#a little on the loose side so i’m hoping they firm up overnight in the fridge before i bake em in the morning but. they’re very tasty

[gristlegrinder]

made jalapeño poppers for the work function tomorrow… need everybody to manifest that i DO NOT RUB MY EYEBALLS WITH MY CONTAMINATED HANDS despite being very sleepy and cozy in bed

[ellsbclls]

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship. 

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit. 

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing," 

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand. 

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly. 

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment. 

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

[sanguine-tenshi]

I just finished Inazuma and I have words

TL;DR: Hate the story, mixed on characters, love the design and tired of being treated like a 4-year-old with a learning disability.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

Let’s start with what I like.

Inazuma is absolutely beautiful. I’ll admit Inazuma hits a lot of aesthetic points for me. All the islands are different enough to feel unique but they still look like they are a part of the same land. There are a lot of secrets to discover through just exploring. Each island has a world quest to help it (make it less hostile towards you) so it very much feels like you are saving Inazuma from itself.

.

The puzzles are alright.

I like the cubes that rotate, I always put in the effort to figure them out properly.

Hate the ones that don’t rotate, they just aren’t engaging enough for me, so I just hit them at random and hope for the best.

The glowing floor tiles were fun, once you actually realized what they wanted you to do. A little bit too easy if I’m honest.

The electro compass isn’t really much of a puzzle, more of a fetch the nearest electrograna quest.

Those little pillars that require an electro connection are kinda boring to me, again not much of a puzzle, the hardest part is finding both pillars.

I love the new electro seelie, kinda hard to follow the jittery thing in certain parts but they make a nice contrast to the regular seelies.

.

I’m very much mixed on characters.

Yoimiya is adorable. She is so bright and bubbly. What little game play we had with her was fun and I love her over the top style of fighting. Kinda disappointed she’s another pyro archer but I do admit it fits her character well. It was also wonderful seeing her just settle down and be quiet, just be a part of that moment that obviously meant a lot to her. It’s always nice to see that bubbly, energetic character have that one quiet thing, ya know. Kinda funny it’s fireworks, of all things, for her.

Gorou I like, from what little we’ve seen of him. My man killed a dude with his thighs so I’m down. I do find it kinda ridiculous that a resistance general has his whole damn belly exposed. There is also something about his voice that just does not fit. I cannot for the life of me put my finger on what exactly it is. Could be the tone itself, could be just voice acting. It sort of feels like the VA is trying to sound deeper than he actually does.

Sangonomiya Kokomi, mixed. I like her design, she looks like some sort of mystical priestess. Again something about the voice is jarring. I expected her to sound sort of airy, like she isn’t 100% present, like she’s seeing something we can’t. TBH she reminds me of Luna from HP for some reason. 

Yae Miko, I was interested because of her design. She sounds very arrogant and up her own ass, which would have been fine...if she hadn’t given us that god-awful line. “...I have high hopes for you, child. Don’t disappoint me.” Dear lord I wanted to punt her off the mountain. Or fucking what! Also she’s some bigshot priestess of the Sacred Sakura and yet she can’t do her damn job properly. Why couldn’t her arrogant ass come down from her high perch and cleanse the stupid roots? Why did the traveler have to do that shit?

Baal looks dead inside. Booba sword is overrated, get a life. I want a remach! And no cutscene shenanigans this time!

Kujou Sara seems like one of those ‘honor above all else’ characters. Those are either hit or miss with me. You have my attention for now. Also what are those shoes woman?! I’d rather you wear those leg-killing, needle point stilettoes instead of those Wish gag shoes. How in the name of all that is holy can you run in those?!

Thoma, I like him. At first I thought we were gonna get another Childe incident, but Thoma is too much of a innocent puppy to pull anything that horrible. To me he fits a fox a lot better than Childe does. Childe is a dingo and I stand behind that.

Kamisato Ayaka...hate her. At first I was neutral on her. Nothing about her design really spoke to me, but I was willing to wait and see. But then miHoYo started to violently push her friendship at us. We are totally friends now, this is the first time you see my face, but we are so totally friends now. And during her story quest everyone was like “Ah, you are so good Ayaka. You are so nice Ayaka. You are so perfect Ayaka. We all love you so much Ayaka. And oh, how could a mere merchant like myself...” Ew, go away. This is the first time I’m actively not pulling on a character banner. Normally I pull even if I’m not particularly interested in a character, because you never know how good their gameplay is until you take them out in the map. But I think I’ll be skipping this one. No thanks.

.

And now, the worst part, the story.

We’ve been hearing about the situation in Inazuma for a long time. There has been also a lot of talk about how hard it is to get there. About the wall of thunderclouds that surround the islands. So to have it cut to black and then voila Inazuma, feel just so cheap.

I was expecting something. An animation. A struggle. A quest. A minigame. At least show us the horrible weather! Something! Anything!

Hell if they wanted to be assholes about it they could have made it so that if the player fails at this point the ship is damaged, you return to Liyue and have to wait until tomorrow for the ship to be repaired. No Inazuma for today. That sure as hell would have raised the stakes.

The next complaint I have is with Yurika, the 2 milion mora processing fee girl. Later on Thoma mentions that the agency people see the fees as easy money, so her attitude doesn’t make much sense. After all someone like her would want to extract as much money as she can, but you still want the people to be able to pay that.

So it would make more sense to me if she was overly friendly and asked way too many questions. She’d need to get a much information as she can and after all the previous hostility people would be very open with her. So she’d be able to quickly find out why someone is here, what they are selling and roughly how much money they’d be able to pay. A merchant selling expensive silk would have more many than a regular ore merchant. So she’d be able to extract as much money as she could.

“I know this is a lot of money, especially for something so simple, but there is nothing I can do about it. I’m so very sorry.” And people wouldn’t say anything bad to her because she’s the first friendly face they see in Inazuma.

The stealth mission was just god-awful and I hope we never have to do that nonsense again.

Getting off of Ritou was a bit janky at the end, Chisato should have had a better reason for coming along. But I’m honestly just glad we didn’t get out the usual way...getting stuffed in a crate and smuggled out.

As a side note, I’m getting really tired of characters overexplaining things to me, especially Paimon. Dear lord, not everything has to be said, you can leave me to come to my own conclusions and solutions. Just please, who cares if a few player struggle for a bit, you don’t have to hold my hand through the whole thing.

Ayaka’s three were...ugh. It was basic emotional manipulation. Oh no this guy forgot about the love of his life and he’s been waiting for decades. And oh how sad this guy was so good and he helped these people so much but now he can’t remember. And oh the tragedy this guy forgot his life goal and is now hunted by the demons of the past. Oh the humanity! 

And it did not work. Know why? Because I have no emotional investment in any of these people, in this land. What is happening to the vision bearers in Inazuma is tragic, true, but that doesn’t make me want to overthrow the government. I don’t live here. I just got here. I wanna ask a question or two and then move on. None of this concerns me.

I was so happy when the traveler just flat out refused to start a revolution. And then we had to go and meet some people and immediately I knew this was going to be some oh noes the tragedy moments and then we would agree to help them.

It’s so forced.

Wanna know what would have been better?

Just as we are leaving the Kamisato estate Thoma catches up with us. And he tells us he gets it. We are an outsider and this doesn’t concern us. He was hopeful but he expected the denial. We shouldn’t hold it against Ayaka.

He joins us as a guide because he knows of the people we have to meet.

And so as we help these three we also get to know Thoma. We find out he was an outsider too. He got in just before the worst of it started and then he was stuck in Inazuma. He lost someone to the Vision Hunt. They slowly lost their mind after loosing their vision, their ambition too closely tied to their personality to continue without it (what is happening to Domon hits a little too close to home and he has to walk away, this is where we hear the story of the one he lost). And the same would have happened to him if the Kamisatos hadn't taken him in. He owes them his vision, his sanity and his life.

So this rebellion is personal for him.

At the end of the three wishes the atmosphere is somber. We tell him we understand why Ayaka fights, why he fights. We know that this is all wrong, that it should be stopped...but not by us. We came here to get a lead on our brother. And rebellion isn’t an overnight affaire and we can’t loose so much time in Inazuma.

And yeah, he expected as much. He just asks that we let Ayaka down gently. It’d be a shame if someone as idealistic and hopeful as her lost their spark.

And so we are gentle but firm with Ayaka. She looks like she wants to argue with us but Thoma shakes his head at her. So she sighs and tells us that a promise is a promise. We should come to the Komore Teahouse in a few days and she’ll have a plan for us to meet with the Shogun.

Now we can still have a character story quest with Yoimiya and we can still somehow get involved with helping Master Masakatsu, but it’s through Yoimiya instead of Ayaka.

And instead of a character story quest with Ayaka we have one with Thoma. Hell, give him a whole damn hangout event even.

You can probably guess why I’m pushing the friendship with Thoma so much.

Because. He. Gets. Kidnapped. For. The. 100th. Vision. Ceremony. 

And that would have been the perfect emotional in to get us involved in the rebellion. After all we just saw what happens to people who have their visions taken away and we are not letting that happen to Thoma, someone we just got close to.

So Baal makes it personal for us as well.

.

I have a few more minor complaints.

Aoi is stupid for asking for compensation after she tells us everything we needed to know because, ya know, we could have just walked away. We should have.

The whole stupid misunderstanding about the value Kurosawa’s sword holds. Kinda obvious he meant emotional value instead of monetary.

The suspicious amount of visionless NPCs and by that I mean this is the first time we have NPCs with vision. This wouldn’t have been a problem if we’ve seen NPCs with visions in Mond and Liyue.

The whole rebellion camp bit feels incredibly rushed. We just sort of lollygag over there and then there is a fight (against Sara and her stupid shoes).

Don’t make us fight Baal just to force us to lose. It would have been better if we were forced to retreat, because Thoma was injured, because there are too many soldiers for us to handle on our own. Hell, you can have a funny scene where we straight up jump off a cliff with Thoma clinging onto us and screaming bloody murder until he realizes we are slowly gliding away and he’s not about to plummet to his death.

The Sakura cleansing quest should have been voice acted.

The Mirror Maiden and Pyro Agent are totally on a date, I will not be told otherwise.

[luniellar]

The Union: Chapter Two - Sebastian Stan X Chris Evans X Reader

Summary: This fictional story takes place between the three kingdoms that hold great power in the untouchable lands located in Europe. Despite the modern developments in the other countries, these three kingdoms, Callisto, Europa and Io, exist hidden from the rest of the world and embrace the cultural customs shared for centuries from the early human civilizations.

You are the daughter of the Europa Kingdom led by your father, King Jovian. This year you reached the fruitful age of 21, meaning that it’s finally time to fulfill your duty as the princess of Kingdom Europa. The arranged marriage between Kingdom Europa and Kingdom Callisto has been something that your father planned for a long time to finally bring peace between the three kingdoms. Whether you like it or not, you are the key piece to it all. King Stan of Callisto is who you will be sharing the honor of the arranged marriage. He is known by all as a man of savage fighting nature and very few words. You know there is no hope wishing for the passionate love your father and mother shared, but will you be able to bring peace to this land to fulfill your father’s last wishes?  

Link: Prologue | 1 | 2

Warnings: SMUT (18+ WARNING) & Language

Word Count: 1.8K

“Damn it,” he muttered. “You have no idea how long I waited for you.”

You pulled apart from his forehead in confusion. He continued to hold your hands against his lips. But as you looked up, he looked down at you meeting in the middle.

“You waited for me?” You confronted him and he made a shy smile back.

“I did.”

You waited for more.

“I waited three years for this moment. We were supposed to get married when you turned 18, but your father begged me to have you stay with him longer,” he admitted. “I don’t blame him, you are a beautiful sight to treasure.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you felt the heat from your cheeks radiate around your body from the unexpected compliment. The sight of his body didn’t help with any of the feelings you were feeling right now. You wanted to kiss him again.

“I didn’t know…” You trailed off and he gently let your hand go.

“You really don’t leave that Castle of yours. I couldn’t even catch glimpses of my bride before the wedding.”

“I heard you were busy… I had no reason to be out if it wasn’t Europa business.”

“Is it bad if I admitted that I’m strangely turned on by that comment?”

You chuckled and he genuinely smiled at you. It was strange to see a hard exterior like his smile with so much heart. If they didn’t meet under these circumstances, what would it have been like? Would a guy like him even given you a chance?

“Yes, my king. That is quite strange,” you replied and he nodded.

“You can call me Sebastian,” he replied. “In return, I will also call you by your first name.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“I think you forgot that I was the King here.”

As you exchanged banter with him the space between you and him became non-existent. He looked down and moved the loose curls from your face. He gently kissed your forehead, cheeks, lips, chin, jaw and made his way to your neck. His stubble grazed on your exposed skin as he sucked in your skin with his teeth. A soft moan escaped your lips. He pulled away to admire the tender marking he left on your skin.

“Are you ready to do this?” He asked cautiously.

You came into this thinking that it was duty, but now your heart was desiring more. You wanted this more than you thought you did.

You nodded in response.

“You have to tell me,” he hesitated. “Once we start, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Yes. I want this.” You replied back, slightly scared of the words that left your mouth.

His bluish-green eyes got dark with lust as he started to tear the reception gown with his bare hands. The dress fell into pieces without any resistance against his strength. You watched as his biceps flexed effortlessly as the diamonds from your dress scattered across the carpet.

The cold air felt nice against your hot skin as you stood in front of him in a lacey white bra and matching panties. You watched him as he placed his against your skin for the first time. His warm, calloused hands grazed against your arms and traced the sides of your body with fire in his eyes. You were starting to realize what he meant by how he couldn’t stop himself.

In one motion, he picked you up and moved you to the bed. He pushed against you with his body until you were completely laying down on the satin sheets. His body was stretched over yours with one knee on the bed. He skillfully unclipped your bra and bowed his head and started to kiss your breasts. Another surprise moan escaped your lips as he moved on your nipple. You didn’t realize how sensitive your nipple was until he started to nibble on them with his teeth. Your reflexes went wild underneath his body and he quickly held your body in place with a firm grip.

“Relax,” he said in between the kisses on your nipples. “You need to relax.”

“Ah-” One moan after another escaped your lips as you gripped onto the sheets. Then, you felt a strange sensation between your thighs. His finger traced the wet outline of your panties before pushing a finger inside. Unfamiliar wet sounds came as he slowly moved his finger in and out.

“Mm, you are so wet.”

You couldn’t describe this feeling. There was a strange sensation of pain and bliss mixed together as he used his finger to explore your insides. Several times, you tried to push his hand away when it hurt more than it felt good, but he continued on until you felt all your muscles tense up and with a loud scream everything released.

“Your first orgasm officially belongs to me.”

He got up and quickly lowered his pants and briefs revealing a body part you never saw in person. Today was a day of many first. He was large and hard. You could see the thick veins bulging and eager. He made his way back over you and looked into your eyes. You felt the heat of his part radiating on your lower body.

“This is going to hurt, Y/N. Try to breathe.”

You closed your eyes and you heard him chuckle. His lips and tongue landed on yours as he slowly entered you. You screamed into this mouth and his mouth muffled the sound. Nothing but pain was on your mind as he invaded you with his part. You felt your insides crush as it didn’t know what to do with the foreign invader. You fiercely gripped his wrists as he settled in.

He pulled from the kiss and let out a string of profanities. “Fuck, you are so tight.”

You screamed at him like a deer that’s been shot through the throat. He looked down at you like a hunter admiring his dinner.

“My king,” you begged through the tears forming around your eyes. You felt warm liquid leak from your body. He quickly pulled out to check the crimson liquid that stained the white covers.

“I can’t wait any more…”

He drove his part back inside you as your body reacted like a fish out of water. You were both covered in sweat as he pushed deeper inside you with each thrust. You cried out with each thrust and started to feel lightheaded and exhausted. Tears and sweat dripped down your face. His body was too much to handle. You noticed as his breathing got heavier and harder. Sweat dripped from his body onto yours and his hot breath hit your skin.

“Fuck...”

He grunted as you felt a warm liquid enter your body. You blinked in and out of consciousness as you felt him move out of you and the warm liquid gushed out with him. Your eyelids became heavier and you barely caught his velvet voice somewhere between the real and the dream world.

“Sweet dreams, my queen.”

✧✧✧

Water.

You needed water. Blinking your eyes open, you dragged your body to the edge of the bed and reached your hands out towards the end table. Your hands felt a thin glass cup and you gulped the clear liquid down. Your dry throat rejoiced as the liquid traveled through your body. You felt like you were hit by a truck overnight as your body started to wake up.

Your eyes widened as the memories of last night replayed in your head like a broken film. You quickly searched across the white bed covers to look for the blood stains. You let out a sigh as you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The crisp white sheets looked as if it was new, it even smelled like a field of jasmine flowers.

There was no sight of the King around the suite. You were also wearing a white silk sleep gown that barely covered your body. It was very short and showed off your cleavage. You had no memories of putting this on. Did he put this on you last night?

There was a loud knock on the door and you hastily covered your body with the bed sheets.

“Queen Callisto, are you awake?”

The voice was not familiar to you, but you felt like you had to answer back. The sun was already coming into the room and you could only guess that you overslept.

“Yes! I’m awake!” You blurted back.

“Great, I’m coming in-”

“Wait- What- Hold on!”

The doors swung open before he could hear you finish protesting back otherwise. Duke Evans walked into the room and the moment your eyes met you saw his eyes shift towards the rest of your body. His face turned beet red and immediately turned his back.

“Oh gosh! Um- I’m so sorry!” He said as he stared at the doors with his back faced towards you. “I thought you were awake.”

Could this day start off any more embarrassing? You got up from the bed with the sheets draped over your body.

“No, no. It’s fine! I mean not fine, but I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“The king is requesting your presence for an early dinner in an hour. He wanted me to drop and see if you were awake so he could send your servants in to get you ready.”

“Yes! I didn’t realize how late it was. Please send them in.”

“Right, I’ll send them in right away.” The Duke fidgeted with the door handles before eventually getting them open. He looked adorable from the back as he grunted like a little kid with his large muscular arms. Was it a requirement that all men of Callisto had to be so muscular and well built? With a loud thud the door busted open and he quickly darted outside.

- - - Evans POV

He stood outside the door of the king’s suite. His mind tortured him as it replayed the image of her innocent, flushed face staring back at him like a deer in headlights. He even remembered her milky skin and dainty fingers as she hugged the bed sheet close.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly.

He didn’t know how he got here. All he knew for certain was that he remembered her, but she didn’t remember him. Pushing his hand through his hair in frustration, he took a deep breath.

His watch vibrated on his wrist with a notification. He tapped on the ear piece in his ear to play the message.

“Was she awake?” Seb asked.

Tapping on his ear comms again, he replied. “Reply to Seb. She’s awake, I’m calling her servants now.” A flat note played confirming the message has been delivered.

He waited for another second at the door before walking off to the servant’s quarters.

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Two

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2921

Warnings: bad language words, blink and you’ll miss the angst, just some fluff

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

You awoke with a start, feeling as if you were late for work or something important and forgot to set your alarm. Your heart beat an erratic tattoo against your ribcage. Scrambling for your cell phone, you blindly reached across the side table near your bed in a panic. Unplugging the phone, you brought the device an ungodly closeness to your face. It was only 6:17. On Saturday.

Your pulse throbbed behind your eyeballs, and a strange stickiness coated the inside of your mouth. Did you drink that much last night?

How could you not? Timmons was a fair boss, and you enjoyed your job, but that dude loved the sound of his own voice.

The quarterly business dinners were mandatory for all employees, even for the P.A.s. Typically, they weren’t so bad, but last night, Timmons felt the need to toot his own horn for landing a massive contract with Stark Industries slash The Avengers. He went on and on about how great it was for the firm.

He was like a giant kid in a candy store with his ramblings. ‘We will be promoting the face of The Avengers and everything that goes with it,’ he spouted off like the firm was god’s gift to public relations.

You groaned at the reminder of last night’s presentation. The contract wasn’t even in effect yet, and you were sick of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Timmons could be a real buzz kill.

Rolling to your back, you brought your phone up to tap the screen to read the emails you received overnight. On display was a text from 11:04 by someone named James. It read: “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Your mind went back to last night again, trying to recall who this James was. He must be significant if you plugged his contact information into your phone already. Had you met someone last night?

Drawing a blank, you clicked on the text bubble to pull up the thread. Briefly scanning through the numerous texts, everything came rushing back. In an attempt to text your sister, Robyn, you mistakenly texted this mysterious, James.

You felt like an utter buffoon when you learned he wasn’t Robyn. You always did have a way with the cute boys. Probably why you were single. You groaned out loud as you read on.

You im safely inside my apartment. Pretty sure no one followed me home

James Did you triple check the lock on the front door?

You yes dad yeesh

James There are a lot of bad people out there. Just want to make sure you’re safe.

You sounds like you watch the news too much but its sweet of u to care

James I know from experience.

You r u the bad guy or have u been the one mugged?

James Let’s just say I have friends that have dealt with the bad things of the world.

You right i almost forgot ur a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie

James Did you ever send your sister a text?

You shit thanks for reminding me i have such a crazy story to tell her

James Only good things, I hope.

You oh yeah all the good things an enigmatic yet handsome stranger cares more about my safety than any of my ex-boyfriends ever did.

James My ma raised me right.

You id say

James_ I hate to cut this short, but I think you need your rest. Especially if you’re meeting your sister tomorrow._

You i dont want to agree but ur probably right

You whats ur name btw?

James My name? Why? Do you plan to continue texting me after tonight?

You duh ur fun to talk to

James Oh.

You or not its cool if u dont want to

James It’s James.

You nice to meet u james im (y/n)

James Nice to meet you as well.

You my sister just texted me back and were still meeting at 9 i should go 

You goodnite james

James Goodnight, (Y/N).

Oh. My. God. Had you seriously drunk-flirted with a stranger and offered to keep texting him? You had no shame with a few drinks in you.

You brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and sighed loudly.

What did you know of this James? He had a New York area phone number. Check. He could have been a real dick about your mistake but wasn’t. Understanding. Check. He worried about you getting home safely in your inebriated state. Caring. Check. Not too forthcoming with the nine to five. Secretive. Check. His mouth looked so soft and plush, and his eyes were made to drown in. Gorgeous. Check.

A heat simmered beneath your skin as you recounted the shortlist you’d made. Were you lusting over someone you’d exchanged less than forty texts with? Had you somehow woken back up in high school?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you stared at the screen displaying the message thread. Were you really considering this? You nodded your head to answer your own question. Where was the harm in a little shameless flirting? If worse came to worst, you could always block him.

With your mind made up, you began typing into your phone, constructing an apology.

You Good morning! First off, I want to apologize for the way I behaved over text last night.

You Though, I do like to imbibe in the occasional drink or two, I am, by no means, a lush.

You Please take everything I said with a grain of salt. Apparently, I get loose-lipped and cheeky with free wine. 😐

You Again, I’m sorry and understand if you wanted to cease our correspondence for my behavior.

You blew out a breath and tossed your phone aside. It was up to fate now and a stranger named James.

You laid in your bed for several minutes staring at the ceiling, contemplating between whether to send a ‘haha just kidding’ text and what the weather would be like, so you could forego shaving your legs in the shower today.

Your phone chimed during the pondering of hair removal, indicating a new text. You knew it was James proclaiming you a freak and to forget his number, but secretly, you hoped it was Robyn canceling today.

Seizing the phone from your mattress top, your heart’s beat increased with each second you went without looking at the screen. Finding the courage, you flipped the device over to read the message.

James Quite the formal apology, Ms. Professor.

You smiled at the text. It didn’t tell you to pound sand or eat shit. No, it was teasing and in jest. You sighed in relief.

You Cease our correspondence too much?

James No, no it was perfect if this was 1863, and you were breaking up with me via telegraph.

You Stop!

James Exactly! ‘Never speak to me again!’ Stop. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Stop.

A belly laugh disrupted the tranquil air of your bedroom. You quickly thumbed out a reply once you caught your breath.

You You’re incorrigible.

James I’m glad to see you are using proper capitalization and punctuation this morning.

You Ha!

You When you are buzzed and/or tipsy, capitals and periods be damned. Like you’re so perfect when you’re drunk.

James We all have our flaws.

Was he implying he was a sloppy texter when drunk, too? You shrugged it off as him being cryptic again.

You What are you doing up so early on a Saturday? I didn’t wake you, did I?

You were suddenly stricken with guilt. You should have waited for a more reasonable hour to send out rapid-fire apology texts. Not at 6:36 in the morning. You didn’t want last night’s behavior hanging over you, though. Better to clear the air now than later. You could always ask for forgiveness again if you had disturbed his sleep.

James I had just gotten back from my run when I saw your texts. I have training this morning.

You Oh, right. For your hush-hush, super top secret mission/quidditch game.

You You ever gonna tell me what you really do?

James_ Maybe. Someday._

How far away was someday? Was he planning to text you until you both died or until he got bored? How did texting relationships even work?

You Or is it one of those situations where if you told me you’d have to kill me?

James 😈

You There you go again--being all mysterious.

James Keep ‘em guessing and coming back for more.

You Has that strategy worked well for you in the past?

James Got you to text me again this morning, didn’t it?

You scoffed at what he had suggested. He was correct, but your stubborn streak would deny everything.

You The only reason I texted you this morning was to apologize for acting like a drunken fool last night.

And to squash the curiosity burning in your veins. But he didn’t need to know that.

James Oh.

The reply caused you to furrow your brow and your stomach to drop. You regretted not adding more levity to your last text. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason you were drawn to him.

You I appreciate that the selfie you sent wasn’t a dick pic. And you genuinely seemed to care about me getting home safely. Thank you.

You And maybe- a teeny, tiny bit- is honestly interested in getting to know you better.

You waited on pins and needles for his text, watching the pulsing ellipsis on your screen. Was he just humoring you?

James Hook. Line. Sinker.

Reading his response generated a flush from your jaw to your hairline. You growled in embarrassment. You fell for the oldest trick in the book. He baited you for a compassionate answer, and you delivered beautifully. Hook, line, and sinker, indeed.

You You’re an ass. I take everything back.

James Don’t be mad. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but you played into my trap wonderfully.

James If it makes you feel any better, all kidding aside, I want to get to know you better too.

James I fell asleep with a smile on my face last night and woke up with one this morning.

James Because of you, (Y/N).

A flutter broke apart in your chest. You hadn’t time-traveled back to high school; no, this was junior high territory.

You You’re lucky you’re so damn charming, James.

James Doll, you have no idea.

The subway ride into Manhattan usually gave you the chance to get a little reading in since it took nearly fifty minutes from Queens. Not today, though. You spent the entirety of the train ride texting back and forth with James. It was mundane stuff, but you were getting a grasp of who James was as a person.

You Favorite color?

James Black. You?

You Blue.

You Favorite ice cream flavor?

James Chocolate. Yours?

You Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.

James I didn’t realize we were getting specific.

You We weren’t, but that’s my favorite.

You Favorite movie?

James I like the classics- The Wizard of Oz, It’s A Wonderful Life, Frankenstein.

You I have too many to list, so don’t ask.

You Okay. Lightning round because I’m almost to my stop.

James Where are you going again?

You paused your reply for a brief second, wondering if you should divulge your destination. You’d known James less than twenty-four hours; although, it felt like weeks after this morning. Where was the harm in telling him where you were meeting your sister? There were nearly nine million people in this city. There was no way you’d ever bump into each other.

You A bakery in the Upper East Side called Two Little Red Hens. Ever been?

James Don’t think I have.

You Well, since you like chocolate, they have a fantastic cake called Brooklyn Blackout. Super rich but delicious.

James Sounds right up my alley.

You Cats or dogs?

James I’m gone too much, so cats.

The answer piqued your interest. Maybe he was an athlete. Wouldn’t it be practice and not training, though? Or he’s FBI or CIA.

You Socks on or off for sleeping?

James Off.

You Silver or gold?

James Silver.

You Morning, noon, or night?

James Night.

You How do you take your coffee?

James Room for sugar and creamer.

You Boxers or briefs?

James Boxer briefs.

You laughed out loud, looking around the subway car to see if anyone was paying attention to you. Per usual, they weren’t.

You Touché.

As soon as the train stopped, you gathered your purse close to your body and made for the exit. You followed the crowd of fellow passengers through the turnstile and ascended the stairs onto street level.

The morning sunlight caressed your skin like a warm blanket. The humidity wasn’t too bad, yet, but the threat of afternoon thunderstorms still hung in the air.

Even with the reasonably early hour, the sidewalk was stuffed with people, carrying to-go coffee cups or shopping bags. You fought for your little spot of real estate on the grimy concrete.

Stopping at a red traffic light, waiting to cross, you typed out another question for James.

You Pineapple on pizza--yay or nay?

The light changed as you finished, and the throng of pedestrians around you guided you across the street. You spotted Robyn outside the bakery as your phone dinged with a new text alert.

“Wow, I’m surprised you made it on time,” Robyn said as you hugged hello.

You looked at the clock on your phone. 8:58. “You and me both, sister.” Glancing back at your phone’s screen, you giggled.

James What kind of monster puts pineapple on their pizza??

“What’s so funny?” Robyn asked as you accompanied her through the bakery’s door.

With a grin on your face, you punched out a quick reply:

You Well, it was nice knowing you, James. It was a swell friendship while it lasted--a whole 11 ½ hours.

Robyn elbowed you softly in the ribs with a look on her face, seeking an explanation.

“Ow,” you grunted. “What?”

“You tell me. I half expected a zombie to walk through the doors today after your text last night. Not Suzie Sunshine.”

You both edged closer to the counter as the line in front of you dwindled.

James Say it ain’t so, doll! Pineapple on pizza? Really??

You let out a low chortle as you skimmed the text. You glimpsed up at Robyn as you shuffled forward in line again. “Believe me, I’m pretty hungover,” you replied, shoving your phone in your back pocket. “It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you everything when we sit.”

Robyn stared at you warily, still trying to figure out what had come over you. “Okay,” she conceded, stepping to the register to order.

With each of you supplied with an iced coffee and a peach ginger scone, you found an empty table by a window along 2nd Avenue and proceeded to tell Robyn about James.

When you stopped to catch your breath, remembering the whirlwind the last twelve hours had been, you peered at your sister for her reaction.

She stared at you like you’d grown a second head. She shook her head in disbelief. “(Y/N), what where you thinking?”

Your brow pinched in confusion. Was she actually scolding you? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I was thinking about how my big sister is always telling me to meet new people and how it’s time I thought about settling down.”

“Not like this it’s not,” she hissed. “This is how your body parts end up in someone’s freezer!”

You choked on the piece of scone you shoved in your mouth before she started ridiculing you. After coughing to clear your airway and taking a sip of your iced coffee, you leered at Robyn. “Oh, my god! Dramatic much? Have you been binge-watching Dateline again? Jesus Christ, Robyn, he’s harmless,” you countered.

“You think you’ll be so careful, but you’ll let one little detail slip, and he’ll find you,” Robyn said before taking a pull from her coffee.

“You mean, like, how I was meeting you at Two Little Red Hens at nine o’clock?”

Robyn’s mouth popped open in an O. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” she stage-whispered. “Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped and sold into sex trafficking?”

“Please,” you drew out in one long syllable. “He doesn’t know what I look like. How would he snatch me?”

“He could look you up on Facebook.”

“Without a last name?” You shook your head, no.

“What about a reverse search on your number?” Robyn asked, pushing the plate holding her scone away. “That’s a thing.”

“Perhaps, but it seems like a lot of effort for a mistake I made. It wasn’t like he was seeking me or anyone else out.”

Robyn huffed out a breath and folded her arms in exasperation. Always the protective big sister. You could tell you were breaking her down, though.

“C’ mon, Robbie. It’s all in innocent fun. I’m not saying I’m hoping he’ll turn out to be Mr. Right, but the banter is fun,” you remarked. “James is charming and witty and nice to talk to.”

Robyn shook her head once more, frowning. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You reached across the table for her hand and squeezed gently. “Me too.” You smiled slyly, remembering last night’s dinner and Timmons gushing about The Avengers. “If not, I know how to get ahold of a couple of centenarians who know chivalry isn’t dead.”

Chapter One | Chapter Three

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[demxters]

When There Was Me and You-Part 1

jj maybank x reader 

summary: When the reader finally awakens from a coma, JJ Maybank’s world gets turned upside down.

word count: 3.7k 

warnings: swearing, mentions of a car accident (?), descriptions of a panic attack 

series masterlist  

my masterlist  

a/n: i’m so excited to share this with you all! i worked on this all night so i hope you guys enjoy! i’m not sure how long this series will be yet, but i hope to get the next part out soon! 

(not my gif) 

***

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

JJ felt like he was in purgatory. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was currently the only thing giving him hope. It’s been three weeks, 504 hours, 30,240 minutes, and 1,814,400 seconds (he may or may not have begged Pope to do the math) since he’s last heard your voice. His sweaty hand was firmly grasping yours, afraid that if he let go you would slip away. JJ didn’t dare go further than the hospital cafeteria while you were there. The Pogues and your parents had to practically drag him out of there every other day to get him to shower, get a change of clothes, and eat some food. And every time he left, he made sure that whoever was watching you promised to call him for even the slightest change in your state. Because the hospital only allowed one overnight patient to stay with you, your parents were kind enough to give that privilege to JJ. 

“JJ, it’s my turn to take over,” Kie’s voice breaks the unbearable silence. 

He lets out a shaky breath. He goes through this routine every time he has to leave your room, even if it was just to use the restroom. He squeezed your hand, and silently counted to 10 in his head. 

10… 

He places a kiss to your palm. 

9…

Then one on your wrist. 

8… 

Another in your hair, 

7… 

On your forehead,

6… 

The apples of your cheeks, 

5… 

Your chin, 

4… 

The spot behind your ear that you loved so much, 

3… 

And finally your lips. 

2… 

1… 

JJ’s lips leave yours, his tears falling onto your cheeks. He wipes them away and leans his forehead against yours. “I’ll be back before you know it, my love,” he whispers. “I love you.” He turns to face Kiara who’s patiently waiting by the door. “If anything changes, anything at all-” 

“I know, I know. Call you right away,” Kie says. 

JJ nods, walking past Kiara and giving her a hug. He buries his head into her neck and mumbles, “Thank you for being here.” 

At this Kiara feels her eyes begin to water, her heart aching for her two best friends. “Of course,” she whispers to him. 

JJ lets Kiara go and gives you one last look before walking out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway. On his way down the hall, he sees your parents sitting a little ways outside your hospital room with their heads pressed together as they spoke in hushed whispers. 

Your mom notices JJ walking their way and nudges your father who looks up from the catalog in his lap. “JJ,” your mom says, with a small smile. 

“Mrs. Y/L/N, Mr. Y/L/N,” he greets back with a small nod, shoving his hands into the pocket of his shorts, stopping in front of them. 

Your dad stands up and shows the catalog that was in his lap to JJ. “We’re thinking of ordering Y/N a bouquet. Which one do you think she’ll like best? Y/M/N thinks that she’ll like the lilies, but I completely disagree. I think she’ll like roses.”

JJ doesn’t even have to look down at the catalog to know which flowers to get you.“Sunflowers,” he states. “You should get her sunflowers.” 

“That’s an excellent choice JJ,” your mom says. “Are you heading out?” 

“Only for a little while,” JJ says. “Just for a quick shower and a change of clothes. I’ll be back before the nurse’s rounds.” 

Your dad sits down, clearing his throat. “JJ, thank you for being here for us, for her.” 

At your father’s words JJ feels the need to cry once again. He harshly swallows the lump in his throat. He can only bring himself to nod before walking away to his bike in the parking lot. 

As JJ rode home, he couldn’t help but think about the last time he spoke to you. If only he hadn’t let you go. If only he had begged you to stay. But he didn’t. And he has to live with knowing that what happened to you was all his fault. 

_____ 

“JJ, I have to go,” you say with a laugh as the blonde haired boy pulls you back into his chest. 

“Noooo,” he whines. “Just stay with me tonight, please.” He places an arm around your waist and uses his other hand to keep you firm against his chest. 

“You know how my mom gets,” you say with a sigh. You slightly push back on his hand, his grip loosening a bit, and rest your chin on his chest looking up at him. “I promise, tomorrow it’ll be just you and me out on The Pogue. No John B constantly pestering us to keep the PDA to a minimum, no Kie and Pope bickering, and no Sarah constantly bugging us about reapplying sunscreen. Just us.” You give him a quick peck on his chin then move your lips to his. 

JJ immediately reciprocates the action, his lips moving with the familiar rhythm of yours in a kiss that you have both shared a thousand times before. Barely pulling away, JJ mumbles against your lips, “Fine. But promise me you’ll text me when you get home.” He gives you a stern look, one similar to a parent scolding their child. 

“Of course I will.” You knew JJ would be on your ass about it if you didn’t. You unwrap your arms from around his neck and quickly give him one last kiss on his lips. You laugh as he leans forward trying to capture your lips with his once more. You walk backwards towards the front door of the Chateau and blow him a kiss, exaggerating the noise when your palm hits your lips. “I love you!” you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. 

“And I love you, baby!” JJ responds back with a laugh, pretending to catch your kiss and stuffing it in his pocket. He watches you go, with the biggest smile on his face, wondering how the hell he got so lucky to have someone like you to love him in his life. 

_____

JJ walks into the Chateau like a man on a mission. The longest he’s ever spent away from the hospital since you were admitted was thirty minutes, and he plans to keep it that way. 

“Hey.” JJ hears John B’s voice say the second he pulls the door to the Chateau open. “How is she?” 

JJ sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The same.” He harshly tugs at the roots of his hair. “The doctor said the wounds on her ribs are healing fine and that he’s confident she’ll wake up within the next week or so.” 

“But you think it’s bullshit,” John B responds before taking a sip from his beer. 

“I don’t know what I think anymore man,” JJ says, his voice wavering. “All I know is that I want her to wake up. I just want everything to go back to the way it was.” JJ’s voice breaks towards the end of his sentence, tears openly streaming down his face, unable to keep it all in anymore. He’s been breaking down more and more as each day passed with your absence. 

“JJ-” John B starts. 

JJ doesn’t give him the opportunity to finish. “I need to go shower.” 

_____ 

JJ fell asleep in the guest room waiting for your text when it happened. The first time his phone rang, he ignored it thinking it was spam. The second time it rang, he declined the call without even opening his eyes. The third time it rang, he forced himself to open his eyes, slightly squinting from the brightness of his screen. The second he read the caller id he knew something was wrong. Your mother never called JJ. The only reason why she had his number was to help him plan your surprise birthday party last year. A sick feeling fills his stomach as he answers the phone. 

“Mrs. Y/L/N?” 

“Oh, thank god,” your mother lets out a sigh of relief. “JJ, it’s Y/N.” 

JJ feels his heart rate quicken in fear. “What’s wrong?” he frantically asks. “Is everything alright?” 

He hears your mother let out a choked sob before she responds. “She got into an accident on the way home,” she releases a shaky breath before continuing. “Some drunk idiot was on the road and…” She trails off letting out another sob. “And he hit her head on. When the paramedics got to the scene, Y/N was unconscious. She’s in the ER right now but we haven’t had any news about her condition.” 

JJ can barely process the words coming from your mother’s mouth. It’s as if his body began moving on autopilot as he tells your mom that he’ll be there as soon as he can. As JJ pulls on his boots, he accidentally knocks into the dresser behind him causing various objects that were sitting on top of it to topple off. “Fuck!” JJ lets out in frustration. 

Hearing the ruckus from the other room, John B is awakened from his slumber and stumbles down the hallway and to JJ’s room. “JJ? What the hell is going on? It’s nearly one in the morning,” John B says with a groan, leaning on the doorframe. 

“It’s Y/N, man. Sh-She got into an accident and she’s at the hospital and-shit!” He says as his foot got caught in one of his loose articles of clothing that was scattered on the floor. 

John B is suddenly wide awake when he hears that you’re in the hospital. He swiftly turns around running back to his room and grabs his car keys off his dresser. 

JJ nearly bumps into John B on his way out of his room and questions, “What are you doing?” 

“Coming with you, of course. You know you can’t drive in this state right?” John B knew just how reckless JJ could be and with your life at stake he knew JJ wasn’t in the right headspace to drive. 

JJ just frantically nods, quickly making his way to John B’s van. Sitting in the passenger’s seat as John B makes his way towards the hospital, JJ couldn’t help but wonder if this was all his fault. If only he had driven you home then maybe you wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. Maybe it would’ve been him who got hit head on instead, and you’d be safe on the passenger’s side. If only he had not taken no for an answer then you’d still be here, safe in his arms where you belonged. 

“Dude, she’s going to be ok,” John B says, feeling the anxiety reeking off of JJ in waves. He noticed that JJ hadn’t stopped bobbing his leg up and down ever since he sat down in the car. 

JJ doesn’t say anything. He just stares out the window, hoping that everything’s going to be ok. 

_____

A series of knocks coming from outside the bathroom snaps JJ out of his thoughts. 

“JJ!” he hears John B hollar. “JJ hurry your ass up! She’s awake!” 

JJ shuts off the water, standing rigidly still for a moment. 

“She’s awake,” John B says, slightly softer. “Y/N’s awake.” 

JJ is out of the shower and changed in record time. He steps out of the bathroom with his hair still dripping, droplets of water visible on his dark blue t-shirt. “Damn it!” JJ says, running out of the Chateau, John B hot on his trail. “I said I’d be there. I promised her I’d be there when she woke up!” He slams his hand into the passenger side door of the van.

“Hey!” John B scolds, standing face to face with JJ. “Calm down, man. What matters right now is that she’s awake. Now get in the van.” 

JJ practically throws himself into the passenger’s seat, his heart racing at the thought of seeing you conscious again. To finally see your y/e/c eyes staring into his and to just be in your presence once more…

_____

“Where is she?” JJ shouts, walking into the ER. He sees your mom standing by the front desk with her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says with a quieter tone. 

Your mom looks up from where she was staring at the floor to meet JJ’s stare. She lets out another sob before walking over to him and engulfing him in a hug, squeezing him tight. 

JJ hesitantly reciprocates the hug. When your mother finally pulls away JJ asks again, “Where is she? Is she ok?” 

She swallows down another sob. “She’s with the doctors right now. There’s no news on her current state. Why don’t you come with me to the waiting room? Y/D/N is there waiting for word on her condition,” your mother says putting a hand on JJ’s back and leading him to the waiting room. 

Your father looks up at the sound of the approaching footsteps and gives JJ a slight nod when he walks into the room. 

“Any news?” your mother asks, sitting in the seat next to your father. 

“No, not a word.” 

JJ settles himself a couple chairs down from your parents. He’s not sure if he leaves the space for them or for himself. The silence is deafening, leaving JJ with nothing but his thoughts to run a mile a minute. You were going to be ok, he tried to convince himself. You had to be. His girl was a fighter and you would get through this. JJ rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands as he held in the tears that threatened to spill. He couldn’t lose you. Not when you were the only thing he loved more than anything in this world. You were his rock, his anchor. You kept him from spiraling out of control. Whenever he found himself acting impulsively, you always crossed his mind. He always tried to think about the consequences and how it would affect you. And though there were times he couldn’t help himself, you were always there to take care of him, to keep him safe, to love him. Without you, everything would fall apart. He would fall apart. 

The sound of two knocks on the waiting room door catches JJ and your parents attention, causing the three of you to stand up. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N?” the doctor says, stepping into the room. 

“That’s us,” your father answers, stepping forward with your mother. 

JJ silently stands to the side, listening to the whole ordeal. 

“I’m Dr. Kavanaugh,” he introduces himself, giving them a hand to shake. He then turns to JJ, with his hand still extended. “And you are?”

“He’s Y/N’s boyfriend,” your mother answers for him. 

“Ah, nice to meet you,” Dr. Kavanaugh replies, still waiting for JJ to shake his hand. 

JJ reluctantly takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“So, what’s the news Doc?” your father asks. “Will she be ok?” 

Dr. Kavanaugh looks to your father before giving his reply. “The good news is, her condition is stable. Other than the bruises on her ribs and the cuts on her face, her body’s in good shape.” 

“Oh, thank god,” your mother says as your father wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“So what’s the bad news then?” JJ abruptly asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, he was just tired of the doctor taking his sweet time to tell them what’s wrong. “You said that was the good news, so what’s the bad?” 

Dr. Kavanaugh turns to JJ before letting out a sigh and looking back to your parents. “The bad news is, she’s currently in a comatose state.” He pauses before continuing. “We don’t know how long she’s going to be like that or when she’s going to wake up. The best thing we can do for now is watch over her and look for any signs of complications.”

A coma. The love of his life was in a coma. It felt like the walls were closing in on him as JJ suddenly began hyperventilating. He was lightheaded and unable to comprehend what was going on around him. He pushed his way past your parents and the doctor ignoring their calls for him to come back. He stumbles down the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. The only thing that was running through his head was the thought of you being in a coma. That they didn’t know when you were going to wake up, or if you ever were. JJ feels himself crash into another body and almost falls to the floor, but the person hoists him up by his elbows. 

“Woah, JJ, you good?” John B’s voice sounds like it’s miles away. 

“I think he’s having a panic attack,” another voice says. Female. JJ identifies. The voice is female. 

John B moves JJ to one of the chairs that are lined up in the hallway and steps aside so Kiara can bring JJ back to reality. 

Kiara crouches down in front of JJ, holding onto his knees to keep herself steady. “Hey, JJ, can you hear me?” 

JJ slightly nods, his mouth too dry for him to respond.

“Good,” Kie’s voice soothes. “Now I need you to breathe with me ok? Can you do that?”

JJ nods again, beginning to follow Kiara’s instructions to breathe in and out. 

“That’s it, there you go,” Kiara says. She waits for a moment, letting JJ regain his senses come back to them. “You don’t need to talk now. Just let us know whenever you're ready.” 

JJ blinks a couple of times before finally being able to see clearly again. He sees Kiara crouched in front of him with a reassuring smile while Pope, John B, and Sarah stand behind her with looks of concern on their faces. JJ swallows, before telling them the news. He chokes up as he begins to tell them what happened, starting from when you left the Chateau, to the accident, and finishing at where you are now. 

Pope takes off his hat, putting his hands behind his head as he tilts his head back trying to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. Kiara lets out a small gasp as she starts to cry. Sarah buries her face into John B’s neck, sobs shaking her form. And John B just stares blankly at the wall, trying to stay strong for the rest of them. But JJ doesn’t miss the small tear that escapes from his right eye. 

At the sight of all his friends breaking down in front of him, he begins to break down too, his sobs becoming loud gasps for air. JJ buries his face in his hands and whispers, “It’s all my fault,” over and over again. 

Kiara is the first to move, capturing JJ in a tight hug as the others are close to follow. The five friends hold each other, sobbing for their best friend and the uncertainty that’s to come. 

_____ 

John B dropped JJ off in front of the hospital so he could go in first while he looked for a parking spot. 

JJ walked through the hospital dodging other patients, visitors, and nurses as best as he could as he made his way to your room. He could see Kiara standing outside of your hospital room with a faint smile on her lips. 

The door to your room was open and he could hear your faint voice talking to your parents and the doctor. God, how he missed your voice. JJ makes his way inside the room to see you sitting up and sipping some water out of a straw. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice slightly shaking at the thought of you being awake again. He takes in your appearance thinking you look as beautiful as someone possible could from coming straight out of a coma. There’s a slight tinge of pink on your cheeks that have been pale for the past few days and your hair looks like it’s been groomed, probably by your mother. He takes another tentative step into the room, unable to help the smile that comes across his face. “Y/N,” he states this time. 

“JJ-” your mother starts, but he cuts her off.

JJ’s eyes well up with tears as he makes his way to the foot of your bed. “Thank fuck your ok,” he says with a small laugh getting a look of disapproval from Dr. Kavanaugh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I know I promised I’d be here but I had to run to John B’s to shower.” He pauses and smiles at you again. “God, I missed you.” A look that JJ can’t decipher crosses over your face. He thought you’d be at least a little more excited to see him. 

You look to the doctor, then to your mom, as she nods and encourages you to speak. “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you to be here but…” you trail off trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite know who you are.” 

Your mother looks down at her lap, while your father puts a hand on JJ’s shoulder whispering to him, “JJ, come on, I need to speak with you outside.”

JJ shrugs your father’s hand off his shoulder and steps away from him. This had to be some kind of sick joke. “Very funny guys,” JJ says with a dry laugh, turning from your parents, to the doctor and then back to you. “Y/N, if this is your way of getting back at me for all the pranks I used to play on you then it worked. You got me good. Now come on, drop the act.” He desperately looks at you as the look of confusion on your face only grows. 

“JJ,” your father whispers to him again. 

“No,” JJ whispers. “No, this can’t be happening.” 

You push a strand of hair that fell in your face behind your ear before looking at JJ once more. “I’m really sorry,” you say softly. “But should I know you?”

JJ felt a sharp pain in his chest at your words. Those five goddamn words that broke his heart.

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[takadasaiko]

Conflict of Interest (a Superman & Lois oneshot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: His daughter’s relationship with Clark Kent has always been a conflict of interest for Sam, but never so much as it had been that day. Set after the main events of 1.12

Conflict of Interest

He had warned her. When Lois had dropped the bombshell that she'd agreed to marry Clark Kent, he'd warned her. She wasn't just marrying the bespeckled reporter that she'd fallen for - while lying to her for the first several months of their relationship and putting a bullseye on her back for the ones that followed - she was marrying Superman. Their lives would never be normal, no matter how much they wanted it to be. How much they pretended, because that's what it really was once the boys came along. Lois might know her husband's secret, but little boys that had no concept of the kind of danger they'd put their mother and themselves in? No, there was no way to tell them, and that left their parents lying to them, because their father - Lois' husband - wasn't normal. Earthquakes collapsed bridges during family dinner and supervillains didn't give a damn about PTA meetings.

Sam had hoped one of those warnings might stick all the way up to the wedding, but he'd raised a stubborn daughter. For a brief time he'd wavered back and forth on if he should assign one of his more promising up-and-comers to play liaison between Superman and the DOD. That didn't happen, though, and as he had stood on the Kent farm in full dress uniform and watched as the alien that the world had come to rely on so heavily lifted his laughing daughter up into his arms and spun her around, he had grimly started to come to terms with the fact that it never would. It was a clear conflict of interest and the military wouldn't blink twice before stripping him of all involvement with Superman if they ever found out. If they did that, though, Sam wouldn't be able to protect his little girl. To protect his family, and if he liked it or not, that included her husband.

They'd made it work, the two men finding a new and awkward balance between family and work. Sam had kept the casual meetings to a minimum. It wasn't until the boys were born that things started to get more complicated. Suddenly Lois wanted him around more. There were Christmas invites and birthdays, not to mention the once a year dinners that Martha Kent somehow thought he was required to attend. He even made it to the occasional pee wee football game or piano recital. Still, Sam was able to compartmentalize for the most part. He and Clark had lost the formal undertones of their conversations outside of the DOD and most days it was like talking to two separate people that wore the same face. So much so that Sam could almost understand how a pair of glasses somehow threw the world off his scent.

Somewhere along the way they got closer. Clark never approached him for parenting advice - Sam imagined that Lois had had a few warnings for him on that front - but there were moments when he caught the question behind the question the younger man was asking. His own father had been gone for years unless you counted some hologram something or the other that had access to the history of his home planet that apparently took on his biological father's form, and it was clear that Clark held a respect for Sam, even if there were a frustrating amount of times that they didn't see eye-to-eye on something. Personal conversations were had behind closed doors and eventually, as long as no one else was around, he became Clark even in red and blue. He was, no matter what name others referred to him as at that very moment, his son-in-law. He was family, and Sam always did whatever he thought was necessarily to protect his family. Sure, it was a conflict of interest, but one that he had told himself benefited everyone in the long run. He helped to protect his daughter's husband and, in turn, his daughter's husband helped protect the world.

He had just never expected to have to choose.

Clark Kent was many things, and one of those was steadfast in his devotion to the world that had welcomed him. He felt a responsibility, he'd told Sam time and again, and Sam believed him. That's why the four star general had thought that the worst case scenario that he'd authorized John Henry for was going to be just that. He'd been firm with Lois - give her an inch and she'd take a mile with it - and was treating it like any other threat. It wasn't until Irons was boots on the ground and Superman had laid him out like a ragdoll that it became evident that the worst case was also the reality and Sam was left with two choices: trust the man that he'd come to respect or take out the alien threat before he could destroy the very people that he'd once loved.

It couldn't be a conflict of interest. The world depended on it.

And with that, Sam had authorized Irons to put his son-in-law down like a rabid dog.

A long, loud car horn dragged him out of the horrible day's memory and Sam realized he'd simply stopped his SUV at the point he should have hung right down the dirt road leading to the Kent farm. A neighbor he was blocking down the east-bound lane made a frustrated gesture as he swerved around him and Sam steeled himself to make the turn. Well, they'd left the lights on for him. Apparently he was still an acceptable guest even if maybe not a welcomed one. It was fine. It was late enough that the household would be asleep and he could grab a quick shower and sleep for a few hours before hitting the ground running the next morning with the sun. After some rest maybe he could find the words to tell Lois… something. He was proud of her, he wished he'd had her resolve, he was sorry he put her through that. Something. Heaven knew she deserved it and he had promised things were going to be different.

Sam pulled the SUV up and parked it in front of the white paneled farmhouse before he killed the engine. His overnight bag was already in the guest room and he all but fell out of the vehicle, exhaustion snapping at his heels. He trudged up the path and was at the next-to-top step before he realized that he wasn't alone. "Clark," he greeted roughly, drawing the younger man's attention over to him from where he was leaning heavily against the railing that lined the porch.

"Sam. Hey. Get everything wrapped up?"

"We'll be wrapping up for a few more days, but we have -"

"Can it wait 'til morning?"

The question stopped Sam mid-sentence and he registered the pained expression on his son-in-law's face. A little pale, a little hunched over. He looked beyond exhausted. "You doin' alright?"

Clark forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "All alone in here," he promised, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "Just like the scans said."

"I know they did." Sam shifted his weight, feeling oddly uncomfortable under that blue-green gaze he'd long since become accustomed to. He loosed a long breath. "Listen, Clark…"

"If this is going to be an apology, I don't need one. I don't want one."

"I did give John Henry the green light to kill you."

"And it was the right call."

"Clark."

"In the moment, it was the right call." He grimaced and plucked his glasses from their place so that he could squeeze the bridge of his nose. There was a long, tense silence between them before he put them back, the weight not lifting off of him as he did. "He would have killed everybody we love."

"He?"

"The Kryptonian Tal-Roh tried to use me to resurrect," Clark answered softly.

Sam moved a little closer to better hear him. Not everyone on the property had super hearing. "Who was he?"

His gaze was distant, fixed on the cornfield that stretched out beyond the house he had grown up in. "A general. Zod. My father - Jor-El - knew him, but I only know the highlights. They're nothing compared to having him battering around your head even for a few hours."

"Is this someone we should be concerned about moving forward?"

"I don't think so. I think it was all or nothing. Either he won or I did."

"Glad you came out on top."

"Me too." He perked up, head swiveling towards the door like he heard something and Sam saw a shadow before his daughter became visible. She was dressed for bed in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt with a Smallville High crow on it. Her house shoes had quieted her steps.

"Dad," she greeted, though it half sounded like a question as she pushed through the screen door. "It's freezing out here." Well, at least it didn't sound like she was about to turn him away. She did, however, turn to Clark. "The fresh air helping your headache?"

"A little."

"No one gets away from that one, huh?" Sam murmured, thinking about the one constant response from everyone they'd spoken to the night the Kryptonian consciousnesses had been ripped from them.

Clark gave a small, mirthless chuckle. "First one I've ever had. I think it's safe to say I'm not a fan."

The attempt at a joke tugged very slightly at the corner of Sam's lips and he risked a glance back at his daughter. Lois, though, was focused in with a worried expression on Clark. The tiny smile instantly vanished. "I'll let you two get some rest."

That brought her attention back around. "Is there any update?"

"It can wait 'til morning," he echoed Clark's earlier request. "Good night."

Sam thought he heard a quiet response as he pushed through the screen door and into the house. Shower, then bed. Tomorrow would be a new day and by then he was sure he'd know how to say what needed to be said. How to convey that, despite what Clark had just said, he disagreed. He hadn't made the right call that day. He should have taken a page from Lois' book and had a little more faith in the man that had proven himself time and time again.

And he would. It was time to end the conflict of interest and choose his family.

---

Notes: I've been wanting to write a one shot touching on Sam and Clark's relationship for some time now. I have two unfinished fics, but apparently this is the one that I could finish, so here we are.

Seriously considering a second chapter that follows Clark and Lois after Sam leaves and their conversation between his return and the next morning's debrief. Anyone interested?

[2-cute-4-school]

Fatum

Group : NCT

Pairing : Park Jisung x gn!Reader

Genre : fluff, a bit of angst in the beginning

Word count : 2K words | M.list

‘A fire that could burn down the entire world, but could never touch you.’

Before finally asking you out, you and Jisung had been friends for years. You always concluded that the time you’ve spent together was when you felt most alive, feeling your erratic heartbeat against your rib cage or the heat rising to your cheeks and forming a pink hue that spread across your face. Your bond with Jisung was so pure, like a modern fairy tale, a budding love story blossoming shyly under the soothing moonlight.

You told each other everything, every secret, every hidden truth you were too scared to reveal to the rest of the world. You trusted Jisung with your heart and in turn, he gifted you his on a silver plate. Despite the years spent attached at the hip, you still cherished every moment spent together, relishing in the other’s presence. So when you didn’t turn up at school one day, without a word to him or any of your other friends, he had every right to boil with worry.

“Look, I’m worried too, Jisung, but if you don’t stop bouncing your leg I’ll cut it off, don’t try me.”

Jisung forced himself to stop at Chenle’s hissed demand, but not even a minute later it resumed its action. Chenle sighed gravely beside him.

“We’ll go over after school, just stop already.”

“I just don’t get it. We always tell each other if something comes up.”

“I’m sure you’re thinking too much, it’s not good for your brain, you’re using it too much at a time.”

Chenle’s joke didn’t seem to light up his friend’s mood as he continued to stare blankly at the messy notes scribbled across the pages of his notebook. The doodles on the desks, made with your Sharpie seemed to glare back at Jisung, burning holes through the worn-out wood they decorated.

“Try to survive a few more hours without your sweetie pie, honeybunch, sugar plum.” Chenle’s tone was sickeningly sweet and Jisung couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Shut up, Chenle, not my fault your love life is drier than my grandma’s skin.”

Chenle gasped dramatically before slapping Jisung’s shoulder in fake hurt.

School hours seemed to drag on for longer than usual without your presence. Jisung dragged himself through class after class, his mind wandering the entire day to the visit he owed you as soon as school finished. Jisung swore the moment the bell rang, signifying the end of his last period, he bolted from his seat so fast the room spun for a few seconds. He barely had it in himself to wait for Chenle in front of the gate, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other as he waited for his friend. He had to admit that patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but Chenle should have known that already when he decided to make him wait in such a situation. As soon as he was close enough, Jisung grabbed him, dragging him through the sea of tired teenagers, cursing at their teachers and homework.

“Slow down, slow down, Jisung.”

Of course his words fell on deaf ears as Jisung only seemed to speed up his pace and by the time they arrived in front of your house Chenle was already panting, leaning his hands on his knees, but Jisung didn’t spare him a single glance as he approached the door and rand the bell, hoping to see your face as soon as the door cracked open.

“So much for keeping fit.” Chenle grunted out before moving to stand by Jisung’s side.

They heard shuffling from inside and the doorknob turned downwards a moment later, allowing them to come face to face with your mother, whose tired features morphed into a soft smile at the sight of the boys. They both greeted her politely and before Jisung could ask about you, your mother beat him to it.

“Hello, kids, come in, I thought you might come around.”

She moved away from the entryway, allowing them to step inside the familiar house and take their shoes off before following your mother in your living room and sitting down on one of the sofas. Jisung pursed his lips, used to you skipping cheerfully as soon as you heard the door opening, knowing that it could only be them coming over. Instead, he was met with silence this time which unnerved him even further.

“Y/N hasn’t been feeling well.”

The boys’ heads snapped towards your mom, concern washing over their features. Their eyes ran over her stance, slouched over with dark bags under her eyes, they could tell she probably wasn’t sleeping well and stayed up to watch over you.

“I thought it would be better by now, but the fever isn’t going away. They’ve been in and out of it for a while. A doctor came over earlier and assured us that we can treat it from home, but if things don’t go well soon, we should go to the hospital.”

“Since when?”

Jisung’s voice wavered, worry settling deep down in his chest. You hadn’t told him anything about not feeling well so a twinge of hurt swiveled around, tickling his wavering heart.

“The fever appeared yesterday evening, but it was mild. It progressed overnight.”

Jisung fiddled with his fingers, torn by the desire to see you, to put out the fire in his soul, soothe the storm in his soul with just the sight of you. Chenle looked over at Jisung who was lost deep in between his jumbled thoughts and spoke up on account of both himself and his friend.

“Can we please go in?” He motioned towards your door, enlarging his eyes and jutting out his bottom lip at the sight of your mother considering his ask. The question seemed to also snap Jisung out of his frenzy.

“Please, we won’t take long.”

Your mother still hesitated, worried about the boys also getting sick, but once she met their pleading gazes she could only let out a sigh.

“Alright, I guess a quick visit won’t hurt.”

“Yes! Thank you!”

They both jumped up from their seats, turning towards the hallway leading to your room with rushed steps.

“And Jisung!”

Said boy stopped in his tracks at the mention of his name, craning his neck to look back at your mom who regarded his with a playful smile.

“No smooches today.”

His face heated up faster than he could turn back around as he stumbled over his words in an attempt to mumble out a reply. His ears were bright red, forming a contrast with Chenle’s hand that reached out to grip at them gently as the older boy let out a snort.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Y/L/N, not on my watch.”

Your mother let out a quiet chuckle as she retreated back into the kitchen, leaving the boys to their business. Jisung didn’t hesitate to twist the knob of your door and push it open, but he almost regretted it when his eyes landed on you. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you sick, of course not, but never to this extent. His heart fell and it felt as if he stepped on it with every stride he took forward. As he neared your bed, he felt all of his happiness drained from him. You looked so frail, paler than your usual healthy skin tone. You seemed to be sleeping, but it was anything but peaceful, a frown furrowing your eyebrows together, your fingers twitching from time to time.

Jisung shakily sat down on the edge of your bed, afraid that if he jostled you too much you would break into pieces right under his fingertips. He brushed his hand against yours, curling protectively around your freezing own, despite the sweat shining on your forehead. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Jisung was scared out of his mind seeing you like that.

The light of the sun shimming its way through the clouds seemed to fade even further away and the colors splayed around your room didn’t seem nearly as bright in Jisung’s eyes. The world looked duller from his point of view, paling at the same time as you, leaving him behind with a stuttering heart.

He barely acknowledged Chenle striding up to you too, his eyes fixed on your frame, too scared that if he dared to move away his eyes, you would vanish right before him like sand in the wind. Chenle threaded his fingers slowly through your hair, pushing away the loose strands covering your face and regarded you with soft eyes. Your frown seemed to diminish as you recognized the presence of your boys even while buried deep in your fever dream.

“Their lips are dried, where’s the water bottle?”

Chenle shuffled around for a bit, one of his hands never leaving your head as he stroked your hair gently in an unconscious attempt to lessen your pain. He bent down to pick the bottle once he located it but sighed at the sight of it almost empty.

“I’ll go fill it up, stay here.”

Jisung merely nodded at his words, his full attention never leaving you. His thumb caressed the skin of your knuckles, trying to somehow show you he was there, right beside you, loving you unconditionally and waiting for you just like a puppy waits for its owner with nothing but loyalty and unadulterated fondness. 

He sighed and attempted to sit up and bring your chair in order to rather sit down on it than supposedly squeeze in beside you on the side of your bed, but he froze as he felt your shaky but firm grip on his index finger. He stared in awe at the way your fist curled around his large finger, his hand dwarfing yours, reminding him of the way a baby holds onto their parent when unsettled.

His once faltering heart burst with overwhelming affection for you at your small action. The way you held onto him as if he was your lifeline, as if his presence could cure everything and shoo your pain away. Jisung let a grin spread across his face for the first time since he had arrived at school that day, lowering his forehead bashfully to rest atop your intertwined hands. as he cradled them with his other one, engulfing them.

“Oh my God.”

He couldn’t even put into words how much you affected him, the way you could play him on your little finger and he would be too caught up with loving you to ever complain. Warmth spread into his whole body, sparkles running across his skin delightfully and lighting up another fire in his heart. A fire that could burn down the entire world, but could never touch you, just the way he would stand through anything as long as he had you. He let out a breathy chuckle, in disbelief at himself for only realizing now just how whipped he was for you.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you can’t do this to me now when you’re sick.”

He littered kisses anywhere in his reach, soft like a butterfly brushed against your exposed skin. Jisung nuzzled his nose in your crooked palm, seeking out the familiar feeling of your skin pressed against his. He needed you the way he needed oxygen, the way a swallow needs its wings to feel the wind threading through its feathers and leading it to freedom. He needed you unconditionally, not even a breath in between the two of you.

“Get better soon, baby. Come back to me so I can love you properly.”

Jisung pressed a long kiss to the back of your hand, still gripping his finger firmly, grounding yourself. His lips lingered over the cold skin that slowly warmed up due to his touch, brushing it as he spoke to you in hushed tones, promising you the moon and the stars as nothing mattered to him other than having you back in his arms, healthy and smiling. 

And in that moment, with your fates knotted together, Jisung swore he would hold onto you until his last breath.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 40

Read on AO3. Part 39 here. Part 41 here.

Summary: Out of curiosity, is it possible to have a party in Gilead that doesn't end in disaster?

Words: 5600

Warnings: emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello! Welcome back, again, to my weekly updates. Haha. I think the last few chapters may go a couple weeks in between updates, if only because I want to get them exactly right--just as a heads up.

I am hoping this chapter seemed correct in its pacing and length--these are two things I am trying to get a better feel for as I write, hence the extended length of the chapters, but I'm wondering if it feels too draggy?

Anyway, I love y'all very very much, and I love your thoughts and kindness and generosity. I am truly so lucky. <3

The Night Buzzard was hardly the most comfortable sleep you’d had, but it had easily been the deepest in weeks. Between the exhaustion of being fucked within an inch of your existence and the knowledge that a veritable army was only feet away from you, you felt invulnerable enough to slip into what apparently was complete unconsciousness for six hours. Nothing--not the rumbling of the terrain, not the voices of the Knights, nor the wailing of the engine--had roused you. Only a firm pressure on your shoulder was enough to finally drag you from your blissful semi-coma.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with a film of sleep, coming to focus on the morning-kissed face of Kylo Ren.

Light filtered through the black-tint windows, splitting him in shadow, his expression soft and stern. His hair was filthy with sweat, clumped in frizzy locks over his forehead and ears, his chin and upper lip peppered with a hint of stubble. As you met his gaze, you could see nothing but tired, guttered rage in his pupils, an umbra under his eyes. His attention flickered over you, examining you, a warm, gloveless hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing over the still-tender skin. You winced, and his head tilted, his hand skating down your arm, sparking affection in your chest. Affection you did not want. Frowning, you shrugged him off. 

His lid twitched, his jaw tensed. He glanced to the side. “We’ve arrived home.” Toward the front of the Buzzard, the Knights were shuffling, the door whining as it opened. “Once you shower and dress, we’ll be departing again.”

You blinked, tugging the robe to your chin and propping yourself up on an elbow. “Again?” you asked. “Why?”

“City hall,” he replied. “Tying loose ends.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, rolling over, looking at the wall. “You enjoy that. I won’t be going.”

Pressure on your shoulder again, turning you toward him, and you shook him away. “You’re coming.”

“If you’re concerned about my safety, leave a Knight or two outside.” A tiny smirk on your lips. “They’ve become pretty familiar with me by now, anyway.”

Kylo grumbled, gripping your arm. “You don’t have a choice.”

Spinning on him, you seared him in his spot. “What else is new?” you spat. “Go ahead, then. Make me.” You grit your teeth. “I’d really like to see you try.”

He stared at you, studying your face, lips pinching together. The last Knight stepped off the Buzzard, and the door closed, drenching you both in silence. You held him in your gaze, unyielding, breath stalled in your lungs. Kylo swallowed, and then averted his eyes, his conviction melting in the ferocity of your fury. The hold on your arm loosened--you grabbed two of his fingers, plucked them free, and tossed his hand to the side.

“Right,” you said. “That’s what I thought.”

Huffing, you clambered out of the bunk from the end of the mattress, pulling your robe--his robe, technically--over your body and cinching it tight. You felt Kylo’s gaze linger while you gathered your shoes and underwear into your arms, flouncing barefoot down the steps and into the front yard of his home. The sun was peeking into the sky, spilling newborn light through dawn clouds, the air still woven with the wool of summer heat. Sighing, you paced to the front door, arms folded with your belongings, trained on the floor as you escaped to your room.

When you shut the door to your tiny cell, you burst, hurling your clothes into the air with a howl, throwing yourself on your bed. It didn’t matter if you wanted to cry--you would continue to refuse, content to bask in rage instead, to let yourself simmer in it. You would tolerate no more kindness from Kylo Ren, no more exceptions in his design, no more delicate baths or malted whisky eyes or hope-hollow words. If he was to never let you go, you would never let him hold you again.

It was about a half-hour before the Buzzard peeled from the driveway, and the Audi with it. You allowed yourself a moment of respite in his absence--now was your chance to bathe and catalogue the thoughts flipping through your mind. Another long, soft sigh escaped your lungs, and you rolled out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes and new uniform before heading to your door, only to be met with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. You swallowed, paused, heart flipping. It could only be a Knight--you just hadn’t expected to be met in your room. When the boots stopped outside of the threshold, but went no further, you shook off your nerves and opened it.

One of the Knights--helmeted, as usual, God only knew what they looked like--stood in front of you, silent, as if it was totally normal for him to be waiting outside of your door like a sentry. Warmth rushed your face in memory of the previous night, acknowledging that he’d not only seen you naked, he’d stroked his cock to the sight of you being fucked, and he’d shot hot jets of cum somewhere onto your body. You supposed it’d be awkward to ask which load had been his.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. If only there was a way for you to glimpse his mind, to know what he was recalling--or imagining--in this moment. “Excuse me.”

“Apologies,” he sputtered. The voice was familiar--Ushar, you guessed. “Wasn’t expecting you to be leaving.”

“Oh.” Perhaps getting his semen blown onto your face afforded you the privilege of a conversation. Or he was concerned you’d be afraid, and then mention it to your Commander. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stepped toward him, and he pivoted, back to the wall, allowing you a wide berth as you passed. Fear seemed more likely. 

It wasn’t until you’d made it approximately twenty feet down the hall that he moved to follow, trailing behind while you snuck down the steps and to your bathroom in the annex. You opened the door and slipped inside, tossing your uniform to the side and running your bath. Seconds later, Ushar arrived at the door in silence. 

As alone as you could get inside Kylo Ren’s home, you shrugged off your robe, and scanned your body, seeking evidence of your evening. There was no mirror in your bathroom, just as there was not one in your bedroom--so you improvised, pressing your palms to your cheeks, mapping the topography of your skull with your fingers. Pain tingled at your touch, the lumps and bumps that had burgeoned overnight still thumping and soft, the bruises on your face stinging with latent life. 

They were all trophies, to you, little souvenirs from your holiday at his hands--and you hoped by the time you’d lost them, the feelings packaged with them would be lost, too.

When the bath was halfway full, you sank into the water, shuddering as tension and ache was vacuumed from your limbs. You gazed at your stomach beyond the surface, imagining it as an island in the bath--your skin stretched tight, belly button protruding like a tiny hill--and coasted your hands over it, as if this would manifest your illusion. When it finally did become reality, there was no telling where you’d be, what you’d be bathing in, or who you would have come to trust. But you knew that wherever you landed, it would be by the strength of your own wings, in a nest that, no matter how humble, was crafted by only your design.

After you were clean and the water had cooled, you hoisted yourself from the bath, arms and legs heavy from relief in buoyancy. You stumbled onto the tile and steadied yourself with the sink, taking a few breaths. Balanced, you dressed into your uniform and tucked your hair away before tossing your leftover items into the hamper and exiting the bathroom. 

Ushar was still stationed outside--your cheeks burned again when you walked past him, returning to your room. You’d had plenty of encounters with men--your red dress was proof of that--but in the past three years, the only person whose release you’d handled had been your Commander’s. The sudden fact that seven men had anointed you with cum within the past 24 hours sharpened the post-engagement awkwardness to a knife. Not that you regretted it. 

You shut your door behind you and flopped onto your mattress face-first. The sky was bright, but it was still early. There was nothing else for you to do but continue to sleep.

The sun had passed mid-point when a squealing cheer from somewhere in the home startled you awake, eyes opening into a blank wall. A little hint of dread poked your brain as you recalled what Johana had mentioned the day before. A party to celebrate. You grunted, wanting to bury yourself in your pillow--but cramped, stomach seizing in hunger, informing you that you hadn’t actually eaten in over 24 hours. Between the doctor, the Buzzard trip, and getting your brains fucked out and then jizzed on, your appetite had been whittled to nil. Unfortunately, you were still human.

Sighing for the five-hundredth time that day, you trudged out of bed, adjusting your bonnet before you opened the door to Ushar, steadfast as ever. He sidled against the wall again, and you once more plodded through the hall, down the steps, with him in slow pursuit. 

Another peal of laughter ricocheted off the walls, and your neck prickled. They were in the parlour room, whoever they all were, and it was required you pass the parlour room to reach the kitchen. Turning to Ushar, you cocked your head in a silent plea, to have even a sliver of a chance to be invisible. Perhaps, again, out of fear, he nodded, backing into the hall--and you willed yourself to be a scarlet spectre, unseeable unless you wished to be seen, in the hopes you could escape their eyes.

As you crept to the archway, one of the women clapped her hands.

“Oh, Johana!” she said. “I had one of those too! Perfect for the baby room.”

“Do you think so?” That was Johana, sounding concerned. “No choking hazards?”

“No way!” said another woman. “You just hang it up above the crib and they fall right asleep!”

“Yes, it doesn’t go in the crib!”

Johana laughed. “Oh, give me a break, I’m a new mom.”

The group erupted in giggles again. Your stomach churned--but not from hunger. As their chatter escalated, you stepped forward, visible through the threshold, and every word on their lips died. 

In the center of the room was Johana, perched on the edge of the leather Chesterfield with a mobile in her lap, buried in a mountain of handmade baby clothes, toys, and room decor, a bevy of neatly wrapped boxes still unopened. Surrounding her were at least a dozen Wives, none of whom you recognized apart from Dolpheld Mitaka’s--you supposed the others had become Widows. They scrutinized you in confused disgust for a long, quiet moment.

It was almost shocking, how quickly they’d pulled this amount of material together, but you also knew most Wives stockpiled baby things in anticipation for their day. Perhaps the only truly surprising fact was their willingness to share.

“Ofkylo.” Johana’s cheeks glowed, but you couldn’t tell if it was from joy or embarrassment. “Good afternoon.”

“Um.” You folded your arms over your chest, like you could hide the knowledge that you were pregnant from everyone in the room. “Hello.”

She placed the mobile to the side. “I trust you had an uneventful evening.” There was no edge of malice in her tone--your pregnancy appeared to have at least one tangible benefit.

Pinching your lips between your teeth, you ignored the swarm of blood to your face. “Yeah,” you said, and then corrected, “yes. I, um. I did.”

One of the Wives, plump with dark hair, snorted, rolling her eyes. “You let your Handmaid out during the day?” she asked. “I can’t stand to see them crawling around like that.”

“Oh, I know!” replied a blonde-haired woman. “They’re like rats. Conniving, selfish things.”

“The one I had would always be making eyes at my husband, I swear.”

“Wasn’t she blind in one eye?”

“Well, yes, but she was still looking at him with her good eye--”

The back of your neck bloomed with sweat, your fingers burrowing into your arms. Venom gathered on the tip of your tongue, the most foolish part of you wanting to test out just how absolute your Commander’s protection was. 

“--and all I knew was, she better have been sleeping with that one eye open, or I was going to--”

The dark-haired Wife shushed the rest, leering at you as she spoke. “Be careful what you say,” she said, “you know Jo’s husband has a soft spot for Handmaids.”

The others nodded in agreement, supplying Johana with looks that ranged from pity to complete contempt. 

“That’s right!” This woman, a red-head closest to Johana, patted her knee. “Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if I were you. I don’t think I’d ever put up with everything you do.”

“It’s kind of stupid, isn’t it?” said another. “Benefits for Handmaids? Who cares? They’re literally whores!”

A gaggle of them laughed, and you licked your lips, teeth crushing your tongue into submission. Johana met your eyes, glimpsed your whitening knuckles, and her jaw stiffened.

The red-head patted her knee again, like this was comforting instead of patronizing. “You’re being quiet!” she said. “You don’t share your husband’s… preoccupation with Handmaids, do you?”

Johana blanched, scowling. “What? No.”

“That’s good.” She sighed. “Because I was just thinking the other day, you know, this never would’ve happened if Moden were alive.” A spoiled-fruit sweetness tinged her tone. “Don’t you think?”

For a sharp, clear second, Johana froze, and the last restraint on your mouth snapped.

“I think that’s pretty inappropriate,” you said. “Ms. Johana has no say in what her husband does.”

Silence swallowed the room, every muscle motionless. A low murmur of disbelief vibrated through the Wives as they glanced at each other, and then at Johana. She was looking at you like she’d looked at you at the dinner party--only this time, bathed in familiar light.

“Actually.” Back straight, she cleared her throat. “Ofkylo, why don’t you. Come... sit with us.”

The Wives flipped on her like a dozen switches, their brows drawn back or raised, before gazing at you, waiting for you to make your choice. There was some delight you’d take in staying, in deliberately making them uncomfortable, just as Johana wanted--but God, you were hungry. You shook your head, put up your palms in deference.

“Oh, no,” you said. “That’s, um, that’s fine, Ms. Johana, but I was just going to get something--”

“Nonsense.” She scooted over, patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Sit.”

You rolled your tongue over your teeth, ready to turn and leave, but something in her expression was tight, needled with pain. As if she was pleading. A current of pity rippled through your mind--in this room, surrounded by gifts, supposed friends, and social and legal superiority, she was still left depending on you. With a shrug of agreement, you waded through the crowd until you reached her, sinking onto the sofa, squeezing between her and the building hill of presents.

None of the Wives spoke. Johana clapped her hands on her thighs. “So!” she said. “Next gift?”

They surveyed each other for a moment, and a small hand crept into the air.

“Um.” It was Mitaka’s Wife, her mousey face peeking through the crowd. “You can open my gift next, Johana.” She offered a floppy paper package, eased it toward the couch. “I, um, I made it awhile ago for… someone else. It’s not much.”

Johana took it into her lap with a small grin. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just lovely.” 

You watched, like you were beyond a screen as she opened a gift meant for your child as if it was hers. She looked out at the other women, peeling the wrapping back, exposing a small, knit sweater. The room gasped, shrieking in restrained glee when she held it up, flipping it in display. 

“Adorable!” said the blonde-haired Wife, clapping her hands. “That’s perfect.”

Johana released a nervous chuckle. “But it’s so small.”

“No way!” said another woman. “That baby’s taking after you. He’s going to be tiny!”

“Yes! Precious little man!”

“Oh,” Johana said with a laugh, “we’ve decided it’s a boy, now?”

Another jubilant interruption, the lot of them breaking into smiles while your muscles locked, your focus drifting to your stomach. You hadn’t really considered its gender, or its appearance, or its actuality at all. Something twisted through your heart--a swell of repulsive affection--as you imagined it in your arms, every feature blurred, save for one clear detail: a feathery mop of thick, dark hair. 

“What are you going to name him?” 

The baby in your arms disintegrated, and you snapped to the parlour room. 

“He won’t be a Junior, will he?”

The first thought through your head--Kylo would never want a Junior--before you realized that Kylo would never meet his child, and the question hadn’t been directed toward you at all.  

Johana shrugged, her shoulder brushing yours. “You know, I’ve thought about names, but I can’t decide. My husband doesn’t really have a preference.” 

“He’ll be just as handsome as your husband, I’m sure,” said the dark-haired woman. “But let’s hope he gets your manners.”

“What do you mean?” asked the blonde Wife. “Her husband is polite! He’s so quiet.”

The room dimmed with stifled muttering as the women who had spent more than five seconds around Kylo Ren exchanged sardonic smiles. Johana tensed at your side.

The blonde woman blinked. “What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Polite isn’t the word I’d use,” said the dark-haired woman. 

“I’d use the word ass--”

“Shh! Don’t say that, Jo’s right here.”

“Well, she’s the one enabling all of his--”

“It’s fine!” Johana’s face was pale, fists bunching in her dress. “I--I mean, he’s rough around the edges,” she said. “But I’m sure he’s… I’m sure he’s going to be a great father.” She pursed her lips, looking at you, that same plea in her eyes. “Right?”

Your stomach roared in protest--the thought of remaining in a room, listening to Wives discuss your child and its father’s involvement as if you were exempt from the equation had bubbled nausea to your tongue. Clearing your throat, you stood, dusting off your skirt. Johana grabbed your wrist.

“Hold on. Where are you going?” 

Grimacing, you wagged free of her grip. “I, um, really have to eat.” Your face was on fire. “Excuse me.”

Focus fixed to the floor, you scrambled from the group of Wives, whisking through the hall, wiping your palms on your sides. A great father. Even if you thought that was true--which, given everything you’d come to know about him, you now admitted you’d be delusional to think--Kylo Ren was never going to know if his child was even born. 

When you arrived in the kitchen, you met with Emma and Rose, preparing some sort of hors d'oeuvres. You wondered how many of these they did, given all of the parties Johana seemed hell-bent on forcing on this home. At the sound of your boot on the tile, they spun from the counters, and you offered a small grin, easing past the threshold.

“Hi.” You looked around the kitchen. “I was just. Um. Coming to get something to eat.”

Rose sighed. “Can you come back later? We’re a little busy.”

“Oh.” An angry growl somewhere in your abdomen. “I mean, I was just going to maybe have a sandwich?”

“Just let us finish this up,” Emma said, “then you can make yourself whatever you want.”

On the counter were dozens of cucumber slices, handfuls of cherry tomatoes, and a tub of shiny cream cheese. It couldn’t have been that much more work to do. And you didn’t want to be rude. You chewed your lip, folded your hands behind your back.

“Would you like help?”

They paused, glanced at each other, then back at you. Rose stepped to the side, providing you space in the counter, and you joined them, looking over the spread. 

“Here.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a knife, and placed it in front of you. “Finish up the cucumbers.”

There were only a few more to cut. You nodded, scanned the counter for a cutting board. “Oh, um. Do you have a spare…”

“There should be one in the bottom of the pantry.”

You nodded and crossed to the other side of the kitchen, opening the bottom drawers and searching through them, pushing aside the aluminum sheet pans and sets of kitchen utensils. No cutting board.

“I can’t find it?”

Emma sighed. “It should be under the muffin tins.”

“Oh.” You pried up the set of muffin tins, revealing a small wooden slab. “Got it. Thank you.”

Bending down, you wedged it from underneath the plethora of unused accessories, wiggling it from the drawer. As you pulled it free, the cresting rumble of the Audi’s engine coasted into the driveway. Your grip wavered, and it crashed to the floor. 

“Shit!” you hissed. Emma and Rose looked at you, brows pinched in concern, and you swallowed, heat building in your cheeks. “Um. I mean. Sorry.”

When you picked it up, the door to the Audi closed, followed by the scrape of boots through the front path, and you paused, your grasp on the board so tight you were surprised the wood hadn’t splintered. With you in the corner of the kitchen, your Commander wouldn’t see you as he passed through the hall--but it wasn’t seeing you that had your heart in your throat. It was the impending discovery of the party around the corner, full of women--and his Wife--whom you feared were guaranteeing their casualties under his design.

The front door opened, and you heard Kylo march through, shutting it behind him and striding into the hall. Chest tight, you returned to the counter, cutting board in hand, and placed it down before drawing in a slow breath. You plucked a smaller cucumber and laid it on the slab. His footsteps stopped.

“What is this?” 

Hands quaking, you lifted the knife, the handle heavy in your palm as you recalled how to wield one. 

“Oh! Commander,” Johana said. “It’s a party! For us!”

You lined up the blade with the tip, lips pulled in between your teeth. Sliced.

“Us.”

Fresh cucumber wet your nose. Beside you, Emma and Rose were chopping away, as if they didn’t sense the impending mushroom cloud just meters beyond the walls. 

“Yes. For our baby!” A ripple of laughter through the group. Then silence smothered the air.

Slice.

“I mean, look at everything everyone’s brought for us.” 

Kylo Ren said nothing. The sound of your rocking blade was thunder in your ears as it hit the board.

Slice.

“We’ve, uh, actually been joking that it’s a boy. That he’s going to have my manners.” 

Only a few women forced a laugh.

“But don’t worry!” Rustling of something, like paper. “We said he’ll have your looks.”

Still not a word. This time, not a single mouth managed a noise.

Slice.

“Well?” Johana breathed a mock-sigh. “It’s our baby! Aren’t you excited, Sir?”

No response. 

“Commander?” 

Slice. Slice.

“Sir--”

“This is over.”

Your breath stalled and the knife slipped--you hissed, dropped it in pain. A sliver of blood leaked from your thumb.

“What?” A tentative snort of disbelief. “What’s over?”

“You. Me. All of this.” 

A choked laugh--none of the other Wives made a sound. “Ky--Commander. What?”

Rose and Emma paused, too, staring at you. Face tingling with flames, you were unwilling to meet their eyes--you glanced around the kitchen, seeking out a towel. Red drops speckled the cutting board. 

“I want everyone out of this house. I want you gone by the weekend.”

Your hands trembled, littering the counter with blood. Breath failed to find your lungs. 

“Gone? You can’t… you can’t be seri--”

“Out. Now.”

The Marthas muttered something to you, their voices muffled by the hammering of your heart. Part of you was stuttering in disbelief that your Commander was actually doing this. The other part was busy filing its nails, having predicted this the second the doctor slapped your thigh with the news. Behind you, you heard the Wives filing out, whispering to themselves as they fled through the door. Meanwhile, you flitted around the kitchen, thumb curled into your fist in an attempt to staunch the flow, still unable to find a single goddamn piece of cloth.

“Hey.” Rose grabbed your shoulder, shoved a dish towel into your chest. “I was trying to give you this.” 

Your lids widened, and you nodded in thanks, thumb throbbing as you fumbled to swathe it closed. The last Wife shut the door behind her, your breath shallowed. The parlour room was quiet. A frustrated, feminine sigh.

“I mean. What do you expect me to say? Are you serious?”

A dark crimson daub blossomed through the cloth. You needed to get a fucking bandage. Those were all the way in the washroom. Past the parlour room.

“Yes.”

Johana huffed. “And where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“I don’t care.” 

Another pause. You and the Marthas had ceased moving, ceased talking--only in awe of the crumbling foundation of your home. 

“How do you--”

“You have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings.”

“Kylo, that’s only four--you asshole, where are you going--”

His steps disappeared into the home, turning the corner toward the staircase. You stood there, for a moment, squeezing your thumb in its makeshift tourniquet, each of you looking to the others.

Emma bared her teeth in a strained grimace. “Is he really kicking out his--”

A piercing screech ripped through the air, followed by a tearing of paper, the toppling noise of boxes, hollow wood, piles of clothes hitting the floor. Second later, a feral growl clawed out of Johana’s chest, her little feet shaking the ground as she stomped through the halls. You looked between the Marthas and your thumb.

“I’m going to, um, take this chance and grab a bandage.”

They said nothing, urging you on, and you tip-toed through the halls, wary of crossing either your Commander or his Wife, neither of whom you wanted to see or speak to in this particular moment, each for their own reasons. You passed the parlour room--Johana’s gifts were terrorized, spewed across the room in busted heaps. The little sweater was entombed by a set of boxes, the mobile fractured on the floor. 

It made sense, of course, that this would be his response--Johana’s presence threatened your own. As long as she laid claim to your child, your life was irrelevant. And while you didn’t feel bad for her shattered delusion, you knew that her only liferaft in Gilead’s storm had now been engulfed and drowned by the tidal wave of Kylo Ren. Barring her life, there was nothing more for her to lose. 

Head spinning, you continued to the washroom, ready to turn the corner, only to be paralyzed by the sound of Johana’s voice, serrated like a predator wail, shredded as you had never, ever heard it before. 

“We’re not finished yet, Kylo!”

You heard him stop, and you whirled around, pressing your back to the wall, holding your breath. She’d caught him at the bottom of the staircase.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Johana.”

“No! What the actual hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

“Oh, can it, smart ass. You think you can kick me out and still expect me to treat you like my husband?” A disgusted laugh. “You’re more delusional than I took you for.”

“Delusional.”

Johana deepened her voice in mockery. “Delusional--yes, delusional. This is Gilead, Kylo. The nation you helped found? There are laws. You can’t dispose of your Wife for your--God, I don’t know--little pet!”

“Careful.”

“Or what?” she asked. “What, you’ll, you’ll--humiliate me again? Order me in the middle of a party to leave the only home I’ve known for three years in front of my friends?” She laughed again. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Move--”

“Don’t! Touch me!” she screeched. “How do you see this working out? Huh? Do you see yourself telling the Council your plans to divorce your Wife, something Gilead doesn’t even allow? Do you see them letting you play house with your Handmaid?” 

“Don’t assume my plans.”

“Please! It’s so obvious how obsessed with her you are. You don’t even need eyes to see it.” She grunted. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then move.”

“Moden still has friends in the Council,” she said. “When they hear about what you’re doing, it’ll be over for you! And you know what that means? It’ll be over for her, too.” The sound of shuffling. Coming toward you. “Get back here--”

Adrenaline erupted, and you darted off, skittering like a squirrel down the hall and dipping into the parlour. Throwing yourself against the entry wall, you sucked in a breath to silence yourself in hopes they would pass the archway and miss you entirely. Your pulse throbbed in your thumb, blood pumping into the towel, soaking to your skin.

Kylo’s tromping feet barreled forward, but you heard Johana on his tail--the sound of a squeal, a grumble, the squeak of a spinning heel. 

“Johana--”

“Do you have any idea how long I defended you? How many excuses I made for you? Do you know I used to fucking feel bad for you? And you’re kicking me out?” That squawking laughter escaped her. “You’re demented!”

“I was generous to give you four days. You tempt me to make it four seconds.”

“Go ahead. You’ll be stuck here with her, and she’ll hate you too, just like I do, just like your parents did, just like everyone in the world fucking hates you!”

Something slammed the wall, and you jumped, clapping your hand over your mouth, towel flopping to the floor. 

“Punch all the holes you want!” she snarled. “You think just because you call yourself Kylo Ren that you’re not the same pathetic asshole that Ben Solo was, you’re wrong--you haven’t changed, and you never fucking will. It’s no wonder they fucking sent you away!”

“Get out.”

“Oh, go ahead and try.”

“Get--”

Johana screamed, and a sharp smack, skin on skin. 

“Serves you right, asshole! Fuck you!” She leapt into your line of sight, snatched the mobile from the floor, unaware you were behind her, and cracked the wooden frame in half, brandishing the broken rod like a sword. “I swear to God, if you try to touch me I’ll--” 

Her eyes caught you in the periphery. You froze. 

Chest cycling with rapid breath, she crystallized, gaze flashing between you and her husband beyond the archway. Tawny locks of hair curled out like smoke from her scalp, face flush with fury, her chin trembling as she drew a long breath into her lungs. For a moment, she held it there, and exhaled, shoulders sagging, fingers loosening, the mangled mobile clattering to the floor. Johana trapped you in her stare, inspecting you inch by inch, until her face fell, eyes flooding with fat, wet tears.

She nodded, focusing past the threshold. “Okay. I’ll leave. But not until the weekend.” Chewing her lip, she glanced at her feet, then back to you. “I give up,” she said softly. “You won.”

You wanted to tell her that the only thing you’d won was a fatherless child. But she tore out of the room, a whirlwind of empty apologies shrinking like shucked leaves on your tongue. 

Shaking, you looked to your thumb, pulsing with pain; creeks of blood stained your sleeve. One footstep, and another, and your Commander crossed into the parlour room, dressed in his boots, black slacks, a matching dress shirt. His hair was washed and wavy, his face free of shadow, a pink mark on his cheek. For all of Johana’s mistakes, you couldn’t justify this particular punishment she’d received--and yet, your heart clenched in his presence. You were afraid you would never stop loving him. 

He examined you, his lid twitched when he spotted your still-weeping wound. Frowning, he stepped toward you. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaw tight, you retreated, glaring at him. “I know.”

“Come.” He reached for you. “You need a bandage.” 

“No, I don’t.” You dodged, snagged the towel from the floor and circled around him, his eyes shimmering with shielded grief, following you until you met the archway. “I’ll let it bleed.”

Kylo Ren said your name--but you had escaped to the hallway with the towel around your thumb, unable to stay, unwilling to hear what came next. Your appetite had disappeared. In the dash to your room, you passed Ushar by the annex staircase, but he did not follow you up the steps. Instead, he remained a statue, stoic as you fled, a red wraith of rage, behind your door.   

[semperintrepida]

Spark Check

The truck's gas pedal had long been stomped to the floor when Kyra drummed her palms against its steering wheel and tried to coax a little more oomph out of its tired motor. "Come on," she pleaded.

Without her little Toyota, she couldn't have fled Portland and her on-again, off-again relationship with Thal. Their latest blow up had flipped them back to off-again, and this time she had to get away, get out of the city. She was sick of green — she wanted shades of brown: dust and sagebrush as far as her eye could see and sketch and paint. So she'd packed her things and headed for Oregon's high desert, the road taking her southeast into the Cascades, past Mount Hood, and into dense forest dotted with blue lakes.

But it seemed this was as far as her pickup could go, on a long climb up a mountain in the middle of nowhere. The truck had slowed to a crawl, and she pulled over as soon as the roadway widened enough for it to be safe.

"Fuck," she said into the silence.

She jumped out and popped the hood open. The smell of hot rubber and oil surrounded her, and she shook her head at the confusion of belts, cables, and tubing she found inside. Fuck. She'd seen three cars during the hours she'd spent on this road, and when she swiped her phone's screen awake, it showed no signal.

Breathe, Kyra. Think. She was okay for now. She had her backpacking gear, plenty of food and water. She could overnight here just fine. All she had to do was wait. She took another deep breath, then launched a psychic message into the universe: Please send someone to help me.

She glanced around. It was pretty here, at least, with a postcard view of a forested valley from the shoulder of a mountain. The light was decent, if a little harsh, but it wouldn't be long before the sun's angle changed and sent shadows knifing across the road.

All she could do was wait.

A few hours later, she was dozing in the front seat when she heard a far off sound: a deep, loping rumble that grew louder, quickly, into noise that slapped her ears as a dirtbike blew past her without stopping. She slumped back against her seat.

Then brake lights lit up, and the dirtbike made a sharp u-turn in the middle of the road and backtracked closer. Damn, she was kinda hoping for a minivan driven by a soccer mom. She was all by herself out here. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and she got out of the truck and stood by the hood and waited.

Her stomach knotted and her chest tightened as she watched the bike roll to a stop a little ways away. The bike's engine fell silent, and then its rider hopped off and approached her.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, face hidden behind a helmet and mirrored goggles, and his jersey and pants were patterned in brash splotches of black, blue, and yellow. He wore plastic armor slung over his chest, guards over his elbows, and chunky boots. He looked like some futuristic video game warrior.

The boots must have been stiff. He clomped gracelessly towards her while stripping his gloves off to reveal large hands, and then he reached up and unbuckled his helmet. He pulled it free, shook a long dark braid loose over his shoulder, and Kyra froze like a leaf in a cold snap as she realized the rider was a woman.

A fucking hot one, too.

It took Kyra a few moments to recover her poise. "Hi," she said, to keep things simple.

The woman was even hotter when she smiled. "Hey there." Her cheeks and forehead were coated in dust, but it only made the unusual color of her eyes more prominent. 'Brown' and 'hazel' didn't do them justice. They flicked away from Kyra and over to the truck's engine. "Trouble?"

"Yeah. We barely made it up this far."

"Huh. No power?"

Kyra sighed. "Not as much as it should, which isn't much to start with."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Go right ahead."

The woman bent down to put her helmet on the ground, but Kyra held out a hand and said, "Here, give it to me."

It was lighter than Kyra expected, its dusty white shell covered in scratches and scuffs. She placed it carefully in the truck's front seat, and when she circled back to the engine, the woman had already starting taking things apart.

She held a rubbery cable up to her eye, murmuring to herself as she inspected it. "You got a tool kit?"

"No." Kyra's cheeks warmed. Probably not a great idea to be traveling through BFE without a tool box, but her pickup had never let her down before.

"I've got one that might work. And lucky for you, my bike's Japanese too."

Kyra wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, and she mulled it over as she watched the woman walk to her bike and open the small pack strapped across its tail. Maybe the Japanese had a different school of arcane engine knowledge than anyone else.

The woman returned soon enough, and unfurled a canvas roll of tools that reminded Kyra of the paintbrush case that sat with her art supplies in the passenger seat of her truck, a variety of implements lined up in a neat row. Then the woman was plunging the length of a socket into the engine, turning the wrench with strong hands, pulling it out.

A frisson of excitement shivered out from behind Kyra's eyes, down her spine, and into places between her legs. Her cheeks warmed again, and she ducked her head and hoped she'd gone unnoticed.

The woman tapped something out of the socket into the palm of her hand. A spark plug. She plugged it into the cable. "Let's give it a check. Can you start your truck?"

Kyra hurried off, glad to be given something to do. She moved the helmet aside and slid behind the wheel. "Ready?" she called out.

"Yeah. Go for it."

Kyra turned the key. The engine coughed over unhappily.

The woman's voice floated out from under the hood. "That's enough. Come on back."

When Kyra returned to the front of the truck, the woman held up the cable and said, "You've got a bad spark plug wire. And if one's going bad, the others are too."

Kyra winced. "Perfect." Her breath squeezed out from her, as if a load of sandbags had landed on her chest. If she couldn't get the truck running here, she'd have to get it towed — and she didn't have the money for something like that. She'd have to call Thal, beg him for help—

"Well, Detroit Lake's just down the road. Maybe twenty or thirty miles, but it's downhill the whole way. If you want, I can follow you to make sure you make it there, and then we can figure out what to do next."

That we made the weight on Kyra's chest lose a few pounds. "That sounds great," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"Happy to help."

She extended a hand. "I'm Kyra, by the way."

The woman set the wire down and wiped her hands on her jersey, leaving a dark smudge of grease behind. It would stain if someone didn't soak it in detergent first before washing. She shook Kyra's hand with a firm grip. "Kassandra," she said, along with another smile. "Nice to meet you."

She put the truck back together in short order, and then she was pulling on her helmet and saying, "I'll pass you when we get close to town and you can follow me in." Kyra climbed back into her truck, buckled her seat belt, and tried the key. The engine fired up on her third attempt, and Kyra sighed with relief to be moving again with a clear plan ahead.

It took an hour to coast down that narrow and winding road, and once they reached Detroit Lake, Kassandra led her to a rustic-looking resort nestled among giant trees. The dirtbike came to a stop in front of a small cabin, and Kyra parked alongside it.

While Kyra locked her truck and walked to the steps up to the cabin's porch, Kassandra pushed the bike up the porch's ramp and parked it next to the front door. Kyra waited on the steps as Kassandra removed her gloves and helmet.

"Back to civilization, safe and sound," Kassandra said.

Kyra nodded. "And I owe it all to you." She supposed the tiny gas station across the road counted as civilization. It did have a pay phone.

Awkward silence. Kassandra straightened her braid over her shoulder. "Well, then." Her hands played with the straps on her helmet.

"Can I buy you dinner?"

She looked surprised. "You don't have to do that."

Was she being careful for a reason? Maybe she was taken, and there was someone waiting for her in that cabin. But she was too damn gorgeous for Kyra not to try again. "I insist," she said, letting an amused grin sneak across her lips. "I'm starving, anyway, and you did say we'd figure out what to do next."

Kassandra's hesitation was brief. "All right, then," she said. "But let me change out of"— a gesture at herself —"this, first."

When she emerged from the cabin a few minutes later, her face and neck were damp and she was wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans and a worn pair of work boots. The shirt was tight enough to jolt Kyra's clit wide awake: Kassandra had muscles for days, in the long lines of her forearms, the swell of her biceps, and the curve of her shoulders into honest-to-God traps framing her neck. Generous lips smiled and her eyes sparkled with amusement as she asked, "Are you all right?"

Kyra suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips while running her hands over the washboard abs she knew were hiding under that t-shirt. She swallowed hard and tried not to wriggle out of her skin with want. "I'm fine, yeah."

Kassandra eyed her for a moment. "There's a decent place to eat, up the highway a bit," she said.

Kyra gestured for her to lead the way. Far safer than opening her mouth.

The hamlet of Detroit was bigger than Kyra expected. A marina full of houseboats sprawled by the lakeside, and a handful of shops stood in a cluster a short distance from the cars hurtling up and down the highway.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a building that wore the facade of a hunting lodge, with weathered clapboard siding and a dozen chromed-out motorcycles parked in front. There was probably a deer head mounted on the wall inside.

There was a deer's head mounted on the wall inside, a great big rack of antlers spread above the stone fireplace. They sat, ordered drinks — beer for Kyra and a Jack-and-Coke for Kassandra — and fussed with place settings.

"You come in from Estacada?" Kassandra asked her.

"No, I spent last night camping at Timothy Lake."

Kassandra smiled. "I love it up there. It's gorgeous, and the riding's perfect."

"Is that what you're here for?"

"Yeah, I've got a few days between assignments. My crew just got back from three weeks in Tahoe."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a firefighter." Of course she was. Something must have escaped Kyra's expression because Kassandra grinned at her and added, "Wildland, not the firetrucks, ladders, and dalmatians kind. I work on a Hotshot crew based out of Redmond."

"Hotshot?"

"We work the toughest parts of a forest fire, without any other support. And we direct a lot of the action around us. We go where others can't."

"So you're good at what you do, then."

"I'm very good at what I do." And she had the confidence to match.

They were still smirking at each other when the waitress returned with their drinks. They ordered food. Handed over menus. Kyra excused herself to wash up, and when she came back to their table, Kassandra was staring out the window, showing off a profile so perfect it should have been struck on coins like royalty.

"So what do you do?" Kassandra asked her as she sat down.

"I don't, really." Kyra fought back her embarrassment. Very attractive, not having a job. No, she did work at something — it just didn't pay. Yet.

Kassandra's eyebrow raised.

"I'm an artist."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"I paint, mostly." She was acutely aware of Kassandra's silent scrutiny. She sipped her beer and kept talking. "Small studies in acrylics, for now. I'm chasing that perfect light."

"Perfect light?"

"Yeah. You know, after sunrise, or before sunset. That golden glow?"

Kassandra nodded.

"It's so perfect it's a cliché. But I'm interested in other kinds of perfection: rays of sunlight moving ahead of a rainstorm, or light passing through ocean waves. Things like that."

"Lots of that around here."

Their eyes met. "Lots of beauty around here, too," Kyra said.

Under the table, Kassandra's leg jerked.

The food arrived just in time to distract them. Kassandra dug into a steak — rare — and an enormous salad. "I eat nothing but processed food and MREs while I'm on assignment," she explained. "The other six months of the year, I eat every vegetable in sight while doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Construction. Fabrication. That sort of thing."

So Kassandra knew about the gig life. "I usually end up finding work as a barista to pay the bills," Kyra said between forkfuls of potatoes au gratin. "I like slinging coffee well enough, but what I really want is to get paid for my paintings."

"A worthy goal."

"I've sold a few here and there, but I can't get my foot in the door of any galleries." She shrugged. "I'm not making the work I want to be, and it shows, I think."

"What's stopping you?"

"Money. Oil paints and canvas get expensive at large scale. I want to paint like J. C. Dahl or Bierstadt did. Huge canvases. Big views. When you look at one of my landscapes, I want you to feel like you could lose yourself in it." She scraped her fork through the remnants of potato on her plate. "But that kind of neo-luminism isn't exactly burning up the auction houses these days. I'd be better off learning how to paint with a spray can and a stencil." She gave Kassandra an apologetic smile. "And look at me, boring you with all this talk about my nonexistent career."

"I'm not bored. It's just that everything I know about art went into the finger paintings I made when I was in grade school."

Kyra laughed. "Well, I don't know a single thing about fighting fire, so I won't hold it against you."

"At least we've got something in common."

"What's that?"

"You make sacrifices to do what you love. You live with the uncertainty, and I bet you know how to make a dollar go a long way." She smiled faintly. "I know... because I do the same."

"Maybe you can give me some tips on dealing with the uncertainty part," Kyra said. That was what was hardest, not having control of her life, not having a plan.

"Ask away, if there's something you want to know."

There were a lot of things about Kassandra that Kyra wanted to know, but she steered the conversation in a lighter direction, and the second round of drinks became a third while their knees kept brushing under the table, and the biker gang peeled out of the parking lot with a cloud of exhaust and noise, and the shadows grew long across the highway.

"Sun's going to set soon," Kassandra said. "Where were you planning to stay tonight?"

"I was hoping to make it to Bend today, but that plan's been shot to hell. And I bet there aren't any vacant hotels around here."

"Not this time of year. I got lucky finding this room — someone bailed on a reservation." She slid her empty glass back and forth on the table in front of her, as if the coaster was a raft she was guiding through rapids.

"Looks like I'm sleeping in the canopy of my truck, then. Wouldn't be the first time."

Kassandra's glass lurched to a stop. "Tell you what. You're welcome to crash in my room tonight. We can take my truck in to Stayton in the morning, find you some new spark plugs and wires. You'll be back on the road well before noon." She'd said it in a rush, as if she'd reached a chute in the rapids and had no choice but to follow it on down.

Kyra breathed in slowly. It wouldn't do to seem too eager. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm grateful for the help."

They bickered gently over the check, when it came; Kyra wanting to pay the whole thing like she'd promised, and Kassandra insisting on covering her share. Kyra sensed her digging in, unwilling to cross some line of propriety she'd set for herself, and so Kyra relented. There were too many hills around her for all of them to be ones to die on.

On the walk back to the cabin, Kassandra told her about a wildfire she'd worked not far from here, felling trees and digging fireline along a ridge in a forest dried-out from years of drought, the flames in the canyon below burning so intensely that the heat had created its own thunderstorm right above it. She'd dug and dug, rain and hail pelting her hard hat while bright blue skies stretched behind her all the way to Mount Hood on the horizon.

"That sounds... beautiful and terrifying," Kyra said as Kassandra opened the door to the cabin and gestured her inside.

"It's often both, yeah."

The room wasn't large, but the bed was. Bed in the singular. Kyra kept her smirk internal.

A small sofa sat across from the bed, a TV hid in the corner, and two doorways led to rooms unknown. Wood paneling on the walls, simple wooden furniture. Kassandra's belongings were organized neatly in an open wardrobe.

Kassandra made a beeline for the sofa. She plopped down onto it, stretched her arms out to both sides. Her arm span was wider than the sofa was. "I'll sleep here." She bounced up and down, ignoring the dire creaking of its springs.

"This is your room."

She shrugged, then leaned forward so her elbows rested on her knees. "So? You're my guest."

"You're six feet tall and that sofa's the size of a postage stamp. I'll sleep on it before you do." Kyra crossed her arms. "But really, there's no reason why we can't share the bed."

Kassandra had started twisting her fingers together; locking them in place, breaking them apart. "I can't have you thinking that I brought you here because I'm wanting something from you, for helping you with your truck. I'll sleep right here. It's fine."

Kyra had to shoot her shot, right now, or she'd end up sleeping in that big bed all alone. "Maybe I'm wanting something from you."

Troubled eyes looked up. God, she was gorgeous. "I... " she started. Stopped. And Kyra's heart sank. This is when Kassandra would tell her she was taken, that she had someone back home to soak those grease stains out of her jersey, to worry about her when she was working a fire, to—

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," Kassandra said softly.

Kyra took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet, and then Kyra slid her palms along the undersides of Kassandra's forearms. Heavy. Solid, like bronze. But that was the color of Kassandra's eyes, and when Kyra kissed her it was like a circuit closing like an arc lamp turning night into day like a quality of light she'd never seen before but knew she'd be chasing the rest of her life.

When they parted, Kyra was breathless, and she tucked her face into the curve of Kassandra's neck, feeling the steady cadence of her breathing. "Kassandra?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm so glad you didn't turn out to be some redneck."

Kassandra's laugh filled the room, and she gathered Kyra's face in her hands and looked at her. "Honestly, when I saw your rig, I was expecting some dried-up gold miner with shaggy hair and missing teeth."

"You thought wrong, Bubba."

Kassandra laughed again. Kissed her again. But when Kyra's hands strayed down to her belt, she pulled away. "Hey, slow down there, forty-niner. I'm pretty sure I have dust in unmentionable places."

"Do you really think I'd let a little dust get in the way of working my claim?" She reached for Kassandra again.

Her paydirt maneuvered away a second time. "I kinda want to take a shower..."

She waited for the rest.

"Think you might like to join me?"

She answered by curling her fingers around Kassandra's belt, and she glanced about the room, considering her doorway options.

"That way," Kassandra murmured along with a tilt of her head.

She pulled Kassandra to the bathroom, each step driving her to even giddier heights. Was this even happening right now?

Kassandra flipped the lights on. Clean, white tile and a matching shower. Nicer than Kyra had expected.

"This could either be really awkward or really hot," Kassandra said.

"You think this'll be awkward?" Kyra smirked and reached for Kassandra. There was no hiding in this light, no place for anything but want and confidence, and Kyra found her confidence in wanting to get Kassandra naked. Kassandra's t-shirt and sports bra ended up getting tossed in a corner, and then Kyra couldn't resist, she just had to kiss Kassandra while her hands found leather and metal to unbuckle, and she pushed fabric down over hips and thighs until Kassandra kicked it all free and stood naked before her in full glory.

Oh my God. Not only did Kassandra have muscles for days, she had them for weeks and months and years. Her proportions were perfect, in the horizontal of her shoulders to hips and the vertical of her torso to legs. Kyra's mouth went dry, her moisture draining to places south of her waist.

Kassandra flashed a rakish grin, then stepped into the shower, turning knobs while Kyra waited. Water jetted against tile with a loud hiss. Kassandra seemed to take a very long time — or maybe that was Kyra's thirst wringing out the clock in its search for droplets of satisfaction — but when Kassandra finally came back, she undressed Kyra with a touch both careful and reverent, her eyes drinking in the sight of Kyra's skin with every slow reveal.

Heat burned between Kyra's legs. Steam filled the bathroom. Her clothes joined the pile in the corner, and Kassandra's hands came to rest on her hips. She reached for Kassandra's braid, untied it, and worked the thick mane loose — along with a puff of dust.

Kassandra truly was covered in it, in streaks running down her steam-dampened skin. Kyra laughed and traced her finger through the grime between Kassandra's breasts, then drew an X on Kassandra's stomach. The hands on her hips shifted, nudging her towards the shower until she stood basking under its pleasantly hot spray.

The pressure was good: in the stream of water and the feel of Kassandra's hands on her skin. Calloused palms scratched and tickled the sides of her breasts, and she wriggled away, prompting an insincere "Sorry" as Kassandra played with her, alternating soft strokes from her fingertips with rougher ones from her palms.

Kyra bit back her want, slipped out of Kassandra's grasp, and said, "Your turn."

As Kassandra stood under the water, Kyra enjoyed the way it beaded over her skin, the way she glistened in the light. Then looking wasn't enough, and Kyra had to sample Kassandra's broad shoulders, the firm planes of her chest, the soft weight of breasts and plump nipples so different than a man. She smelled different too, none of that tang that men always had about them. It had been too long since Kyra had been with a woman, and Kassandra was showing her how foolish that was.

Kyra pulled Kassandra closer, pressed her up against the wall, and kissed her. Wet lips, water in her mouth, soft slick tongue. She was delicious, and Kyra grew greedy, wanting more more more as she ran her hands over sculpted abs and slid them lower—

That earned her hands a playful slap from Kassandra. "Ah, ah, ah. Hands off. I don't want to be distracted," she said, as she snagged the soap from a niche in the shower wall.

She knew exactly what she was doing, making Kyra wait, making Kyra watch as she soaped her skin and scrubbed it into a lather, making Kyra thirst while surrounded by water as she washed her hair. Her shampoo had the fresh, airy smell of citrus. It filled the shower, wrapped Kyra in its enticing steam.

This was a fierce kind of want. She scowled, snatched up the shampoo bottle, washed her hair as Kassandra emerged from the water clean and magnificent. The sight was too much; she turned her back to Kassandra as she rinsed herself. But as the last of the suds swirled down the drain, Kassandra's hands gently turned her around and soaped her from head to toe and she forgot everything except the hand slipping over her belly into the crease of her hip, slipping between her thighs, so close to where she needed, hovering without touching, moving from thigh to thigh—

"Fuck," she gasped.

"Is that what you want?" Kassandra asked. Her smirking grin was an inch away from Kyra's lips.

Kyra stared daggers at her.

"Sorry, you'll have to wait a bit longer," she said, and then she carefully rinsed Kyra clean. It was thorough, and luxurious, and melted Kyra's pique into forgiveness. She closed her eyes and her muscles went soft and pliant under Kassandra's hands, and she felt herself being guided out of the shower. She stood in the middle of the bathroom, waiting. Kassandra moved away. Kassandra came back. She rubbed Kyra down with a fluffy towel, wrapped her in it, then picked her up with breathtaking ease and carried her to the bed.

The length of Kassandra's body settled against hers. Dangerous weight. She could pin Kyra down, crush her with all that muscle. The towel bloomed open. Goosebumps sprouted across damp skin. The only illumination in the room came from the light in the bath. It snuck past the drape of Kassandra's hair and threw shadows across her face, and her eyes captured the sparks of want passing between them.

All that muscle on top of her, mouth at her throat, hands on her hips. Kyra's want buzzed and flickered, like a spotlight warming up. Now, find out now. She fit her thigh up between Kassandra's legs, pressed hard. A gasp from above. Kyra's heartbeat doubled-up, and there was no stopping her leg twining around Kassandra's. "Roll over." A demand, not a question.

Kassandra blinked, tilted her head as she searched Kyra's face. The sparks in her eyes danced. Really?

Yes, really. Kyra shifted her weight, used her leg as a pivot... and felt Kassandra yield.

All that muscle moved beneath her, hips made to be straddled, shadowed curves meant to be explored. Kyra's blood pulsed with an illicit thrill as she leaned forward. Skin pressing together. Breasts nestling together. Damp heat, water turning to sweat.

She kissed Kassandra, tasted her hunger, her soft mouth opening to let Kyra in. No games and no playing hard to get. Her want, Kyra's want, their want speaking in tongues. Kassandra's fingers tangled in her hair. That mouth should be on her clit. Those fingers should be inside her.

Wait. Wait longer. She sucked at Kassandra's lower lip, raked it with her teeth, apologized with her tongue. She pulled her mouth away, smiled as Kassandra groaned and stirred, muscles bunching, eyes burning like carbon filaments, captive and captivated. Kyra moved her mouth lower: the silvery scar on Kassandra's chin, the rapid pulse at her throat, the wings of her collarbones. Lower, until her lips found the soft swell of a breast, the nipple she could persuade to grow harder with teasing lips and tongue. First one, then the other. And Kassandra's back arched: Yes.

How sweet of her to offer. Kyra slid off to the side, surveying the chiaroscuro of the exposed planes of Kassandra's body. Choices, choices. Kassandra's spectacular abs, or the inviting shadows between her thighs?

Both. Kyra was getting greedy again. She ran her tongue along the sculpted grooves of Kassandra's stomach and slid her hand into soft curls. Swollen heat. Desire soaking her fingers, satisfying in a way arousing a man never was. And making this particular woman so wet... She smiled and drifted her mouth lower, tasted her own desire in a trail she'd left on Kassandra's belly, and her clit was bright and burning and her ache went deep, wanting to be fucked, wanting to fuck.

She stroked slick fingers everywhere but the places Kassandra wanted. Hard to be so patient, when every touch felt like it reflected back at her, teasing and being teased. She was dripping. Kassandra was dripping, her body twisting restlessly in a tangle of sheets and towels. Kyra stopped moving. Her fingertips hovered, waiting. And Kassandra's hips lifted: More.

Kyra's mouth was almost too close to Kassandra's clit. It tempted her, nestled in dark, feathery curls, proud and swollen and hard. That was Kyra's doing. She'd made that happen. Hard not to let that surge of power go straight to her clit, and she closed her eyes against the bright flare of her own need.

Focus. Come back. Breathe in air heavy with warm, damp arousal. Breathe it out across Kassandra's sensitive flesh. Kassandra squirmed under her cheek and let out a frustrated moan.

That sound was pleasing, and she dipped the tips of her fingers into silky wetness. The tiniest taste, no more. Kassandra's moans grew louder. Kyra's blood beat in her ears. So easy, capturing Kassandra's full attention in the spotlight of her breath and the smallest movements of her fingertips.

Wait. Move slowly. Kassandra's muscles corded and strained, and Kyra wound them tighter and tighter with every touch. All that strength in thrall to her fingers — the rush lifted Kyra to stratospheric heights. She could glide on it, never come down. She lost all track of time in the artificial, unchanging light. How long had she kept Kassandra like this? How long could she?

Beneath her, Kassandra was panting with her thighs spread wide. She rocked her hips, chasing Kyra's fingers, and Kyra made her fail again and again. Her attempts grew half-hearted. She gave up trying.

This was Kassandra primed like a canvas: body taut beyond trembling, senses tuned to Kyra, clit starved for attention.

Kassandra's sounds devolved into one long, unbroken whimper. And then, finally, Kyra went to work, sucking Kassandra into her mouth and easing her fingers all the way inside.

Nothing fancy: steady strokes, tongue on clit, the way women have been getting each other off since ancient times. She'd already tested Kassandra's patience at least that long.

Kassandra whispered Yes and Fuck to guide her. Kassandra angled her hips just so. Kassandra snapped at the point of release with a sudden growl, her hands grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets as she writhed, lost in pleasure.

Kassandra throbbed against her tongue and pulsed around her fingers and Kyra lay there not moving not wanting to move in the golden glow, wanting it to stay wanting to capture it and keep it.

But it faded, eventually. She slid up the bed and rested her head on Kassandra's shoulder and smiled for a long, long time.

"I'll be damned," Kassandra said quietly, once she caught her breath. "Is that how you always say thank you?"

"When I'm feeling inspired."

"You really are an artist."

Kyra smirked. No matter how the rest of their time together played out, she'd always have the memory of Kassandra writhing around her fingers.

The mattress compressed as Kassandra knelt above her. Kassandra rested a hand on her belly, and though there was no weight behind it, it pinned Kyra right to the bed.

"Well," Kassandra said. "You certainly set the bar high, honey. But it's my turn now."

Kyra opened her arms wide and gave Kassandra her dirtiest come-hither look. "Show me what you've got, hotshot."

Kassandra smiled, and did.

Part of the Heat Index...

[honestsycrets]

What’s Gotten Into You III: Even Still

❛ pairing | alfred the great x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | you have a choice: to tell alfred about his mother, or not to. it all depends: how selfish are you?

❛  warnings | nsfw, voyeurism, masturbation, pregnancy kink, sinfulness, adultery, female receiving, teasing, deception, religious themes, christian background, am i christianing right? likely not.

❛ sy’s notes | my gif. also, i couldn’t remember if it was Aelswith or Eahlswith. i’m sure someone will clock me on it.

What little Alfred knew, or did not know, of your relations with his mother, you were not sure. The pumping of liquid fear shot through your veins, crushing you as you rush to sit up. Alfred wills your motions down, his ringed hand motioning you down from your desperate state. That’s it, then.

“Come in, mother.” Alfred whispers, soft but firm.

Queen Judith comes in, arms swaying. She comes to a stop beside the bed, reaching out to settle a hand over your swollen belly. She catches the chills down your arms, with hawk eyes like hers, but otherwise scans you for wounds. Or her grandchild, whom she so anticipates the arrival of.

“What is it?” he asks.

She steps back, turning her hands against one another. The queen sighs, bringing such coldness into the room that you best hoped was left outside. You can’t tell what she thinks. You never could. She was a spider. When you had one limb, she had seven more behind the first to rely upon. But with her grandchild growing in your belly-- not any grandchild that is, Alfred’s-- you feel secure.

“It might be good practice for you to stay with her tonight. Losing a husband is difficult on the best of days. Moreso when you are with child,” she steps up to Alfred, and looking down to him, she caresses his cheek as if he was a small babe. King Alfred sighs, turning his arms over one another. He rarely took time to rest. Upon the back of the death of his brother, it would be hard for anyone to blame him, and yet-- he can.

“Aelswith?”

“I’ll care for her,” she says, hinting at deception as her hand drops to his shoulder, and then inevitably down her side. She spares you one last glance as she closes the door with a careful hand. Was she off to kill her? the question lingers there. You could excuse your sweet Aethelred’s death on divine intervention. But Aelswith’s was in your hands.

“I wonder at times how much she knows,” Alfred drops upon the bed. It creeks, singing its song, filling the cold and empty chambers of your room. He’s here, so close, and yet so far. You pull yourself behind him, bumping his back as he works with loosening his boots.

“More than you know,” you answer, a little sorry to say such things. True things. His head tilts, looking toward the English silk that covers your bed. Your words were built up with shame, knowing that she already knew. That she didn’t care. His breath comes in shaky exhales.

“Truly,” he completes his thought, chewing upon his lip when he turns to face you. You kneel before him like some peasant. “Go lay down. You shouldn’t be up in such a condition.”

“What of you?” you ask, running your finger tips over his shoulder.

“In my brother’s absence, I will have to reassign his princely work.” He pushes himself up, pacing around the table to Aethelred’s desk. He takes a seat there, looking through the scrolls of forgotten work. He unrolls the parchment and begins dry work, engrossed in a frenzy of work. You recline into your marital bed, tucking the pillow underneath your head.

For so much having changed, seemingly overnight, so much had not. The familiar scratch upon parchment you could not read, the occasional flit of Alfred’s eyes to yours, taking you in, his child in, his situation. It goes on like that for a long while. The candles began to burn low, rivulets of wax dripping down from the candletop.

Your hand wanders to the undercurve of your belly, caressing the soft fabric as you lay as if a Roman statue. Your hand shifts, tugging scratchy and offensive fabric over stomach and chest. You toss it to the floor-- effectively causing Alfred to raise his head. Perhaps he recalls what led you to this state, his touch. Caressing the sweetest of your spots and holding you down, allowing himself to sink around you, melding your body around his, pumping himself inside of you.

Alfred reaches for a few small battlements and units that serve as proxies that rest over Aethelred’s table. He lifts each one, examining the placement and reason behind each unit of calvary and infantry. Without looking up, he speaks.

“Do you normally distract Aethelred in such a way?” he whispers, making note of positioning himself.

By now your hand has abandoned Alfred’s child, soothing over your plumping hips, up toward your breasts. Despite his intended indifference, he is watching. Your nose turns over in the pillows of bird-feather, nuzzling into your long strands under your face. Your delicate hand trails over swollen nipple to swollen nipple, causing him to bend his head again. But he lacks those long, luscious locks of hair that once obscured his honest eyes. His brow furrows, and you can tell he’s distracted by such things.

The lack of an answer seems to exacerbate the issue. You’re wretched, and angelic, cursing him to sin when you softly sigh, grinding your nipple between thumb and index finger. It’s a game to you. All this-- a harsh, cruel game. A freshly made widow, and yet, your body cries out for your king who holds a unit of calvary so tight between his nimble fingers that it causes indentations in his skin.

“I’ll remind you that I am married,” Alfred says, as though it stopped such a greedy, needy king in the past. His true nature, the one you knew Alfred for, was the one that knew he should not have come. And yet, here he was again, his eyes inexorable, stricken, helpless against your skin. Alfred’s leg bounces over the stone floor, firm and insistent.

“And I am suddenly very unmarried,” you return with a hint of bitterness, prying your legs apart before him. The picture before him is defiant. He should have known better than to come, to grow the desire between his legs with your skin on display, drunkening him although he’s had nothing to drink. It’s going to happen again, he feels it, but he’s spent such time confessing his sins to god.

He never professed to be an honest man-- nor honest king. And yet, he wishes to be a humble husband. When he’s here, swelling underneath his trousers, his thoughts hard and deep, just reminding himself that she’s just… a little… too much for him. Alfred is getting frustrated now, watching your fingers creep toward your slit, illuminated by only the warm flicker of candles. Your face softens, lips part just so, pleasure rocking through you like a bolt of lightening sent down from Heaven.

You suddenly gasp, air filling your lungs, when you push your lips apart, fingers stroking and dancing, brimming your belly with excitement. He searches your face for an answer to his dilemma, and finds none, only unspoken pleads for him to take his place. Surges of conflicting thoughts fill his belly full, but he’s no less hungry when the piece in his hand clatters to the ground. His chair scratches over stone floors, pushing out before he stands.

“God,” he comes closer. “Why must you do this?”

Standing before the bed, he reaches out, enough to shift your legs apart. Your fingertips twiddle over your unfilled entrance, raking glossy desire through your lips, arching as your finger encircles your bud. He loosens his pants, cursing himself for his inability to hold himself back from your desire, tempting him to sin. Your eyes have flittered shut, flicking and arching your wrist in time with your sketchy breathing. Because you like it. And you like this. This power you know to have over him.

His darkened eyes follow your body, arching up into the palm that brings you pleasure. Soft moans slip from your lips, filling the room like sweet prayers woven with sinful lust. The wetness squishes under your fingers now dragging an orgasm closer when you stuff your fingers inside of your waiting body.

Alfred flicks his fist over his swollen length, and you know so by his raw noises, cut out by gasps. His rigid cock longs for something more than this. To fall inside of your body, claim you in beautiful thrusts, spill himself again. Because-- if you are already pregnant, what else could he do? His eyes waver from your hold, reminding himself of your condition, swollen and full of him. There’s a side of him, deeply dark with ill-intent, that delights in knowing he’s done it. That it wasn’t his brother’s child that clung to your womb.

Alfred mounts the bed, sagging with his weight, bringing his cock against your belly. All hesitation slips from his body, drawing his hips in smooth thrusts over your belly. Each thrust was punctuated, an ownership of every inch of your body, clashing with his obligation to Aelswith. His lips catch yours in messy kisses, ones that don’t truly care if your teeth knocked his or if his lips dragged off to the side, dragging in long lines down to your throat.

He draws himself down, knocking your hands apart so that he might slide himself against your plump pussy lips, not entering, no-- grinding, fingers weaving in your sticky ones, letting loose soft worship. Words fail into disjointed noises, strung together by longing for him. Whips of his cum paint your mound, smeared by his desperate shifting, smearing the cum into your body as he rid out his pleasure through choked gasps.

Snapping back, Alfred presses himself to you. But not to your stomach, to your ruined mound, drawing his tongue along his smeared seed. He groans, hot with sudden need to make you feel as he did. His tongue lathes over you, cleaning and loving you, as you hadn’t had. Your thighs nestle him close, caressing his short black cropped hair, every gasp and squelch of your pussy sends you spiraling into that pit of pleasure.

Soft and slick kisses push you closer, careening with hips undulating on his face, and bless your king-- but in this moment, he’s no king. He’s not even a prince, but that boy you fell in love with. You fall into white pleasure, snapping your eyes shut, trapping all breath tight as you fell into pleasure, cumming over his face. Moans vibrate over you, and you hold him there, desperate to keep him close as long as you can. When he at last surfaces, and your vision clears, you lurch your hand around his sweaty neck, using the other hand to wrench the chains of his tunic a little closer.

“Don’t. Please,” Alfred pleads with your name. They’ve gone over your head, and far above into the heavens, longing to taste his cum and yours as one. You drag his lips to yours, caress him softly, familiarly. What choice does he have but to meet your need for such a kiss, falling into you, mindful enough to catch his forearm to keep him from knocking into your belly. His eyes open, cherishing that sight of you, savouring the thought while you savour his sweetly soaked lips.

“--god,” he draws back, plopping upon his brother’s bed and makes himself decent. The thought of you swings like an axe, swinging wildly at his head. He swallows what he’s just done, yet again. “We cannot keep doing this.”

“I never asked for this,” you say with a hint of bitterness, cherishing his taste from your lips. Still, you turn away from him, knowing that he won’t reach to cradle you close as you always wanted. He’s torn up by obligation to his arranged marriage. Though he lays beside you, he feels a thousand years away. “You came to my bed while I slept. You impregnated me of jealousy.”

He knows that. He wishes he hadn’t.

@tephi101​​ @alicedopey​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​ @tootie-fruity​​ @titty-teetee​​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​​ @ethereallysimple​​ @deathbyarabbit​​ @deathbyarabbit​​ @readsalot73​​ @natalie-rdr​​ @lol-haha-joke​​ @lisinfleur​​ @hissouthernprincess​ @marvelousse​​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​​ @vikingsmania​​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid​ @lif3snotouttogetyou​​ @gruffle1​​ @cris101071​​ @gold-dragon-slayer​ @babypink224221​​ @wonderwoman292​​ @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl​​ @chinduda​​ @laketaj24​, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope​ @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117​​ @unassumingviking​ @ladyofsoa​, @inforapound​​ @winchesterwife27​​ @feyrearcheron44​ @readsalot73​ @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​​  @bluearchersstuff​​ @affectionrabbitt​​ @whatamood13​ @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​​ @unacceptabletatertots​​ @ivarandersen​​ @stra-vage​​ @tgrrose​​ @cookies186​​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​​ @msmorganforever​​ @therealcalicali​

[gaynoctgar]

A Small Comfort

Summary: Set after Noctis’ and Ignis’ argument in Episode 4 of Brotherhood, Noctis learns to lean on his closest friend in his time of need.

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis, pre-relationship

Word Count: ~2800

So...I’m finally posting a fic I wrote.  Last time I watched Brotherhood, I had wished Noct’s mental health was addressed more, so I made it happen!  Trigger warning: a panic attack is described.  I hope you enjoy!

>>i kno its late, but do u wanna come over?

Noctis stares hard at the cursor blinking at his screen, thumb hovering over the “send” button.  Ignis has just left, and Noctis himself has screamed so hard he doesn’t think he can scream anymore, but there’s still a persistent ache in his chest, a need to not be alone.  He can’t call Ignis, obviously, and he can’t call Gladio, so that leaves…

Noctis has been careful to leave Prompto out of this part of his life.  It means so much to him that when he is with Prompto, he doesn’t have to worry about any of this. He doesn’t have to think about sustaining the wall, or complicated political reports, he can just be a normal teenager.  But right now, he finds himself craving comfort in a way that he hasn’t since he was younger, when he was first injured.  That doesn’t make the reaching out any easier.

He hits send before he can think any better of it and throws his phone across the couch.  Immediately, it buzzes, and Noctis scrambles to look at the message.

>sure thing dude.  Need me to bring anything?

In spite of everything, Noctis feels his heart lift slightly.

>>uh, junk food maybe?

>>but if you don’t have any uh >>just bring you.

Oh shit, he really sent that.  He triple texted.  But Prompto’s reply is just as quick.

>omw, the metro should get me there in 20. you feelin okay?

Well that’s...a question.  The obvious answer would be “no” but Noctis falters before replying with that.  He doesn’t want Prompto to think of him any differently, to see him as the prince.  But he also, somehow, really wants to talk  about this with someone he knows will just listen.  Then, he thinks, that’s not fair to push onto Prompto.  He can’t burden Prompto with all of this.  Prompto has a life free of these kinds of worries, and Noctis cares about him too much not to keep it that way.  Still...they have been getting closer lately.  Noctis has never had a best friend before, but he suspects that best friends talk about these things.  Are Ignis and Gladio best friends?  Do they talk?

Just then, Noctis hears a knock at his door, startling him out of his thoughts.  He looks down to see 5 more texts from Prompto that he missed while he was spacing out, and he rushes over to open the door.  There stands his friend, with the promised junk food, and an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

“Did ya fall asleep on me?” he tries to joke as he steps inside, but then he glances at Noctis again.  It’s a look Noctis has never seen before, one that Noct doesn’t quite know how to parse.  He then realizes what a slob he must look like--still in his school uniform at this late hour, unwashed hair sticking out every which way, clothing rumpled in weird places--and makes to say something about it, but Prompto very gently places a hand on his shoulder.  Firm.  Grounding.  He sets the junk food down and looks at Noct dead-on.

“Hey...are you okay?” he asks, and Noct’s reflexes tell him to say that he’s fine, to downplay everything he is feeling, and to ignore it and make a joke to avoid having this conversation.  But he looks at Prompto, at his soft features, his loose hair, the freckles that dot his face, and his swirling purple eyes, and it suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.  The look in his eyes is so gentle, and he just wants to help Noctis, and all of it is a bit too much and--

Wait.  

He actually can’t breathe.  

All he can think about is that conversation with Ignis, replaying in his head, and his fear of telling Prompto what’s really going on, what he will really have to face someday, because if he does he will lose him and he can’t lose Prompto, this precious boy who is so kind, and he can’t lose his father, and--

When did the floor get so close?

Somehow, he is kneeling on the ground, and Prompto is right there with him.  He’s saying something but the words sound fuzzy, like there’s a high-pitched whine blocking everything out.  Both of Prompto’s hands are on his shoulders--the only sensation he can really register--and he focuses all of his energy into understanding what Prompto is saying.  It’s really hard because all he feels is the blood rushing through him, like he just ran a marathon, and breathing is even harder and takes up so much of his effort right now.  He feels dizzy, like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“...--ear me?” Noct manages to make out.  Prompto’s probably asking if Noctis can hear him.  He nods, slightly.

“Good, that’s really good, buddy,” Prompto soothes him, his voice getting clearer with each word, but Noctis still feels as though he...can’t move from this strange position he’s found himself in.  He thinks, vaguely, that if it weren’t for Prompto’s hands on his shoulders, he might actually die.  He wants to tell him this, to say thank you, to do anything, but it all catches in his throat.  Why can’t he move?

“Just breathe with me, okay?  Can you do that?” Prompto is asking him.  Was Noctis not breathing?  He nods again.  Prompto begins counting out the breaths, and Noctis does his best to follow along, each deep breath easing his muscles, and slowing his heart down.  He hadn’t realized how fast it was beating.  He doesn’t know how long they stay there, breathing slowly, in and out, until Noct’s body releases him from the grip he was in.

“Better?” Prompto asks, simply, and Noctis finally has it in him to look at him.

“S’good,” Noct replies.  “Thanks.”

He tries to get himself off the ground, but of course his bad leg is acting up.  Yet another thing he hasn’t told Prompto.

“Whoa there, let me help,” Prompto is saying, hoisting himself up and reaching a hand down to Noct.  Noct takes it, gratefully, and leans into the touch more than he’d like to admit to get himself standing again.

“I’m sorry.  I have no idea what just happened,” is what flies out of Noct’s mouth before he has the chance to stop it.

“Has it happened before?” Prompto asks earnestly, and Noct shakes his head no.  At least...not that he could remember.  Maybe now and then, but he usually just slept it off, now that he thinks about it.

“I...think that was a panic attack, dude,” Prompto says slowly, carefully, guiding Noct to sit back on the couch with him.  “Have you been worrying about something?”

Was that what that was?  All of the worry he’s tried to lock away...consuming him?  Noctis shrugs noncommittally.  

“If you have...I’m here if you need,” Prompto says, softly.  “But I won’t make you talk if you don’t wanna.”

Noctis realizes his friend is giving him a way out.  And if nothing else, he knows that Prompto will be true to his word.  If he says he doesn’t want to talk, Prompto will not push him, and will at least pretend to forget about the incident.

But…

Noctis can’t shake the feeling that not talking is exactly what got him here.  He’s only 16, and he’s pretty sure most people his age don’t just break down like that.  Yes, Prompto is offering him a way out...but he is also offering him comfort and help.  On his own terms.  Not because Noctis is a prince in need of protecting, but because he’s his friend.  Maybe, if he’s careful…

“...it’s a lot of things, to be honest,” Noctis finally breathes out, when he remembers how to make his mouth say words again.  “...prince stuff.  I don’t wanna…” he mumbles, turning away.

But Prompto has reached out to place a hand on his shoulder again.  

“Doesn’t matter to me if it’s prince stuff.  It’s definitely bothering you,” he begins, softly, slowly, giving Noct time to process every word.  Now that Noctis thinks about it, Prompto has always spoken to him like this: gently, slowly, even when he is angry.  But this voice?  It’s soft, and low, almost as if to remind Noctis he is safe here.

“Right but I….you….you’re separate from all that.  I like it that way,” Noctis tries to explain.  “You remind me I’m someone beyond that…I…” he continues, but it fades away.  Prompto’s arm has slid around his shoulders, tugging Noctis in to lean against him, and Noctis doesn’t have it in him to fight it.  Hell, he doesn’t want to.

Prompto laughs just a little bit when he sees how Noctis has curled into his side on the couch, and slides his hand up to card through his hair.  It feels...nice, comforting, but something else too.  Almost...electric, like little sparks are dancing across his nerves when Prompto’s fingers brush across his scalp, gently pulling the knots in his hair free.  Noctis has been feeling this more and more recently, and he doesn’t really know what to call it.  Maybe it’s just that he’s so starved of physical contact aside from getting his ass kicked in training.  He sighs into the contact, and he can hear Prompto’s voice vibrating under his ear.

“Yeah, you’re my best dude, you know that.  I definitely think of you as Noct first,” he turns, slightly, attempting to make eye contact with Noct, who keeps his face turned away, “but you also happen to be Prince Noctis.  It’s a part of you, and you don’t have to shut me out of it.  I want to help you with whatever I can, whether it’s a really difficult boss fight on a video game….or prince stuff,” he finishes, smiling to himself.

At this, Noctis does bring his head up from Prompto’s shoulder so he can look him in the eye.  Prompto smiles at him softly, his indigo-purple eyes drawing Noctis closer in a way he can’t quite describe.  He wants to say something, anything, to tell Prompto how amazing and wonderful and patient he is.  Instead...he slumps forward, on instinct, burying his face in the crook of Prompto’s neck, wrapping his arms around him in an embrace.  One that Prompto eagerly returns, after a moment of shock.  Noctis can’t even remember the last time he was hugged, let alone the last time he initiated a hug, but it feels...natural and good.  Prompto traces the fingers of one hand up Noctis’ neck and tangles them in his hair once more, his other hand softly rubbing his back.

Noctis feels so comforted that he doesn’t ever want to leave, doesn’t want to think about saying anything to spoil the moment.  But he trusts Prompto more than anything and, the longer they are here, pressed close together, the more he feels the urge to talk about it.  Prompto’s a good friend, he’ll listen.  Noctis breathes in his familiar and warm scent one more time...and takes the plunge.

“My dad is dying, Prompto,” he mumbles quietly, giving sound to the thought that has most been plaguing his mind ever since his father started needing to use his cane.  “It’s the Wall.  It keeps us safe, and it’s killing him,” he manages, before he falters.  Putting it into words almost has Noctis panicking again, but he hears Prompto gasp a little bit before wrapping his arms around him tighter, pulling him even closer.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.  “No wonder you’ve been so sad.”

And that’s all.  Nothing about how Noctis will need to be stronger to fill his father’s shoes, nothing about how he isn’t fit to be a king, nothing about how he can’t be upset, just acknowledging that it sucks.  Something breaks within Noctis, but he really, really doesn’t want to cry in front of Prompto.  It’s a strange mix of emotions.  He pushes away slightly, so Prompto doesn’t have to deal with it, and finds himself locking eyes with Prompto again, Prompto’s strong arms preventing him from getting too far.  And if he’s a good friend, he deserves to know the last bit of truth that Noctis has been keeping from him.  Maybe he can get out of all of this now, while he has a chance.

“I feel like I should tell you one more thing,” Noctis says, almost a whisper.

“Sure, Noct,” Prompto replies immediately.  “Lay it on me.”

“I don’t think you’ll like this one,” Noctis smiles slightly, in spite of it.  What a ridiculous mess of emotions he is right now.  “When...when Dad dies.  Probably soon,” he tries, waving his hands around erratically against the tide of emotion he feels--just one of many behaviors his father and the Citadel have tried to train out of him.  He takes a deep breath and continues, “someone will have to keep the Wall up.  That someone will have to be me--” he tries to explain, but his voice breaks on the last word, and he presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, as if that will stop the tears, but to no avail.  He did not want this to happen, Prompto is going to think he’s so weak, and a mess, and--

“It’s okay to be upset about it,” Prompto says, gently grabbing Noctis’ wrists to pull them away from his face.  Noctis peeks at his dear friend--his kind, wonderful, patient friend--and is met with the gentlest look he thinks he’s ever seen from anyone.  He thinks maybe Prompto is crying too, but then he’s completely overwhelmed because Prompto is gently brushing his tears away with his thumb.  

“It’s a lot to take in, but I’m glad you told me,” he soothes.  Noctis feels his face heating up, but he doesn’t push Prompto away at all.  He leans closer, craving more of that contact.  “It helps me to know everything,” he says with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis apologizes on instinct, before he gets too caught up, before he’s unable to pull away.  “Don’t mean to be a bummer,” he tries to joke, but Prompto isn’t having it.

“Hey, this is serious.  Your feelings are important to me,” he reminds, his tone only slightly harsh to show his seriousness. His tone then softens, “and you’re being very brave.”

“I don’t feel brave,” Noctis replies, before he can stop himself.  “I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Noct,” Prompto sighs, pulling him back into their earlier embrace, rubbing his back with one hand. “Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid.  It means you’re afraid and you do it anyway.  My mom told me that a long time ago…” he trails off somewhat wistfully.

His mom? Noctis thinks to himself.  He almost wants to ask more, but he knows Prompto’s parents are a very sore subject, and he leaves it for another day.  For now, he soaks in the comfort, trying not to feel embarrassed at the tears that flow now and then.

Noctis isn’t sure how long it is before he stops crying, but he feels his back and legs start to ache from the strange, huddled position he’s found himself in, and he pushes back sheepishly.

“Sorry about all that,” he apologizes.  “Probably not what you signed up for…”

“What I “signed up for” was to be your friend,” Prompto responds, stern, but not unkind, as he stretches out his own arms.  “That means good stuff and bad, you know.”

Does it?  Noctis has always felt that he has had to live up to the image of the ideal prince, even with Ignis and Gladio.  But Prompto...well, Prompto just saw him at his lowest, and the look in his eyes tells Noctis there’s no place he’d rather be.  That look makes his heart jump in his throat, slightly, yet another thing he’s been trying to ignore.

“I...thank you,” Noct mumbles, waving his hands around again, this time because he’s overwhelmed that Prompto still wants to be his friend.  Prompto, for his part, smiles knowingly at the motion.  That’s another conversation they’ll have to have, Noct supposes, but he’s all drained right now.

Sensing this, Prompto hoists himself off the couch.  

“Well, I brought over this junk food for a reason.  Why don’t we get more comfortable and order a pizza?” he asks, gesturing to the fact that Noct is still in his school uniform.  “We don’t have to think about any of this for a little while, if you don’t want to.  Play video games, just vibe...”

Noct smiles.  How does Prompto know exactly what he needs?

“That sounds awesome, dude.”

[il-papa-patata]

Cinnamon Bread

Swiss pretends to be asleep while Mary feeds a stray cat that came in through the window.

Domestic fluff, stray cats, fake-sleep, oh my god they were roommates, Mary is Special Ghoul AU

Rated T for nudity and sexuality

Cut for space

It can't be later than six am, but he wakes up to Mary speaking quietly.

it's a lovely morning -- a Sunday, which meant doing absolutely fuck-all; warm and summery -- you could smell summer on the air, the smell of grass and leaves; and the sun, shining through his apartment window along the now-rumpled bed. Mary wasn't one for making the bed in the morning, but then neither was he.

Mary was... well, more and more, he was a cuddler. And it was kind of sweet, Mary's long foot finding the inside of his ankle at night, hands tucked against his chest so bent Swiss sometimes worries that he'll break his wrists. The soft sound of Mary's breathing, always with its soft, telltale rasp. The more comfortable he got, the more Swiss might expect him to touch during the night, and wake up with Mary draped over him, or even a few times, wake up to Mary kissing him gently and sweetly before smirking and telling him, "I'm hungry."

But today is different. There's something magical in the air, the way the sun shines or perhaps the smell of overnight rain, or maybe the fact that Mary stands at the foot of the bed, absolutely naked, and holding a cat.

Swiss blinks. Doesn't dare move.

Mary's body is long and lean, although the man isn't very tall -- he's got these thighs, though, and these arms, and an ass that fits in Swiss's hands perfectly. He shifts, swaying his hips as he holds the cat to his chest.

"Well, then," he says, in his articulated voice, a voice that hit certain syllables with just a little bit of force, like ocean waves against the side of a boat, "Let's feed you, eh? Bet Switzy has some tuna."

The cat stares up at him, its long face inquisitive. It's a sleek thing, a swirled tabby, warm brown.

It leans up, and flicks its tongue against his sharp jaw, forcing giggles from Mary. Mary sticks his tongue right back out.

That's... adorable.

Mary chuckles, wandering out of the bedroom, bumping his forehead with the cat's, "You look like a piece of cinnamon bread."

The cat meows, and Mary play-bites the cat's cheek, saying, "You'd be good with butter, Mr. Cinnamon Bread."

Swiss doesn't move. Even though he wants to get up, and come behind Mary and kiss his nape, pull out the tuna for him, say good morning. Swiss lies there, under the heavy cotton blanket, and just listens.

"If I were him," Mary hums, "Where would I put... the tuna."

The cat meows, and Mary says , "Oh, you want down, huh. That's fine."

The sound of little paws on their -- er, his -- hardwood floor. Then of cabinets opening -- it's the one beside the sink, down below, he wants to say. The sound of the cat prancing around.

And then the cat, leaping onto the bed and onto his chest.

Swiss panics for a moment, the cat happily kneading at his chest --

Mary runs in after the cat and Swiss just has to pretend to be conked out.

"Cinnamon bread," he chides, voice quiet, a little edge. Swiss hopes his fake-sleep isn't too noticeable -- he's always been a bad actor outside of dancing, hopes it isn't too noticeable that he isn't breathing right. "I know he's comfy to sleep on, but he needs to rest."

Mary scoops the cat off his chest.

"Very rude, Herr Zimtbrot," he scolds, his voice sounding like it's turned away, "You know I want to cuddle him too, but he was out late last night."

"Band practice," he sighs overdramatically when the cat meows, acting like the cat was asking him more. Swiss is glad Mary's facing away because he's pretty sure a grin is plastered across his face. "Didn't even invite me. Said I should 'spend some time relaxing.' Hmph. Then he's got the fuckin' nerve to come home so sleepy it's adorable, and-"

Mary's voice goes a little soft, quieter. "And it was... nice. To take care of him. He's so... nice to me, so... it was- good, to help him shower. Tuck him in."

It was nice. To come home and have Mary cuss him out when he fell into his arms, but still drag him into the bathroom and run the shower over him. Mary didn't ask if he'd fucked anyone, but Swiss had been ready to say -- I didn't -- even though band practice could turn into a bacchanal real easily. Even though he had definitely seen Copia's arm around Aether and Dew's waists.

Mary had cussed him out the whole time, but he had even washed his hair, thin fingers precise, loosing it from its near-permanent bun. It's still loose and damp around his neck, now, drying in the morning sun.

The cat meows again. Mary must settle on the edge of the bed, perched lightly. Then there's a long moment, his face tightly steeled into sleep-blankness, where Swiss doesn't know exactly what happens.

Swiss feels Mary's lips touch his skin -- just lightly, just right above his eyebrow, the barest little touch.

It takes goddamn everything not to leap up and kiss this man silly. It takes a second everything to keep his face, his breathing even.

The cat meows again, a little more insistently.

"Okay, okay," Mary huffs. "Tuna."

Swiss has to let out a shaky exhale, like the moment after getting offstage. Has to touch the place where Mary kissed him -- resist the urge to flutter his feet like an entrechat, grin like a maniac. Mary might have pulled the door behind him but it wasn't closed all the way, and the cat could barge in again and expose his ruse.

Mary finds the tuna with an exclamation of "Aha." Then the sound of the can opener -- the kind of shitty one he has, but it's better than Mary taking one of his knives to the can (Swiss shudders at the idea of a knife wound while naked, Mary's usual blade sunk deep into his femoral artery)

Mary does come back in, and Swiss has to pretend again to be asleep. Relax your brow, people don't usually sleep with their brows clenched tight, you look like one of the kids in the creche when they're playing hide and seek right now-

Mary lingers, again, perches again on the side of the bed. Takes Swiss's hand where it lays -- keep it limp -- and gently strokes his thumb over the knuckles.

"Switzy," Mary calls.

He's not really sure what to do. So he just... lies there longer.

Mary harrumphs gently. Leans in further. "Switzy-baby," he singsongs, still rubbing his thumb against his fingers. Leans in closer.

It's like he's missed an entrance. Like he isn't sure if he should wait until the next measure or just go in, try to catch up.

"Schweizerost," Mary tuts, and then whispers, "If he doesn't wake up in two seconds I'm gonna kiss him 'til he can't breathe."

Well. That certainly decided that.

Mary's lips meet his. Of the many, many attractive things about Mary, his mouth had to be at least top five of the list. He was a good kisser, a little wild -- when they first started kissing, Mary used to leap right into heaviness, but these days he was slowly edging from gentle little pecks to full, open mouthed kisses. Swiss has to admit it got him going more than anything -- Mary's hot breath, how gradually there was more teeth, more tongue, until they were wanton and spit-stained, the both of them.

It's hard to not kiss back, especially when Mary runs his tongue over the seam of his lips, snakes a soft hand under the heavy cotton blanket to stroke at Swiss's bare inner thigh.

Slowly, Swiss allows himself to return the kiss. To respond to that devilish tongue. To place his own hand on Mary's firm ass, give it a squeeze.

Mary giggles, then, and pulls away. When Swiss finally opens his eyes, Mary is there with a smile that twists his face into something young and joyful, the morning sunlight caressing his sharp cheekbone.

"Good morning, Switzy. Are you gonna sleep in all day?"

Swiss swallows, missing the weight of Mary intensely, "What, do you want me to make you breakfast?"

"Mm," Mary hums, stretching his arms above his head, definitely showing off a little. Mary is very elegantly put together, albeit in a way that looks like he's cut out of clay. Swiss worries a little too much about how much of his ribs he can see at any given time. "Nah, if you're up for something, I can make it. You still look tired."

"I thought you refused to get up early," Swiss says.

"Well, if it wasn't for you, I would wake up at ten. But someone forced me to get some rest last night and now I'm wide awake."

Mary puts on a pair of loose pants -- Swiss's pants, ones that were worn and unwashed -- over his bare legs, stretching up again, showing off those arms but still, those ribs.

"What do you want? Eggs? I could get more dressed and go down to the kitchen and see if Aether's made pastries."

"Eggs sound fine. Thanks," he smiles, sitting up. It's weird to feel his hair down against his neck.

"What are you going to pay me, for my loving breakfast in bed?" Mary grins, sauntering over in a move Swiss can only recognize as a burlesque move, lot of hip-shimmies. It looks very good in the soft silk-cotton of his harem pants. Mary perches again, kind of too angular to be feminine but becoming something else entirely.

"I dunno," Swiss says, smiling and pulling himself inwards to rest his head on one of his knees, staring at Mary, "What do you want?"

"Got a lot of ideas," Mary snarls, a grin spreading along his face, exposing sharp canines. It's unfairly attractive, and Swiss reaches out a hand to worry the divot underneath his ear, to which he gives a huffy little laugh.

The cat strolls in, licking its teeth joyfully. Mary notices his eyes shift away, and he turns-

"Shit," he yelps, jumping up from the bed and scooping the cat up, hiding him from view.

Swiss wonders what to say at this point. If he should play very dumb or just a little dumb, or just come clean that he was awake longer than Mary might think.

"You wanna bring that slice of cinnamon bread over here?" He settles on. Better to be truthful.

The color that rises into Mary's cheeks is very cute. "When were you- when did you wake up?" He sputters, brow furrowing. It looks like Mary might really be mad about this. Swiss winces.

"Since you decided to feed him," Swiss admits. The color only redoubles on his cheeks.

"I can't believe you let me do that!" he whines.

"It was nice," Swiss smiles, "Like a dream. I wake up to you talking gently to a cat, your glorious ass nude in the morning light, like- That's a dream! I've had that dream!"

Swiss doesn't miss the way Mary's mouth twitches up, almost - kind of - a smile. "You were eavesdropping."

"On you and a cat," Swiss says, "And you were so sweet."

Mary turns, harrumphing as he strides to the open window and gently sets down the cat. "I'm sweet all the time."

"Mmhm," Swiss agrees, reaching for the hair tie on his nightstand, pulling his hair away from his neck.

Mary whines, "Aw, there goes your pretty hair."

"Still here, just away from my neck," he laughs, "I liked you taking care of me too. Thanks, if I didn't say it enough last night."

"You said it about thirty times, so you're fine," Mary says, scratching the cat's chin as it prepares to depart again, looking back at him, "I'm still mad at you."

Swiss smiles, rests his head on his knee again, "Will you forgive me if I make you those potatoes you like?"

Mary's face brightens. "Fuck yes-" he schools his face back down, "Er, I mean- You're still going to have pay me for the rest of breakfast."

Swiss laughs and finally gets up. He's just as naked as Mary was, and Mary watches him come over with open lust on his face.

"Hi, big boy," Mary says, kissing the cat's head one more time before it leaves, hopping from the windowframe, "This my payment?"

"Down-payment," Swiss says, pecking his lips before going to pull on a pair of boxers and a shirt. "I'm making you potatoes."

Mary laughs, throws his head back. "Love those deliciously fried potatoes."

"Come keep me company, then, if you want them to be the best I ever made." Swiss pulls him close by the waist, coaxing him over to the right answer.

Mary just kisses him again.

[thedistantstorm]

The Inside Man

“Everything alright? Zeb asked, looking to Kallus.

“Fine, Garazeb,” Kallus laid a hand on his partner’s bicep. 

“We were just finishing up.” He turns to better regard the Lasat. “I’ll explain later,” He said, with a gaze that spoke more than words ever could. Then, he returned his gaze to Eli, nodding. “Our conversation was…” He paused, as if trying to parse the right words. “Most illuminating. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The one called Garazeb inserted himself into the conversation, asking, “And what’s that?”

Kallus’s eyes glint in understanding as he meets Eli’s gaze head on. “Someone who also had the misfortune of serving both sides.”

Or: 2k words of Eli pining, wanting to bring Thrawn home.

AO3 Link Here

-/

That this had even been considered an option was evidence of how absolutely desperate he was. That Eli had been permitted to go - that it had been a mission bestowed upon him by his commanding officer - was a testimony that he was not the only one who felt this way. It was a trip he’d make alone, no Navigators allowed to follow him though they wanted to, no well-guarded ship - only the small vessel he’d made the journey out to the Unknown Regions in.

It was poetic, really.

Eli had looked into all of it. He knew how little of a chance there was.

All of the Seventh Fleet had disappeared over Lothal overnight. There and gone, like a star gone supernova, a briefly blinding, dying light. He knew about the Jedi there, he knew about Pryce. He knew, in the ways his girls - the Navigators - told him through scattered, hasty dreams, that the Empire was already lost. That Thrawn had been dealt a hand he could not win.

Eli would like to say that in hindsight, he could see it in his posture, the last time he’d seen him, almost three years earlier.

But that would be a lie.

Thrawn hid himself away well. And regardless of whatever was - or wasn’t - their relationship to each other, Eli felt as though he owed the Chiss an honest attempt. Regardless of what the CDF had determined.

Ar’alani knew he’d go anyway, but that hadn’t swayed her. She, like him, was desperate for news. Thrawn was not a man of many friends. Colleagues, enemies, rivals? Sure. But between the two of them, and Eli’s slow assimilation into the Chiss lifestyle to help them get to know one another, they recognized each other for what they were.

They were not fools, though. Any trail had likely already gone cold. That wasn’t the point, though. Thrawn had lived in exile for years, he could do it again, even if it wasn’t on his terms. This was about hope. Until there was a body, evidence, something, Eli would not give up.

In no uncertain terms, Thrawn had come into Eli’s life and proceeded to burn everything he’d ever planned to the ground like wildfire. Eli had resented him for a long time, and Thrawn knew it, too. But they’d become friends. It had taken a long time for Eli to realize that, to glean the meaning between veiled words that for Thrawn had been blatant and obvious.

Thrawn had made him a better man. No longer was Eli complacent, willing to accept his lot in life.

As he was unable to accept anything less than success in this. He would bring Thrawn home. Perhaps it would be done alone, perhaps he’d have to get Ar’alani and the entire fleet - hell, maybe the entire Aristocra would have to be swayed. But he’d do it. Thrawn deserved that.

Even if Eli knew he’d made mistakes. Even if he’d stuffed his fist in his mouth at the idea of the man who’d taken him under his wing unleashing a barrage on innocent civilians, unwilling to believe Mitth'raw'nuruodo to ever reach that level of desperation. Despite his genius, Eli had never expected Thrawn to be perfect. In a way, Eli suspected his humanity - the ease of accessibility to such a wide spectrum of emotions - had helped him toe the line.

He sighed, straightening to his full height and rolling his shoulders loose. Tonight, he was not Captain Ivant of the Chiss Ascendency nor Ex-Lieutenant Commander Vanto of the decommissioned Galactic Empire. Tonight, he was simply Eli.

Exhaling, he took to the stairs leading down into the cantina and approached the bar for a drink.

-/

The bartender, an Ithorian who’d taken over Old Jho’s Pit Stop after the Empire had been cleared out from the planet and chosen to keep the name, nodded politely when he stepped in. Asked about his leg and prescribed him something extra strong to dull the biting ache. Only after he’d taken his first sip of the drink - stiff and rigid but not unwelcomely so - did the green skinned alien incline his head towards someone sitting at the far end of the bar counter, looking up at what was the New Republic’s news.

The man rose, obviously seeing him out of his periphery, but did not approach. Instead, he dipped his head in acknowledgement and waited for him to decide.

Kallus had already known to expect him, but he was curious as to the reason why.

“While I find myself often asked out for a drink by ex-colleagues trying to find their way in this new world,” He began, carefully measuring each word, “This may be, by far, the strangest request yet. Rumor had it you defected before I did.” Kallus extends a hand.

Eli Vanto took it. His handshake was firm. “Thank you for agreein’ to meet me,” He said, his accent warming his words.

“Of course,” Kallus replied. He catalogued the way the smaller man’s dialect was altered by something different than his Wild Space heritage. In fact, it sounded to Kallus as though Basic wasn’t a language he used much these days.

They drank in silence a moment before Eli spoke. “Is this home now?”

“For a while,” Kallus answered. “My partner and I are considering our options.”

“You have someone,” Eli commented, stirring his drink with a narrow straw. “That’s good.”

“You didn’t know,” Golden brown eyes flash to the Lystran native. It isn’t a question. “Where have you been since you left the Empire?”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Kallus smirked. “We all have our reasons. Personal, professional,” He looked to Eli then, sizing him up before deciding, “Both.”

“Sometimes it’s one, then it becomes the other.”

“I don’t think it was that way for you,” Kallus answered. He sipped his drink, turning on the swiveling stool. “As far as I know,” He leaned in, eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous, whispering, “Thrawn is dead. If that’s why you’ve come, I’m afraid you’ve done so in vain.” He doesn’t sound apologetic about it, at all.

Eli nodded slowly, not looking away. “I don’t think y’believe that, though. I heard he had one of your friends,” He frowns, “The kid-Jedi-”

“His name is Ezra.”

“Is,” Eli emphasized. “You think he’s alive.”

Mindful of his surroundings, Kallus hissed softly, “You don’t know what he’s done to these people. While you’ve been out doing-” He threw his hands in a wide gesture to signify whatever it was Eli had been doing since he’d disappeared, “The atrocities he committed against these people, against the Rebellion defies basic morality.” He shook his head, disbelieving. “And now, you come here, looking for information. Even if I did agree to tell you, there’s nothing to tell. You’re years late, Eli Vanto. He-”

“It’s Ivant, now.”

“Ivant?” He furrowed his brow, before leaning back against the short backrest to mull it over, easily putting the pieces together. Kallus had been one of the best, so Eli knew he would. “So he did send you to his people,” He said ruefully. “It was one of the least likely rumors I’d heard. In fact, most people suspected you’d taken the fall for one of his shortcomings with the Emperor and thrown out an airlock.”

“Nah,” Eli answered. “He asked me to help his people.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s more to it than this.” He leans back, looking up and over one of the low windows to see the star-filled night. “Empire, New Republic, the rebellion and everything in-between. There’s more out there. Good an’ bad,” He drawled, a little slower now as the cadence of his voice became more steady with each word. “I thought you might understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I heard about you,” Eli said. “About how you changed sides. You saw what it was really, truly like in the Empire, and you chose to go to the other side. To do good. You felt the desperation that came with having to choose the greater good over what was best for yourself, I know you did. I heard what they said about you.”

“Is that why you joined the Chiss?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Yeah, some‘a it was bad, but we did some good, too.”

“But overall,” The ex-ISB agent said gravely, “We were only serving the Emperor like blinded fools.”

“Yer not wrong,” Eli agreed. “I’m glad he sent me away when he did.”

Surprised, Kallus asked, “He sent you away?”

“Y’know, I didn’t pick this path for myself. I wanted to be a supply officer on a ship in the Outer Rim. Do my service, collect my pension.” His gaze was soft, but intent as he looked to Kallus. “He saw somethin’ in me that I didn’t see in myself. Somethin’ I still can’t always see, if I’m honest.”

“But why would he-”

“Personal, professional,” Eli shrugged, saying lighter, “Maybe both.” He fixed Kallus with another stern look, not at all the soft-spoken but quick to anger Lieutenant that had been gossiped about wildly years ago when he’d disappeared. “The point is like you said. We all have our reasons. I thought you might see that now.”

“I still can’t tell you anything. The Chimaera was taken by purrgil. I don’t know where they are.”

“You know the direction they left in. And if your Jedi friend was with him, someone must know something. I’m not asking for more than what you can give. I know these people don’t think that boy’s dead.”

“And how would you know?”

“I know people like your pal Ezra Bridger,” Eli admitted softly. “They’ve seen things. Snippets of light and sound, that sorta thing.”

Kallus steepled his fingers, forearms creating an archway over his drink. “If you have information,” He supposed, “I’ll trade.”

“If I did, I’d have found him by now.”

Waving a hand, Kallus asked, “Then what do you have to offer?”

“If I find him, I’ll take him home. You’ll never see him again. And, if I see your missin’ Jedi, I’ll send him your way, too.”

“A tempting offer,” Kallus said, though it was clearly not if body language was any indication, Eli thought. “But-”

“I know what he did to you.”

“You have no idea,” Kallus snarled. “What he made me watch-”

“He never wanted to kill unnecessarily.”

“And yet he killed them without flinching.”

“As have I, and so have you.” Eli looked down at his drink, resigned. “I do not think he - any of us, really - have earned the forgiveness of this system, nor am I one to judge you on your feelings toward him.”

“And yet you’re trying to convince me to give you information that could lead you to him, when you know,” Kallus trailed off. “There was a point where I had hoped maybe he would kill me. Instead, he made me watch as he executed the people I swore to protect.”

Eli sighed. “You’re right. The last time I saw him was right after the battle at Atollon. He hid it well, but his superiors knew his responsibilities were wearing him down.”

“Yes, I’m sure the Empire-”

“I’m not talking about the Empire.” Eli maintained eye contact when Kallus looked his way this time. “I’m talking about the Chiss military.”

“Thrawn was exiled by the Chiss.”

“And you were the ISB agent who wanted the Rebels dead, more than anyone.” Eli rose from his seat, pulling out Imperial credits - more than enough for both their drinks and a generous tip - and leaving them on the counter. The Republic hadn’t switched over their currency yet, with more pressing issues to handle. He bowed at the waist, afterward. It was a strangely foreign motion to Kallus. “I apologize for whatever he did to you and yours. I realize it lacks meaning, comin’ from me. But I believe that he deserves to be found, even if he’s bones in a shallow grave. He deserves to be brought home.”

Kallus eyed a scuff on the stone floor just to the left of where Eli - Ivant - stood. He rose with a sort of wariness that came with experience, but his eyes were bright and earnest. He sighed. “I will meet you here tomorrow at midday. It will take some time to compile the information into a data card since most of it is encrypted. There is not much, though, so I do not know if the raw data will help you at all in your search.”

“I-” Eli’s voice broke over the syllable. It takes him two tries for the rest. “Kallus, thank you.”

“If I ever see that bastard again, I will shoot him. So we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

The long time Fulcrum agent doesn’t look comfortable, but he doesn’t appear defeated in such a way that would suggest this to be a betrayal. That made Eli a bit calmer, more confident that the ex-Imperial would come through.

“You serve their military.”

“I do.”

“Huh.” He scrutinized Eli one final time, rising to his feet as well. It was apparent that his leg had been injured, he does not stagger, but his first step has the slightest wince. “Commander?”

“Captain.”

“That is a… a far cry from a supply officer.”

“That’s for sure.” He grinned at the other human. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Hey, Alex!” A loud, deep voice called out across the din of the bar. An alien with striped purple fur who’s easily twice Eli’s weight, but compact, all muscle and sinew approaches him.

“A Lasat?” Tilting his head, Eli asked, “You?”

Kallus’s smile is humble and perhaps a tiny bit awed, though it softened further as the Lasat reached them. They’re still standing, facing each other solemnly. “Everything alright?” The alien asked, looking to Kallus, one hand reaching out to bar around his back.

“Fine, Garazeb,” Kallus laid a hand on his partner’s bicep. “We were just finishing up.” He turns to better regard the Lasat. “I’ll explain later,” He said, with a gaze that spoke more than words ever could. Then, he returned his gaze to Eli, nodding. “Our conversation was…” He paused, as if trying to parse the right words. “Most illuminating. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The one called Garazeb inserted himself into the conversation, asking, “And what’s that?”

Kallus’s eyes glint in understanding as he meets Eli’s gaze head on. “Someone who also had the misfortune of serving both sides.”

[vintage-story-time]

Family Games by Ray Todd

Chapter 8

Glynn was up early, unable to sleep. He spent a long time in the shower,

enjoying the hot water, soaping himself thoroughly. When he was dry, he

inspected his face in the mirror, thinking that perhaps he had grown more beard

overnight. He sure felt a lot older.

Standing before the sink he thought about what he had done the night before, and

felt tingly all over. It hadn't been another wet dream; he had really, actually,

fucked his mother. True, he hadn't been able to spend the whole night with her,

and hadn't gotten nearly enough of that glorious pussy, but she had fucked him

back. She had loved his prick and played with it and fed him her tit. She had

talked dirty with him and told him that even though his father's cock was much

bigger than his, she dug his prick just as much.

He looked down and saw his shaft rising, the head spreading as if it could feel

the magic caress of his mom's velvet cunt. Those sleek, long legs and the way

she moved her crotch, the way she rolled her terrific ass -- Glynn got hard all

over and his balls began to ache.

It was Saturday, he remembered, and his dad wouldn't be going to the

construction outfit he owned today. Damn, Glynn thought; he wanted to fuck some

more, and he wanted his mom, not Lorena. Not right away with his sister, anyhow.

Mom had promised to teach him a lot of things about sex, like how to eat her

cunt, and he was more eager for that experience than for anything else. Maybe he

could get Lorena to take dad out of the house for a couple of hours; he sure as

hell couldn't wait until night.

Trying to whistle, he went downstairs and headed for the kitchen, his stomach

growling. He had already downed a glass of juice and had bread in the toaster

when she came in. Glynn looked up at her, thinking that his mother was

fantastically beautiful in a red robe that clung to her hips and outlined the

high mounds of her fine tits. The robe swung away from her molded legs when she

walked, too, and the glimpse of them made his mouth dry up.

Her coal-black hair swung loosely down her back, and she wore red lipstick that

made him somehow think of the lips of her cunt, those soft, soft lips he had

never actually seen up close. He blushed when her eyes caught his, and felt like

some kind of nut because his face turned red. But she smiled at him, her lashes

half lowered over sultry dark eyes, and he perked up immediately.

"Good morning, dear," she murmured. "Did you sleep well?"

"Kind of," he said. "But I wanted to be in your bed."

She came to stand close and lift a scented hand to his cheek. "I know, lover; I

wanted you there, too. Maybe there'll be a chance today. Would you like that?"

Damn! He wanted to grab her and rub his stiffening cock into her belly, to hold

her by the cheeks of that alluring ass and to bury his face between her tits. "I

have to screw you today, mom; I have to."

Her smile widened, and she dropped her hand to squeeze his prick. "So eager and

ready. Just as soon as it's possible, darling; I promise."

She left him standing there with his shaft paining, and made a pot of coffee

while he watched every movement of her superb body with avid eyes. It was still

hard for him to believe he had gotten into her cunt, that he had pumped her hot,

juicy snatch full of his come, and that she wanted more.

When he heard somebody else coming, he hurried to the table and sat down, to

hide his erection. It was Lorena, looking fresh and supremely happy, dressed in

tight cutoffs and a floppy but thin bandanna shirt that showed the bouncy

movement of her tits. She looked a question at him, and he winked. She winked

back, and grinned broadly.

His sister was really a cute girl, he thought, one that any guy would be lucky

to screw. And now she had fucked their father; the experience had made her glow,

he saw, and wondered if he looked as joyful this morning.

"Hi, everybody," Lorena said, skipping over to the stove and putting her arms

around her mother's waist to kiss the back of her neck. "Morning, mom."

"My, isn't everyone chipper this morning," Arlene said. "I hope your father is

in a halfway good mood."

"Oh, he will be," Lorena said, and blew a silent kiss at Glynn.

Glynn wondered how she had managed it; his sister couldn't have held down his

old man and practically raped him when he woke up. And how had she taken that

prick, the one mom said was so much bigger than his own? He guessed a girl's

pussy could stretch as much as was needed. Lorena brought the toast and ducked

her hand beneath the table to nip his shaft, laughing when he flinched.

Then Eric Johansen came down to breakfast. It was the only meal he shared with

the family, Glynn thought, staying away at lunch on business and not coming home

for dimmer because he didn't want to.

"Morning," his father said gruffly, and Glynn sneaked a glance at him to see if

he could read anything on the craggy face, but the man wasn't showing anything.

"Better hurry, dad," Lorena said. "Remember you promised to take me out and show

me the construction site today?"

Arlene Johansen turned from the stove, one eyebrow going up. "Oh? At this late

date, you're showing an interest in your children?"

"Don't start," Eric said and took a cup of coffee from his daughter. "I thought

it was time they both got to know a little about the business, but one at a

time."

Glynn met his mother's eyes in mute, intent appeal, and she nodded slightly.

"All right, then; Glynn and I will manage to take care of ourselves. That is, if

you have nothing on, son?"

He half choked on a piece of buttered toast. "N-no, mom; guess I'll stay home

and help in the yard or something."

His father only grunted, and Glynn knew a vast feeling of relief, then a

sensation of exultation. He was going to be alone with her, with his lovely

mother; they would have most of the day to themselves! The knowledge shook him

to the core, and he clamped his legs together to keep his cock from jumping,

crazily. Right in the living room, he thought -- with the drapes drawn and doors

locked; right there on the floor, with both of them stripped naked.

Somehow, Glynn held himself together until they left. Gathering up purse and her

weird hat, his sister leaned close to him and said softly, "Have a lot of fun,

little brother. Dad and I are going to a motel, so you'll have plenty of time."

All he could do was nod his head and smile weakly. Lorena really had it rolling,

and the day ought to be a ball for both of them. For all four, he corrected

himself; their parents would dig the action as much as they would, he was sure.

He listened for the station wagon to pull out of the driveway, and sat for a few

seconds after he was certain they were gone.

"Mom," he said, "can I help with the dishes?"

"I'm putting them in the washer," she answered quietly. "They can wait, but I'm

not so sure I can."

She held his hand as they walked into the living room and they separated only to

close the drapes. But he wanted some light, so he snapped on the bar lamp as she

turned to him with her hands by her sides and her chin up.

"Here, darling -- not upstairs in bed?"

He shook his head. "Here on the floor, mom. I've watched you here, peeping under

your skirt when you got careless with those fantastic legs, making pictures in

my head how you would look all naked, trying to make believe that you would

drink too much and pass out and nobody else would be home. Now it's all coming

true, and I want to screw my hot, beautiful mother in the living room."

"Of course you can," she murmured, and reached to undo the belt of her robe.

He sat on a barstool, knowing a trembling in his legs, and watched her open the

robe. The red of it made a bright frame for the long, willowy body exposed to

his view, and he gazed enraptured at the creamy expanse of woman flesh she

showed him. His mom's tits quivered at the least movement of her shoulders, and

he stared at them fixedly as she dropped the robe.

They were rich and heavy, round and firm, with those long, brown nipples

sticking out invitingly. She cupped them in both hands, offering them to him,

and her voice was low in her throat when she said, "Hadn't you better get out of

your jeans, dear?"

Fumbling at his zipper, he dropped his eyes over the smooth planes of her belly,

down to that prized treasure between her full thighs. His mother's pubic hair

was black as midnight, curled tightly, thickly grown in an entrancing vee whose

tips narrowed and spread themselves up into the delicate creases formed by her

groin and the upper reaches of her incomparable thighs.

"You -- you're so beautiful, it hurts my eyes," he mumbled.

Her smile was warm and bitchy, her tongue darting out pinkly to wet her red

lips. "Do you really think so, Glynn? I'm so glad; I want to be beautiful for

you, hot for you."

Her hand left her breasts and slid insinuatingly over her hips, down across her

belly, and her slim fingers toyed with her mound. "Here I am, lover. Here's what

you want."

Glynn kicked out of his jeans and whipped his tee-shirt over his head, not

knowing or caring where it landed. His stiff cock stood erect, the head of it

glistening, and already a tiny droplet of fluid hung there.

But when he stepped down and went toward her, his mother drifted back. "Just a

second, dear. You said you wanted me to teach you something, and I will. Here,

let me take a sofa pillow."

Uncertainly, he stood with his prick thrust out while she stooped to place the

pillow upon the floor. "There, Glynn; there are two ways for a man to eat a

woman, and I'll show you the first one. Lie down, darling, and put your head on

this."

Obediently, for he would do anything for this woman, he stretched out on the

carpet with his head braced. She moved over and put one shapely foot on each

side of his rigid body, so that he looked up into the hairy nest he adored.

Glynn could see the lips of her cunt then, peeping shyly pink from the black

furry thatch. It was like a mouth, he thought, but far more lovely, and

beckoning him to know its richness.

Slowly, she crouched, bending her body bit by bit until she was kneeling over

him. Her knees snugged his hips, and she rubbed them up and down tenderly,

swinging her hips, making the round white globes of her breasts sway

provocatively.

"Your body is so smooth," she said, "and very appealing, Glynn. I'll bet the

young girls go wild over it."

"I -- I only had one, before you," he said. "And I wish you could have been the

first, mom."

"You're sweet," she said, and moved so that her cunt came down upon his belly,

hot and softly wirey, crispy but somehow soft moss. Working it around, she made

him wiggle, and he reached for her hips.

But when he touched them, his mother slid up to his chest and gave him a few

moments to revel in the intimacy of her pussy on his breastbone. As he stared

into the dark, shaggy forest of her pubic hair, she said, "Just do what comes

naturally, lover. Kiss it and love it, and run your tongue right on inside the

lips. Up near the top, when you feel around, you'll find my clit; it's a little

nubby thing like a pea. Work on that darling."

As she moved even closer, he caught the pungent aroma of her cunt, a perfume all

her own, musky and sensuous, like some night blooming flower. Crisp and

beguiling, her mat was at his nose, and with a sigh of happiness, Glynn stroked

her ass cheeks and nuzzled into the tempting fleece.

It was woolly against his face as he went into it, and right away he found the

sweet honey of her labia. He pressed his own lips against them, panted into

them, and as his mom rolled her ass in his hands, he pushed his tongue down

through the softly spiked hairs into her body. Shuddering as he did so, Glynn

shoved his tongue between the hot and slippery lips, on into her vagina.

His teeth pressed to her pussy, he began to lap like a puppy dog, luxuriating in

the taste of her, in the spicy flavors of his mother's steamy cunt, drawing her

oily lubrication into his mouth and swallowing hurriedly. He wanted to chew her,

and he did, gnawing the pussy lips tenderly while she moaned and rocked her

crotch down against his head.

"That's right -- oh baby! That's the way to eat me -- oh yes, yes! I love it --

I love you."

Glynn sucked her cunt lips into his mouth, opening wide to bring them in. She

was sugary and blazing, and he sucked hard, drinking down her juices avidly,

rubbing his chin into her crotch. Letting her rubbery slot ease back into place,

he tongued into it again, reaching as deeply as he could. Remembering what she

had said about the pea-shaped thing, he felt along the wet silken lining until

he found it.

His mother quivered sharply then, and hissed as he sucked on it, as he worked

his teeth down to where he could chew it delicately. Her belly rolled over him

as she dropped to her hands, and her ass swung in quickening arcs while her

crotch stroked his cheeks, his chin. She was fucking his face, he thought

dazedly; his sexy hot mother was screwing his mouth.

"Uhhh!" she grunted. "Uh-uh -- oh, darling! You're terrific -- it's so good, so

wonderful -- eat me, Glynn. Eat your loving mother's cunt, son!"

He redoubled his efforts, snorting and chewing, licking and sucking, and her

movements grew more frantic. She thrust hard against his mouth and ground her

hairy wet snatch into it with almost brutal strokes. He clung to her ass, eating

the cunt he loved more than anything else in the world.

"C-coming!" she cried out. "Ah, Glynn -- you marvelous little lover, your mommy

is coming!"

He felt her vibrate, felt the sizzling tissues of her snatch tighten

convulsively, and knew an added release of her love oils. Holding to her,

continuing to lick her box, he rubbed his nose across her palpitating mound.

She sat up, shaky and weaving, balanced upon her knees. He wanted to keep

kissing her pussy, but she slid it wetly away from his searching mouth, moved it

down over his chest. "That was f-fine, lover. My head is still swimming."

Hiking her ass, she passed farther down his body, then lifted so that she was

poised above his heavily throbbing shaft. "Now we'll fuck," she said.

Glynn trembled when she wrapped her fingers around his rod, and went stiff, in

both legs as she steered the head into the drippy bush of her treasured pussy.

He held to her thighs when she started to lower her crotch, when the bulb of his

cock started to slide into the greasy lips.

In it went, easy and fine, penetrating deep into the clinging cavity as it

slipped deep. His mother dropped farther down, and yet more, until she was

sitting on it. He could feel the springy pressure of her hair upon his balls,

and the ecstasy of the cunt closed around his embedded prick. He was into his

mom again; he had his hard pole shoved up her opulent pussy and she was fucking

him.

"Such a young hard cock," she murmured, her palms flat against his chest and

grinding her belly, hunching slowly to him. "Fuck me, darling -- fuck your

mother and tell her what a great piece of ass she is."

He stroked it up into that fabulous cunt, into the hot, wet velvet grippings,

feeling his cockhead reach bottom. "You're the greatest, mom -- the finest piece

of ass anywhere. Fuck me the same way you fuck my daddy."

"Your daddy -- your father -- " she gyrated her ass and made his prick head

touch every tingling spot within her vagina. "He used to f-fuck me a lot, but no

more -- no more. Oh, feed me that young meat, Glynn!"

Glynn shoved it to her, lifted his ass every time she dropped hers, and heard

the suctioning noise his prick made going in and out of her oily cunt. Back and

forth it squished, his balls getting soaked with the hot liquids.

"I'll screw you forever," he gasped. "Your sweet cunt is mine, now -- all mine,

and I'll fuck it day and night. I love your pussy so much -- love your ass and

your tits and the way you screw me. Oh, mom -- mother darling -- you hot-assed,

beautiful mom -- "

She slammed it to him, making short, rapid strokes that circled briefly around

his hard-driving prick. "Go ahead, dear -- let it go! I'm going to come again

with you -- "

He moaned and clenched her ass, trying to spread her apart for the final,

twisting thrust that nailed down her womb. Then his cock turned into a long,

slim volcano spitting fiery lava throughout her scissoring pussy. A gush of

semen spurted up into her, bathing her cervix, raining greasily down to flood

his stilled prick.

His mother's breath gusted from her open mouth, and she threw back her head. Her

thighs clamped violently against his hips, her torrid cunt nibbled down upon his

glans. She was coming in undulating waves of rapture, rolling her ass and

beating her small fists into his chest.

Glynn thought they had made it fine.

[prettywordsyouleft]

As Long As It Takes

Prompt: #107 for @listlessmaenads – “Come for a drive with me.”

Anonymous said:

Hey Chelle! Can you pretty please, do a drabble request for me? Jaebeom, S2L or F2L, your choice, with this prompt? 107. “Come for a drive with me.” I'm ready to die instantly upon reading. - The Other Kat. (listlessmaenads)

Pairing: Im Jaebum x reader

Genre: strangers to lovers

Warnings: none

Word count: 1472

“Come for a drive with me.”

You should have said no.

After all, who in their right mind gets into the car with someone they barely knew?

Then again, you hadn’t been in your right mind for days. Still, warning bells were flashing at the back of your head right now as you opened the passenger door to the car, hopping in without stopping to contemplate a single second further of doubt.

It wasn’t as if he was a complete stranger, you reasoned. Jaebum was someone who often frequented the coffee shop you worked at, and much like most regular customers, you had learned little details about him outside of his order you now knew how to make perfectly each and every time.

Except, you wouldn’t be doing that anymore.

Slipping the belt around yourself, you shivered due to the chill now seeping through your sodden clothing and into your bones. Before you could do anything, Jaebum had reached for a blanket from the back seat and wrapped it around you, then turned up the heating.

Had he taken pity on you and your sudden unemployment? You stared at him in small increments, growing bolder the longer you did so. Was he always this handsome or had you simply fallen for his charms of giving you a carriage ride away from your misfortune? It was easy to relish in the comforts of a warm car when outside was lashing with rain. The skies were letting loose much as you had to your boss just before. You wanted to laugh. You had the urge to cry.

Instead, you stared at Jaebum.

“Where do you want to go?” he eventually asked, eyes still on the road. Hands tightening around the steering wheel. You realised Jaebum was anxious in your presence.

He had done his part as a fellow citizen by now. He had removed you from the situation that had left you standing on the side of street staring to the heavens entirely helpless. He really didn’t need to do anything more for you. You smiled weakly. “You can just drop me off at the nearest bus stop.”

“Why?” He shot you a look and then shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” you implored and he shrugged, which made you giggle. When had you last laughed? The sound surprised you, falling effortlessly from your mouth.

It made Jaebum relax as well. “Anywhere you want to go. I’ll take you there.”

“Even if it’s far away?”

“Even then.”

“Because you’re a fellow human in this world surviving through the daily grind?” you asked and Jaebum shook his head.

“I don’t pity you, Y/N. What you said to that jerk of a man was well-deserved. What he was subjecting his staff to is illegal. You are entitled to breaks and to deny the right of someone who needs to go to the bathroom is inhumane. Sticking up for your fellow staff member wasn’t the wrong thing to do.”

“Got me fired though,” you mused with a sigh. “Which I really didn’t need since my roommate just disappeared overnight without paying this month’s rent the other day. I snapped because I wasn’t diligent enough and too self-involved with my own issues.”

“You’ve done enough,” Jaebum assured and you went back to staring at him, this time, Jaebum picking up on it and darting his eyes between you and the road repetitively. His cheeks coloured. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Mm.”

He frowned and started to wipe at himself all over. You giggled as he grew exasperated. “What is it?!”

“You have kindness in your eyes. Do you go and save all the damsel’s in distress on a regular basis?”

“Actually, this is my first time,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck before chuckling. “I’m not a weird guy, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten in the car if I didn’t trust you.”

Jaebum stilled for a moment and then smirked. “How do you know to trust me?”

“Because,” you started with a roll of your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “You openly show your emotions.”

“Really?” he glanced at you momentarily. “No one has ever said that to me.”

“Well, I just did.”

“And I just rescued you, right?”

You nodded. “Very much so. For the interim anyway. I still don’t know what to do with everything else.”

Jaebum pulled the car to a stop outside of a convenience store. You eyed him questioningly and he grinned, told you to wait there and then dashed inside. He returned with a bag of assorted foods – both hot and cold – and a couple of drinks. He placed the bag in your lap. “You haven’t eaten today, right?”

“How did you-”

“I work across from the coffee shop, remember? My desk’s view is directly over the street. I didn’t see you leave that counter once. Besides, you were fired for fighting for human rights so I assumed that meant your own weren’t being met either.”

You smiled and reached into the bag for something to eat first. It all smelt delicious and you thanked him before starting to eat. He took a packet of food out for himself before continuing with the drive.

“I have a good friend in the legal sector by the way. His name is Park Jinyoung and he works for a pretty successful law firm. I’m sure if we ran your unlawful dismissal passed him that you’d be able to sue for several claims. We definitely have a case here.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer, Jaebum.” You stared down at the food and then snapped your focus back to his face. He had been generous enough already and you began to wave your hands about wildly. “You can’t pay for that too!”

Jaebum laughed heartily. “Jinyoung can apply for funding so he can work pro bono on your case.”

“Wow, not only are you a great at picking me up out of my misery, but you’re also pretty insightful too.”

“Well shucks, I aim to please.”

Now that your hunger was somewhat satiated, you stared out the window as the darkened world whizzed by. You noticed a specific building and then frowned. “Didn’t we pass that before? Are we driving around in circles?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly give me directions on where you wanted to go,” Jaebum mumbled as a grin spread over your lips. You poked his upper arm and he glanced at you before matching your smile. “It’s not all that bad though. We’re still on a drive.”

“What will be our destination?”

“To be honest, I don’t know.” He gripped the steering wheel again and you hid your smile behind your hand. He was too adorable for you to handle. “I kind of don’t want the drive to end.”

“Really? You want to keep going all night long?”

“Until I know more about you,” he stated and you pulled your legs up so you could rest upon them. Jaebum glanced at you and then back at the road. “Is… is that too creepy?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me if I’m being too much.”

“Too much over what?” you questioned as you noticed the flame of colour to his cheeks. You giggled. “You’re blushing.”

“Forget I said anything.”

You humour dissipated and you continued to stare at him. “Jaebum, I’ve seen you too, you know.”

“Seen me?”

“At work. Watching out your window. When I’m taking a break or out cleaning off tables, I look for you too. Maybe we’re not so different after all. Sure, you have a stable career and I… well, I don’t know what I’ll be doing now. But I guess there’s a reason you offered me this ride, much like I took it. And I don’t think that reason is different for either of us.”

A smile slowly curled up the corners of his lips and Jaebum nodded, finally glancing at you at a set of lights. His smile was overwhelming and you felt yourself mirroring the gesture back again, unable to pull your eyes off of him.

And then someone tooted from behind.

“Oh, uh well,” he muttered, driving off as soon as he checked it was clear to do so and then cleared his throat. “I wasn’t going to just let you stand out in the cold.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Black or white, why?”

You smiled again. “Didn’t you want to get to know me more?”

Jaebum nodded and relaxed. “We have this entire drive to get to know each other more, right?”

“Just this car ride? I was hoping there would be more opportunities,” you admitted and he grinned.

“It’s not like I’m going to sell my car anytime, Y/N. We could take as many drives as it takes.”

_________________

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