, if not smarter than she is, prettier, and who will appreciate you for- What are you smiling about? Why are you so giddy from being turned down twice?"

I chuckled to myself while shaking my head and standing from my place on the couch, stretching before going towards my room.

"I didn't necessarily get turned down."

I could hear Michelle's footsteps close behind me as I walked into my room. She'd been in here. I can tell not only because of the clothes that she wore to clean that were mine, but because I could still faintly smell her perfume. Nothing was on the floor anymore and she even made my bed. I looked around the room and then back at her before I sat, grabbing one of the neatly placed pillows to put under my head, then lied back on it with my legs hanging over the edge of the mattress.

"Before you say anything, you'll be able to find your things. I just put everything where it’s supposed to normally go."

"I wasn't going to say anything besides thank you. I'm still buying a lock for my door, but thank you."

Michelle rolled her eyes. Something she calls a brainless trait. When she catches herself she covers her face in embarrassment before she continues to bother me, taking a seat  next to me on the bed. "So how is Rion's telling you that she's not a party girl, not necessarily turning you down?"

"She gave me her number. You know, for someone who doesn't like to hang out with girls you surely do a lot of girly gossip. You're so nosey, Jesus."

"Oh please, Harrow. You wanted to tell me just as bad if not worse than I wanted to know. Are you going to call her tonight?"

“No. That's too forward and desperate. I'll text her tomorrow or something."

"You're such a teenaged girl. You think about things too much instead of just doing them. Sometimes I wonder if you have a bajingo where your penis should be. If she gave you her number its because she wants a call.”

"Go fuck off somewhere else Mitchel! And by the way, those joggers and that shirt are mine. Thief."

Michelle stood from the bed with a smirk on her face before she took off my shirt and my sweats, folding them precisely before she put them in my washing basket. I kept my eyes on her face when she looked back at me and I swear that I tried to keep my eyes on her face the entire time, but I would be lying if I said that my eyes didn't roam over her  smooth skin when she wasn't looking at me. I closed my eyes quickly and turned my head away. Hearing her laugh was the only evidence that I had to let me know that she was still standing in my room.

"I didn't say take off my clothes right now. God, Chelle don't be so literal. Go dress yourself!"

"I have on underwear! And you took off your shirt when you came through the door. AND I've seen you walk around in your boxers plenty. Is there some sort of double standard because I'm a woman?”

"That's not the point! And yes there is! Please go put on trousers and a shirt?"

“Whatever, Harry. I'm going to bed. Clearly I'll have to sleep this way because it's hot as hell fire in my room. It's a shame that this is a new building but they still didn't bother to make sure that the ventilation was right before they stuck people in it. Good night and all that."

"Night." I looked towards Chelle and then looked away again as she began to walk out of my room, her nicely rounded bum bounced as she closed the door behind her.

****

Saturday came quickly. Too quickly for my liking, and I hadn't text Rion or called her at all. I didn't want to seem desperate, but perhaps waiting three days made it seem like I wasn't interested? I hadn't seen her at work for the past two days because she has two other jobs to juggle. I'd hoped that she could get off for today, however, even though I haven't said a word to her.

"Just call her. Stop being a chicken shit. The party is tonight, and I'm rooting for you, Styles." Michelle spoke as we walked down the aisles of Sainsbury Supermarket. We'd been here for nearly half an hour and had nothing in our cart except beer, noodle cups, frozen pizza's and a bottle of Goldschläger for tonight. Broke college students can afford alcohol when they can't afford anything else.

"Are we going to buy any real food, or is this about as good as it gets?" I asked, ignoring Michelle's comment.

"What? We've got plenty. Plus I think there are chicken nuggets in there and that's a delicacy for us. Don't avoid what I've said to you."

"I haven't avoided anything, and we would be able to get more than chicken nuggets and noodles if you would just call your parents."

Michelle hesitated before she looked back at me and then back down at her list. She doesn't call her parents much to ask for money if she can avoid it. Her mum isn't doing so well health wise and to the best of my knowledge she hasn't been for some years now. The doctors thought that she had leukemia, but apparently they've only just discovered that's not the case. I think it's what drives Michelle's dream to become a doctor. She's eager to find out what's going on with her mum so that she can be the one to cure it.

She glanced at her phone having an internal battle with herself on whether she should ring home or not. I felt bad for asking her and I normally wouldn't, but I'm running low on funds myself. I usually get a stipend every other week from my mum and paid every other Friday from my shitty job, but unfortunately I'm between pay checks and for some reason my mum is late.

Michelle decided against my idea putting her phone back in her pocket.

"We're in our last year of uni. What would it look like if we resorted to calling our parents to wire us food money? You call yours if you're so hungry."

"It would look like we're both working shit jobs barely making wage and paying to rent out the apartment that we have so that we can finish out this last year with a roof over our heads. I wouldn't ask you to usually, but is an emergency. I asked my parents last time. It's your turn."

“Well, we can just get rid of something then if we don't have enough." Michelle stopped the cart and began to sift through the contents inside it, moving over ten cups of noodles out of the way and the one bag of chicken nuggets that we had. When her hand landed on the alcohol, we both looked at each other and shook our heads no. "Fuck," Michelle groaned under her breath, "Fine I'll ask my parents tomorrow. Let’s just get this for now and get out of here."

When we left the grocery store, after loading all four of our bags into my car, Michelle got quiet while looking out the window. I still hadn't told her that Louis is planning on meeting up with me and the lads to drink before we go just to prove that he's not one of those people and usually, now days anyway, wherever Louis is Michelle is far away and vice versa. I figure that there's no better time to tell her rather than now while she's quiet, but at the same time I don't want to hurt her feelings. She seemed lost in thought, but there's still a smile on her face.

I cleared my throat causing her to look at me quizzically with an eyebrow raised.

"Um, so.."

"Yes?"

"About the party tonigh-"

"No you don't!" Michelle cut in not allowing me to finish what I was going to say as we pulled up to our apartment. "You're not cutting out of this. Gosh, Harry, I know that you want to be more serious and that this year and I'm sorry for not using the Ultimate Alarm the other day when you were in an alcoholic hibernation, but it's a Saturday. Can you not have fun on Saturdays?" Michelle frowned pouting a bit.

"I'm going to the party, if that's what that speech was pertaining to at all? I wasn't going to say that I'm not going."

"Oh. Well then by all means continue." She smiled this time, happy with herself because she didn't have to argue her case any further.

"Yeah, I um, I'm going to the party, but Louis wanted me and the lads to meet up with him before we go. Pre-gaming and all that." I spoke quickly hoping that she didn't mind or hear what I said for that matter. Her eyes stayed straight forward, looking outside the windshield before she replied.

"All of you?"

"Yeah. He kind of asked about it earlier this week when I saw him...But you know we'll hang out at the party and stuff."

She nodded her head. It was the only response she'd given as her eyes stayed on the boot of the car in front of us.

"Are you alright with it? I can always-"

"Don't worry about it, Harrow. You were his friends first after all, and we live with each other. I'm tired of seeing your ugly mug anyway." Michelle laughed while patting my cheek and I shoved her hand off of me. "Plus, we all know I have bitches that I need to tend to so it's fine."

She covers up how she truly feels with a joke and all of a sudden I feel guilty.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah it's fine. You're very much a pleaser, Harrow. Did you know that?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked as I parked the car and grabbed the groceries out of the back seat to go upstairs.

"You can't please everyone. In the end someone is going to have to be let down or hurt. That's the way of life. It's okay to be selfish sometimes, Harry. That's what I mean."

Michelle sighed as she walked ahead of me, using her keys to unlock the door to our flat. I put the groceries and my things down in the kitchen before I went for a wee, all the while trying to figure out where the hell that last bit of our conversation was coming from, but when I came out of the bathroom she was back to acting like her normal self.

"Since you're leaving me to fend for myself tonight," Michelle spoke holding up two double shot glasses filled to the brim with alcohol, "We didn't buy this for nothing." She spoke in reference to the Goldschläger that ate up the majority of our money and bit her bottom lip while smiling at me.

I winced, already feeling the burn of the liquid going down my throat, before looking at my watch.

"It's only five. No one is going to start drinking until at least nine. You're trying to kill me. I said sorry for agreeing to go with Louis and the lads. Why are you making me do this?"

"Harry, when we were first years we drank early all the time."

"And my liver paid for it."

"Oop, Harry what's that?"

I looked over my shoulder confused before I looked back over to Michelle.

"What's what?"

"Is that a bajingo between your legs where you penis should be?" Michelle started to laugh while pointing in that general area.

"Piss off Chelle!" I spoke before walking up to the table and grabbing the shot that she'd placed there for me. I held it up to eye level inspecting it first. There was something floating in the glass.

"It's actually gold," Michelle said seeing the confusion written clean across my face, "hence the name Goldschläger."

"So we can afford to drink gold flecks in alcohol, but we can't afford real food?"

"I'm going to call my parents tomorrow I said, Mr. Sensable. Now shut up and down it!"

I looked at Michelle shaking my head as we clinked glasses and turned the shot up to our lips. The burn of it made my eyes water and when I looked at Michelle, hers were doing the same. I picked up the bottle on the table and read it before Michelle took it from my hands, pouring us both another shot.

"This is forty-five percent alcohol."

"Yes. It's strong. So, so strong." She nodded as if she already knew.

"We'll be trashed if we keep drinking this. We probably wouldn't even make it to the party." I spoke before I walked over to the refrigerator to grab us beers, hoping that she would switch substances.

"No we won't. I won't let us miss it. But legend has it that this is supposed to get you drunk quickly. The gold flecks supposedly make microscopic cuts in your esophagus so the alcohol can get into your bloodstream faster. Cheers." Michelle handed me the shot glass again as if after hearing that I would want to drink it again.

"Michelle that's horrible. I don't want to-"

"Just take one more shot of it and then we'll just sip beer until you leave to go meet up with Louis and the rest of the lads."

Her eyes were pleading and I couldn't tell her no. We both flipped our heads back as he downed the shots and with in a peer pressured hour, ten shots and two beers later, there was a sloppy grin on my face and I my vision was doubled. Michelle however seemed fine.

"Your alcohol tolerance has lowered dramatically. It’s almost seven. What time were you going to go to Louis'?"

"In an hour."

"I'll drive you." She spoke as she sat against the couch taking out her phone and laughing at my facial expression.

"You had just as much to drink as I have. You can't drive."

"I can. I've got a buzz but that's all. You're trashed. I only had three shots. The other seven you took alone." I looked at her in shock. How could she have tricked me that way? I swear she was drinking too. Michelle laughed and I could already tell that she was recording me. "I'm putting this on instagram."

"Don't! I really hate you." I slurred while pointing at her, only causing her to laugh more.

"You need to loosen up, especially for your hot date tonight. There's no point in you being so uptight at the start of the quarter. I'll let you go back to your boring self when Monday comes around again." She pulled her phone away from me as I tried to take it from her. "You might want to check your phone by the way. It seems you have a message."

I looked down at the notification that showed on the screen, squinting my eyes to try and focus on what was there. When my eyes adjusted, I almost felt sober.

Rion: I was starting to think that maybe you'd forgotten about me. I checked my schedule and I'm actually free tonight. I don't know how long I'll stay, but I'll meet you there. Alison is going so I'll just be with her.

My eyes widened before I scrolled up to see what I supposedly said.

To Rion: Hiiiii, It's Harry. Sorry for being such a stupid arsehole and not texting you sooner, but would you still want to go to that party tonight?

"You texted Rion?"

"Yup."

"But I-I'm not...Fuck!"

"What? You like her right? I've done you a favor."

"Yeah, but—“

"No but's. You either like her or you don't and if you do and if she likes you, which she does, obviously, then you have the go ahead to call. She wanted you to call. She clearly likes you. She's excited and so are you. You're just nervous. You haven't been on a date in six months or maybe more? But, this should be like riding a bike, if you will. I've removed your kickstand, now all you have to do is pedal."

I looked at Michelle and shook my head before I went in my room to find something to wear for tonight, deciding on the usual skinny jeans and oversized shirt, leaving a few of the buttons in the front undone as I stumbled into the living room to wait for Michelle. She reappeared from her room shortly after I did wearing black leather looking tight pants and some sort of red cut off shirt along with her fake glasses and red lips. She looked beautiful and I could only think that she was doing so for Alison.

As much as Chelle would doubt it, I think the player may have taken an interest in one that's supposed to be a pawn in her dating game. All I can hope for is that Alison treats her right. She deserves someone who would.

"What's the point of wearing a shirt if it’s barely buttoned, Styles? And it's see through. I mean I guess kudos for buttoning the three buttons you did bother with correctly." It could be because I'm drunk, but I could have sworn that I saw her look me up and down...not necessarily in a friendship manner. I ignored her while grinning and standing from the couch before she grabbed the Goldschläger again pouring us both another shot. "One for the road?"

"I'll take it if you take it first you lying Judas. I'm already drunk enough as it is."

Michelle cringed before she threw her head back downing the shot, eyes watering again by how strong of a burn the cinnamon schnapps left behind. I did the same and then took another for the hell of it since I wouldn't be driving tonight. Michelle eyed me as I walked down the stairs and to her car as if I would fall.

"Stop watching me and walk yourself."

"Someone has to watch out for you. You're clumsy enough as it is, bambi. Adding alcohol to the mix is a disaster waiting to strike."

"Says the absolute asshole who got me drunk in the first place."

"Oh yeah...That's right." Michelle smiled victoriously before she spoke again, clearing her throat before hand, "Uh, so, since I'm taking you to Louis' place where does he stay? I know he must have moved from where we lived before..." Her face dropped slightly.

"With his bird about five blocks over... Sorr-"

"It's fine." Michelle started her car, looking through the windscreen straight ahead like she did earlier as she drove and listened to the directions I gave her, telling he where to turn.

When we pulled up in front of the house, Niall was outside on the porch with a beer in his hand, smoking a cigarette. No doubt because Hollie put him out of the house, not wanting anything to smell like stale smoke.

"Harry! Hi Mitch!" He waved to us as he stumbled over to the car clearly drunk himself and louder than usual. "You're staying too, Michelle?" She shook her head no while smiling half way at Niall as I got out of the car. "You should stay. This thing, whatever it is, between you and Lou is ridiculous. You guys were so close and it can get there again. Just get out of the car and-"

"I can't Ni, I have somewhere to be, myself." Michelle's eyes begged Niall to be more quiet but he didn't get the hint. He was going to speak again, but was cut off by Lou as he walked out onto his porch with Hollie close behind. He didn't notice that Michelle was with us until I moved to walk towards the house.

"Lads!"

I looked from Michelle to Louis then back to Michelle again and as I did I saw her eyes widen right before she cursed under her breath. Louis paused in his steps, and his eyebrows drew together slightly before he spoke.

"Michelle." He nodded at her as a greeting gesture making everything more awkward.

"Louis."

"Mitch can stay right?" In that moment everyone looked at Niall as he took another drunken, oblivious drag off of his cigarette and it appeared that everyone wanted to punch him in the face, including me.

"No actually I was just leaving. Enjoy your night boys. Be safe, Harrow. I'll see you later yeah?"

I nodded my head before she spoke a simple "good," and sped off as quickly as her car could take her. Louis took a deep breath, shaking his head before smiling at us and inviting us in for more booze. I honestly didn't think that I would drink anymore tonight, but after that I felt the need to.

Niall dropped his cigarette and stepped on it while shrugging his shoulders at me as we followed behind Louis into the house where everyone else sat.

“Read the room next time, yeah?” I spoke under my breath hoping that only Niall would hear me.

“What room? It’s stupid that they don’t talk anymore. For fucks sake he was going t’ marry—”

“I know, Niall. I know.” I interrupted Niall mid sentence and could not help but notice the hitch in my jaw, that became more sore than it had been in a while.

 We all spoke as we walked in the house and I put the topic behind me in order to proceed on with the rest of the night and  for the first time in a while I was happy that the liquor continued to flow. It  seemed to put me and everyone else around in the right mindset for one of the biggest parties of the year, but Louis still seemed somewhat flustered about seeing Michelle for the first time since they called things off. I know Michelle probably didn't feel the best either and I tried to text her to see if she was alright, but I got no response.

Chelle: Are you okay, Chelle? I'm so sorry about that. Didn't know that he would come outside.

Though I got no response to my text, I expected to see Michelle as soon as we got to The Barn. The title of the bar was fitting as it was out closer towards farmland and covered in red paint as it actually was previously a stable. It was crowded with everyone from students to professors indulging in what the night had to offer, but as I skimmed the crowd I began to get more anxious. We had been here for an hour. I was sure that by now that I would have run into her. Taking out my phone, I’d opted to give her a ring, but before I could unlock my screen my phone began to buzz in my hand.

"Hello?" I slurred on the line while closing my opposite ear with my finger so that I could hear whoever it was I was talking to.

"Harry?" The deafening music and noise in the background made it almost impossible to hear.

"No, this is Harry." hiccup “Who is this?"

"Harry, it's Rion can you hear me?"

I walked away from Niall, Darragh, and the rest of the lads as they prepared to make Niall do a keg stand; swaying as I went.

"Who is this?" I repeated trying to hear better, hoping that it was Michelle calling me back in response to the text I’d sent.

"Harry, it's Rion. Can you hear me now?"

"Rion?"

"Yes."

"Hi." I smiled as if she were in front of me, when in all actuality I was in the middle of the crowded street surrounded by a sea of strangers. A car honked at me just as I was about to cross back towards the party, causing me to step back so that I didn't get hit.

"Where are you?" She laughed into the phone causing me to smile again.

“Outside enjoying the weather. Are you here? At the party I mean."

"I am," when she spoke I could hear the smile in her voice, over the excessive chattering and music in the background. "Can you come to the doors near the front of the pub and meet me there?"

"Sure. Stay on the phone with me? You know, just until I find you." I slurred into the phone but Rion laughed again nonetheless.

"Of course...Is that you in the middle of the street? Please be careful if it is."

I looked around, confused as to how she could see me but I couldn't see her. I walked towards the pub again forcing my bleary eyes to focus until I spotted her, standing on a large rock that was just outside the door. When I reached her, I held out my hand to help her down. She took it and called me a gentleman before I said anything else.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" I asked as I looked down at her in her jean jacket and simple black dress that clung to her chest then flowed down to her feet.

"I guess. It's not that bad. Ten times better than the last party I went to already."

I laughed.

"You haven't drunk anything?"

"One mixed drink, but I didn't really finish it. Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked me as we began to walk to nowhere in particular.

"I am. A little bit more now, actually.” A slight blush came to Rion's cheeks before she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and I cleared my throat to continue. "Where's your flatmate?"

"Alison? I'm not sure. She said she was going to meet up with a friend of hers. The same girl that she was with the last time no doubt."

My mind went to Michelle as I checked my phone again and still I had no messages from her.

"So, she left you here?"

"I haven't seen her in the last hour... She could have. But if she did, I have no real way home now. She was my ride. I knew I should have just driven on my own."

I didn't say anything more, but I had the feeling that Alison bailed. I might have an idea as to who with and where to as well.

"Well, are you ready to go?" We ended up closer to the street facing in the direction of the campus. "The night is oddly nice for the end of August and the sky isn't as cloudy as it could be. We might miss getting rained on if we leave now."

"Do you have your car?" She asked looking towards me as if it were a deal breaker.

“No, but I would walk back with you. The parties aren't really my thing anymore. I just came to catch up with some friends. It was nice to get out. We're only about a 15 minute walk away from campus."

Rion looked towards the pub and then back at me again before she smiled and answered me sweetly.

"I'd love to get out of here with you."

Rion and I began walking, but as soon as we got a little bit past the corner where the party was being held at she stopped, causing me to stop as well and look back at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you going to tell any of your friends that you're leaving?" She asks while holding her dress up just past her ankles so it doesn't touch the ground.

I grin at her, absolutely ecstatic that she's giving me the chance to walk her back to her dorm room. If those tossers want to know where I went they know how to call. I guess Mitch really did do me a favor and I might owe her one after this.

"Oh, um...No. They're having a good time. I'm sure they won't even notice that I left. It's okay. Besides, I'm getting kind of tired anyway. I could always just shoot them a message."

Rion nods her head in agreement before we begin to walk again. Bunching the material of her dress in one hand in hopes not to step on it, I couldn't help but chuckle as I looked at her.

"Its so long. I love this dress but it's a bit of a hassle to wear." Rion comments, already knowing the reason for my amusement. I gently grab her hand to stop her once more and this time she looks at me with as soft smile forming on her lips.

"Here, let me..." I trailed off, gently taking her hand that had the fabric of her dress, causing her to let it go. Our eyes met as I slowly went down on my knees in front of her. If I would have gone too fast I'm sure I would have lost my balance or worse. It's almost a wonder that I can form a coherent sentence. All that I can hope is that I don't completely reek of alcohol.

I take the hem of the dress and tie a knot in it that's hopefully loose enough to undo when she gets home if she wants, and high enough so that she doesn't have to worry about stepping on it or have it sweep on the ground to get torn or dirty; just above her ankles. I'm not going to lie, when I was down there I looked at her feet and what I could see of her legs. I won't say I have a foot fetish or anything weird like that, but if a girls toes looks like they can pick up an orange with ease and whip it at the back of your head, it's kind of a turn off for me.

Her feet were beautiful aside from a few cuts here and there on her the tops of them. She even had a plaster or two on one of them, but somehow she even made that okay because they matched the purple coloring of her nail polish.

I stood after I was finished, and by the look on her face I must have been down there for a reasonable amount of time to make a knot, at least I hope I was. When I was looking at her feet, I had to make it not so noticeable that that's what I was doing. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of a freak.

"Thank you," she exclaimed while smiling, "I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"Yeah I saw some other girl do it and thought it made sense."

Rion smiled at me again and as we walked next to each other, her hand grazed mine; once, twice, three times before I grabbed it in my own. I saw her look over at me through her peripheral vision. It was a quick glance but I saw it nonetheless. I also saw her bite her bottom lip to try to prevent her smile from getting any bigger than it already was.

I didn't want to bust her out and embarrass her, but I did want to tease her a little. I gently squeezed her hand while biting my bottom lip to stop my smile from spreading much like she did, causing her to laugh before I changed the subject.

"The sky is really clear tonight. I can see Orion's Belt. It really might not rain after all."

"My namesake." Rion smirked.

"Sorry, what?" I spoke noticing that the party sounds were fading farther and farther into the distance.

"My mum is really into Greek mythology and constellations, so my name and its spelling came from Orion himself." She pointed towards the sky and the huge constellation before she looked back at me, slipping her hand back into mine purposefully.

"Cool story. And I'm not being a sarcastic asshole or anything by the way. That makes your name original." hiccup "And I like it a lot. I think my mum named me Harold because it was the only male name that begins with H and that comes after G that she could think of. Her creativity stopped after she realized that she wanted to put her kids names in alphabetical order." Rion laughed and nudged my arm.

"Don't talk about your mum. I think she might have chosen the name because Harry fits you. I've always liked that name."

"Have you now?" I asked with a smirk on my face and an eyebrow raised.

"I have."

"It's because of Prince Harry isn't it? Be honest."

"No it's-"

"Tell the truth."

"He's just so cute. He's the dreamiest ginger I've ever seen besides Ed Sheeran. All due respect to his royalness." Rion spoke causing me to laugh and shake my head before she continued. "Then again, all of the Harry's I've had the pleasure of meeting were pretty fit." She said looking over at me and then back up at the velvety black night sky speckled with beautiful stars.

"How many of us have you met?"

"Well...Just one so far."

I looked over at her as we finally reached a street that had lamp posts and she let out a small chuckle that sounded as if she were clearing her throat. Her eyes caught the light that lined the streets making her irises seem to brighten even though her eye color was dark brown.

We'd finally reached campus just as the clouds started to roll in at two in the morning and from there, I followed Rion's lead back to her dorm. In my three full years at Cambridge, I'd never been to this one in particular, but apparently, Michelle has. I saw her car in the parking lot. Something told me that she would be here, seeking comfort for the blow she received earlier. The sooner that she realizes that fucking doesn’t fix what hurts her, the better off she'll be. Part of me wants to bang on the door as soon as we get to the room, but I decide against it. All I cab hope that she’ll talk to someone eventually. If that someone happens to be Alison, then I'll be happy for her, I guess.

"Thank you, Harry. For getting me home safe and asking me to come out. I had fun for the amount of time I was there for." Rion leaned against her door, smiling while looking up at me.

"It was no problem. Thank, you for, you know, coming." I could hear myself wanting to ramble before I closed my mouth.

“Good night, then." Rion spoke, still smiling and then pausing.

"Goodnight."

Rion turned to unlock her door and when she got it open I turned to leave, but before I could go I could feel her pull my hand. When I turned she had a pout on her face.

"You know, you're really horrible at picking up on signals."

Huh?

"I-"

"I waited so patiently as well."

"I'm-"

"Three days. You didn't text me or say anything for three days. I didn't know what to think. I still don't."

"You're-"

"Oh shut up, Harry."

Rion crossed her arms over her chest and out of shock I closed my mouth, not really sure what to say or do. Rion squinted her eyes at me before shaking her head and turning to go into her little dorm before I stopped her, pulling her to me before I kissed her deeply, pushing her against the wall a bit to show her how it should be done.After it was over Rion sighed in content with her eyes still closed before reopening them slowly. I grinned against her lips before speaking knowing that I’d won her over.

"I didn't know what to think either to be honest. It's been a while."

Rion grabbed me by the front of my shirt, bringing my lips back down to hers.She pulled away, kissing the corner of my mouth making a trail to my ear and then kissing me right beneath my earlobe. There was no tongue involved at all but it still had been the most action than I'd gotten in months and it was still enough to leave us both breathless at the end of her antics. 

"Do you know what to think now?” She pushed her door open, speaking before she closed the door behind herself with a cheeky smile.

I’m not sure how long I stood there with a goofy grin on my face after it was all said and done, but when I got to the stairs my drunken mind allowed my legs to work properly and carry me down while still having the memory replay in my head.

I'd only gotten through the doors of the exit of her dormitory before my brain went to my pants, thinking that I might be able to get a good wank before I fell asleep with Rion's lips pressed against my jaw as the mental muse. Just when I thought about flushing any possible tissues instead of putting them in my bin, my phone rang.

"Harry?" Rion whispered into the phone, sounding on the agitated side.

"Rion? What's wrong?"

"She's at it again." Rion exhaled into the phone before I heard the creaking of a door, sounding as if it were being shut.

"Who's at what?"

"Alison and her, friend."

I started to chuckle, thinking of all of the ways that I would tease Michelle tomorrow when I saw her. I know that she's been active, but damn. She's got to be insatiable. I pictured her and Alison, terribly sweaty, gasping for air-

"Harry?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" Rion's voice snapped me out of getting too carried away in inappropriate thought again. Thoughts that I shouldn't venture into about my best pal.

"I really want to be able to sleep without being disrupted. Do you mind if I come to yours? I'll sleep on the couch, the floor, a chair. Anything you wouldn't mind sparing really."

“No, of course I don't mind."

Oh god.

"Are you sure? Should you ask your flatmate first? I wouldn't want to intrude on you or him."

My mind was swimming with a thousand things. Minor details that had the potential to be major. Is my room clean? When is the last time that I had a girl in my room that wasn’t Michelle? Do we have water bottles that I can offer Rion when we get into my flat if she's thirsty? Why does Rion think that Mitch is a guy?

“No… I uh, I'm alone for the night, actually. My flatmate is staying somewhere else I think." In your roommates' room, disrupting you currently.

"Thank you so much." Rion breathed out, sounding somewhat relieved.

"Yeah no problem. I'll turn around now."

"Oh shit, did you get far? I'm so sorry."

"No it's fine. I just got down the street a bit." I spoke as I neared her building again.

I saw her walking out in the same clothes she was wearing before. When she got to me, she thanked me again before we took the surprisingly short walk towards my flat.

"You live in the new buildings? Fancy."

"Yeah, it's alright. For it being new, the ventilation sucks in Mitch's room, but that's the only complaint we have."

I unlocked the door and turned the knob saying a silent prayer as we walked in, but I'd forgotten that Michelle cleaned the whole place, including my room despite my protest for her not to.  It was the first time that I’d been happy that she didn’t listen to me.

"It's really nice, Harry. You were being modest." Rion spoke as she tiptoed through the apartment, stopping in the living-room and taking a seat for herself before removing her sandals. "Really clean for two lads."

"Oh, actually-"

"Sorry, Harry. I don't want to interrupt, but do you think I could use the restroom first? I'm bursting to go."

I laughed while running my hand through my hair. "Sure. It's just down the hall. We wouldn't want a repeat of your last party."

Rion turned red, covering her mouth in a laugh and speaking to me as she walked down the hall.

"I really still can't believe I told you that."

While she was gone, I grabbed extra blankets from the linen closet and laid out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts of mine for her to wear on my bed. I also grabbed a bottle of water and put it on my desk for her in case she was thirsty, thankful that I made Michelle put some of those noodle cups back in exchange for it. Before I made my bed on the couch, I went into Michelle's room to steal one of her pillows but I’d gotten distracted easily. On her bedside table was a picture of the both of us taken last year. We were both pretty out of it and you can clearly tell in the photo, but in the midst of all the insanity Michelle was still alert and smiling at me while I was laughing and pulling her shirtsleeve with my teeth.

When I heard Rion leaving the bathroom I quickly left from Michelle's room, placing the photograph back down where I got it from and closing her bedroom door behind me.

"You'll be in my room. I've laid you out some things to make you more comfortable."

"Awe, Harry. I can take the couch really. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

"No you won't. Now, go to bed. Good night, but for real this time."

Rion eyed me as she nodded her head in agreement, a slight grin on her lips. 

“Yes for real this time.” She spoke before her bottom lip was drawn into her mouth. The liquor I consumed tonight made me do the same as I looked her up and down shamelessly, grinning as I did so.

I started to take a step backwards only to notice that Rion advanced forwards causing me to stop in my tracks. Our lips connected again more fervently than they had before, before I started to walk again leading Rion back into my bedroom.

[fa-headhoncho]

Fake Boyfriend

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Prompt: Mineta is a creep and you devise a plan for it to come to an end.

Word Count: 1290

Reader: Female

Warning: Gotta love a good fake dating trope... Very Americanized, I’m so sorry. lmk if you guys want more parts, I have a few in mind.

Masterlist

Part 2

=====

You were sat on your bed, trying to finish the last bit of homework before the weekend started. Notes and books were spread out in front of you while the assignment laid in your lap untouched. Something was running through your head that you couldn’t let go of.

You bite the end of your pencil, trying to process what’s going through your mind. It wasn’t a topic you were well versed on. The girls brought it up today and the words echoed. Flicking your gaze over at your desk where Bakugo was sitting, the temptation to break the silence was high.

“Bubba?” You call out in a small voice.

He lets out a small grumble, his focus never leaving his homework. “What did I say about that?”

You roll your eyes at him, “I’ve been calling you that since we were kids and I’m not stopping now. I’ve told you that before.” You chide with a small smile. The two of you have been friends from the womb it seems since your mothers were friends. Growing up together, spending every moment together up until you were sent off to an all-girls boarding school for middle school. 

Reuniting at UA, the two of you caught up like no time had passed. The difference is Bakugo’s ego and strive to become the number one hero only increased. He would never admit it, but he had a soft spot for his childhood best friend.

“Do you think…” You scratch the back of your neck, uncomfortable with the topic. “Do you think… Mineta is a bit…” Your voice trails off as you try to find the right word. “Too friendly with me?”

He lets out a snort, unaware of the serious shift in the air. “Yea, that kids a fucking perv. You give him a skirt and he’ll try to look up it.” 

“No— Katsuki.” You let out a sigh and rub your hand over your face. “This is serious, please.” You beg while staring at the back of his head.

The blond stiffens in his seat at your words. He fiddles with his pencil, mentally preparing himself before he sets it down and spins his chair. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, he directs all his attention to you.

“The girls were talking today about him and Mina mentioned how it seemed like I was his favorite.” Your eyes shift down to your hands as you fiddle with the end of your sweatshirt. “It made me think and then I started to notice and I just—“ Shaking your head at how ridiculous you sound, you cut yourself off. “I don’t know. I’m being stupid.”

Katsuki stays quiet for a few moments, trying to plan his words carefully to not offend you. “First of all, you are not stupid. You’re just a bit clueless.” He starts off causing you to let out a scoff, after all these years you think you would be used to his bluntness, “I meant with… sexual stuff. And he likes to take advantage of that.”

You nod and go quiet as you process the information. Being at an all-girls took a toll on… that kind of education but it never really processed. Mineta always made you uncomfortable but you never realized how… until now.

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” He stands up with his fist balled at his sides, “I’ll kick his ass right now, I’ve been waiting to ever since—“ 

“No, no,” You shake your head at him, chuckling at his enthusiasm. He never failed to defend you, even back when it was a playground bully. But this was different, you were grown up now. Plus, it was more complicated than insulting your pigtails. “Hurting him won’t make him learn anything, Katsuki.”

“Then what will?”

You wrack your brain, trying to come up with a better way to scare the creep off. Now that you told Katsuki, you had to come up with a plan or he’d take it into his own hands. No matter how much you begged him not to, he always did things like that.

Then an idea pops into mind causing you to let out a gasp. A large smile appears on your face as you scramble off your bed towards him, crumpling all the notes in the process. Katsuki knows that face too well.

“What dumb idea just wiggled its way into that small brain of yours?” He demands as you stand in front of him.

You let out a little giggle as you grab his hands, not noticing the way his breath hitches at the contact. “Bakugo Katsuki,” You look up at him through your lashes. “Will you do the honors of being my boyfriend?”

“Your what?” He screams in your face but you are unfazed. He rips his hands out of yours and glares at you. “Are you crazy?”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you explain yourself, “If I was dating someone, maybe Mineta would leave me alone.”

“Why me? Why can’t you ask one of the other idiots?”

“Because you’re… you.” You weakly defend, knowing the other boys wouldn’t care for your antics. You, once again, grab his hands and look up at him. “So, will you, Bubba?” You ask, putting your best puppy dog face.

Katsuki’s facade never fades as his heartbeat picks up. He’s imagined this day before but he didn’t think it was going to be a cover-up because you wanted a little purple perv to leave you alone.

“I—“

A knock at the door interrupts his answer making you throw your head back with a groan. You drop his hands and stomp over to the door. Swinging it open, you snap at whoever is standing there, “What?”

“Chill, dudette.” Denki greets, a large smile on his face.

“Yea, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Mineta’s nasally voice catches your attention making you look down. His chuckle that follows sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, hey.” You switch your tone into an upbeat one. “What do you guys need?”

Mineta and Denki share a look, smirks coming onto their faces.

“Some of us were going down to the beach before the sun set and were wondering if you wanted to come with us,” Mineta asks while not-so-subtly checking you out.

“Oh,” You breathe out, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of being in your swimsuit around him. “I—“

“She’s busy, runt.” Bakugo appears behind you, a hand on the door frame and the other slipping around your waist. Your eyes widen and you look up at him. He smiles down at you causing a small blush to appear on your face.

The smirks are wiped off their faces and are replaced with flabbergasted expressions, jaws dropped to the floor.

“Are you guys gonna just stand there or…?” He raises an eyebrow, his attention going back to the boys, “We were kind of in the middle of something, weren’t we?” He gives you a rough pull, bringing you closer to him with a sly grin. You’re snapped out of your daze when he squeezes your side.

“Oh,” Flicking your gaze back to the two boys, “yea, yea.” You aggressively nod with a large smile. “Bye!” And with that, you slam the door in their faces.

Denki and Mineta stand there, staring at the door. Their minds were boggled at their encounter with the new “couple”. On the other side of it, you were trying to keep your excitement quiet. Holding a hand over your mouth to muffle your squeal, you bounce up and down in front of him. Bakugo watches with a tired expression on his face, he didn’t regret his actions but he knew he was going to regret the outcome.