#and if this bandana thing was actually intentional it just makes it even better

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

I don't know if this was an intentional design choice, but I like the inclusion of Xander's bandana-scarf thing

It's been mentioned before by a few people how Xander's job as an activist is like...really fucking dangerous. And one of the main ways that can be so is through police intervention. And what do police carry? Tear gas. Bandanas are usually big enough to cover your nose though, so a lot of sites recommend wearing one when going to protests I just think that's neat

[shepscapades]

... that lean makes me think of the lean Bdubs did in the syncing comic....which if course begs the question: Did Etho pick up this habit of leaning to indicate processing/suspicion from Bdubs or did Bdubs pick it up from Etho? (or is it just a good way to show that emotion in comic form XD) Also.... the hair clip... My impression is that the flashback is from pretty early on. Is the hair clip a precursor to the well known headband? In universe, why a headband? Since they both do wear headbands... Was the headband originally Bdub's? Is... I know Etho is scared during the whole Last Life thing... is he thinking that Bdubs is planning specifically on targeting one of the androids? Or is that his fear talking?

... And after all that speculating... Ouch, Poor Tango!! ( i know this is an important event for Tango, but we don't see any of his reaction or feelings about any of this yet)

Wonderful comic, as always, Shep!

WEEE These are such good questions omg :DDDD alright i couldn't shut up so i'm putting it under a read more =w=

this is basically a mini comic breakdown! just rambling about some of the dbhc plot and mecahnics >:D

The lean is such a fun detail, i didn't even realize the similarities-- but it's actually a really nice (totally intentional) callback! I think Etho absolutely picked up those mannerisms from Bdubs, the same way Doc did from Ren, and so on so forth-- the androids, especially throughout season 8 and last life, are using their partnered hermits (and the other hermits in general) to learn what it means to be and act human-- vocal mannerisms, physical mannerisms, learning emotions for the first time and what it means to feel them, everything! I kind of see Season 8 as their "young" period-- their first season, the season they learn who they are and develop some of their most iconic traits. Etho is still himself, shyness and stoicism and all, but he learns his whimsy and silliness and teasing nature from being with bdubs for so long :)

THE HAIR CLIP <333 Yeah Etho's "Replaying Memory" moment is when Doc was checking out his "wounds" / the damage he sustained (from the initial creeper blast that caused his deviation) for the first time! At the time of the memory, It had probably been a little while since the actual initial incident where Bdubs had covered him up a little bit to hide the damage, but i'm sure doc or someone else noticed before long LDFKGJDF so this is their first like... "checkup"! So Etho is pretty young here (Doc too, but he already has his robot arm at this point, so...), maybe within the first month or two of season 8. So he definitely normally wears a bandana at this point (the same band bdubs made him wear initially to cover up the forehead cracks a little), but he's clipped his bangs back here so Doc can get a better look at the damage :)

I have a LOT of feelings about Etho's mental dialogue throughout last life, and it's very complicated and i won't be able to shut up about it so that's for another post. I will say, I don't think Etho ever truly thought Bdubs would Boogey kill him (though, doubt is a very powerful thing, so it turns out). I think Etho is still puzzling Bdubs out (though he's definitely learned quite a lot about him), especially when it comes to more serious situations like this, so the unknowns are definitely the biggest sources of fear for him. He can only do so much with the data he currently has, and the idea that a weapon so sharp could permanently damage any of the androids... it's an unsettling thought, regardless of whoever the mostly likely victim ends up being. (I don't think Etho expects it to be Tango, either-- not until he sees that look in Bdubs' eyes 10 seconds before it happens. I think Doc's little speech about their models is just helpful information for the reader and a sense of foreshadowing (as well as a reminder for Etho of how Not-So-Indestructible he is/the other androids are), not so much that etho thinks it's going to be tango after recalling the memory. Same for Bdubs. I dont think bdubs decided to target Tango until he was staring the back of his neck down and realized he could take the opportunity before he lost it). Anyway i've already rambled too much /silly

And lastly, Yes. This is, besides his deviation, probably Tango's most formative moment. The second time he truly experiences rage. I don't know if I could do a comic or an illustration that truly does his rage moment justice after he wakes up post-respawn and has a meltdown trying to kill bdubs, but knowing that Skizz wasn't built until s9 and is therefore missing from Last Life (AKA, Tango has no one other than Etho and Bdubs), just... makes this betrayal so, so much more painful. This betrayal is very much about Tango's rage, but it's also about his sense of trust and safety and his understanding of the way the world works. Hermitcraft is safety and jokes and support, and sure there's a bit of death here and there, but this is unlike anything he's ever known-- it's adrenaline and fear and threats and betrayal and. Anyway what a normal meltdown to have! And Etho can do nothing to calm him down except hold him back from killing bdubs (there's something to be said there too, about Tango knowing for certain now that Bdubs obviously chooses Etho over himself (Because come on, Bdubs wouldn't have killed Etho. Let's be honest here), but knowing too that Etho is choosing bdubs by not letting Tango get the revenge he so rightfully deserves...) Anyway. I think i'll explode if i think about this more

[beanghostprincess]

I’ve been thinking about things and do you think one of the things that irks Buggy most about the damn straw hat is that not only that Roger gave it to his best friend as a sign of his faith in him while he himself never got an acknowledgment like that, not only had Shanks the GALL to give that hat away to someone else, but also because Buggy never had anything like this to remember Roger by?

Shanks got the damn hat, something that belonged to Roger and he cherished and loved, it’s basically a heirloom at this point and Buggy got… nothing. Oh of course Roger probably brought some stuff for Buggy back sometimes, gave him some knives or got him a silly shirt or something likewise when he was a teen, but Shanks was the only one of them who ever got his hands on something that belonged to Roger. Buggy emulates his old captains style sometimes, copies the big coat and the flashy outfits because he had such high admiration for this man, but by god would he have slitted throats to even have something as simple as one of his captains old bandanas to remember him by. If he ever gotten gifted an old coat by him he wouldn’t even wear the damn thing because even tough it technically has no worth, it would be the most priceless thing Buggy owns and he would fuss over it constantly.

A lone earring, a rusty knife, a coat button, something, anything! Anything would have done, but no, Shanks got to keep something of their old captain that he had loved and cherished… and Shanks gave it away without a second thought.

Its just pain station for me tonight and this sailed into my head

What happened to hello how are you 😭 Why making me cry,,, Stop,,,

But I actually think about this a lot. A lot. I adore Shanks and I doubt he even thought about it when he gave the hat to Luffy, but even if it was a bet for the future and he did it with the best of intentions, the pain Buggy must've felt seeing a complete stranger (a kid, too) wearing his captain's (dad) hat? Honestly, he already saw Shanks as a coward and a disgrace for not wanting to follow Roger's steps right away, and the fact that he gave the hat to somebody else just makes Buggy resent Shanks more for, not only not appreciating the one thing their captain left for them, but not even asking Buggy first. Lke, it'd be a ridiculous conversation because Buggy would be like "you should've told me" and Shanks would've gone like "you were the one who left", so uhh, the fight wouldn't go anywhere, really.

The point here is that I constantly think about Buggy seeing Luffy and obviously realizing he's the future and agreeing with Shanks in that aspect (reluctantly) but still seeing it as unfair that Shanks did this. Because he didn't have enough by keeping the one thing their captain left behind, but he had to give it away to somebody else as if it weren't important when Buggy didn't have anything.

Once again going into the "Roger liked Shanks better" discourse, but I'm hopeful we will get more stuff about Roger and Buggy's dynamic. I hope.... I hope...

[pocksprincess]

Chapter 5 - Confidence Building

Series masterlist

Obito Uchiha x f!reader

Modern AU, obi still has scars, so much flirting and simping that it's actually gross, first date in sight? 👀

Word count - 1247

Beta baddie - @dabilove27 ty for being the reason I continue <33

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It has been two days since Obito caught you hanging out of your upstairs window with a choked little scream. You had looked so cute in a strappy little tank top with a bandana wrapped around your head to keep your hair out of your face (after ascertaining that you were okay and not actually in danger, he only had a mild amount of shame admitting to himself that you looked good). 

You said you had been cleaning the windows and his mind can't help but wonder if you'd been cleaning the rest of the house as well. Unbidden thoughts of you pairing that tank top with tiny little booty shorts that barely covered your ass, leaning on tiptoes to dust the top of the cupboards, flooded his mind. Your shirt riding up just enough to reveal your soft stomach…

Obito has gone insane, his poor addled brain cannot stop thinking about you. He's never felt an attraction quite this powerful before, never really noticed someone and all the little things about them so thoroughly. Obito usually keeps to himself and only speaks to others when it's required, like at work, and he's been fine with that arrangement so far. 

But you make him lose all sense and reason and he barely even knows you. Maybe it is because you speak to him like he is a human being worthy of respect, look at him when you talk to him and not just his scars, people never behave that way when they first meet him. But you did. It's nice. More than nice. 

And so Obito doesn't even think twice when he sees you wander out onto the driveway to put out your recycling from his kitchen window. He rushes to open his door, hair still damp from the shower, and calmly walks (or tries to) to his mailbox under the guise of checking it-even though he already did this morning.

You turn at his approach, catching his eye, and that brilliant smile (the one that keeps him up at night) stretches across your cheeks. And in this moment, Obito desperately wishes that you would only smile like that for him.

You close the distance between you both, wandering over with a bashful look about your face, a look he's never seen on you before. You're wearing a stripy, blue tie-front top with denim shorts- the perfect picture of summer in the golden light of the setting sun.

"Hey, neighbour," you greet him, hands dangling at your front, those nervous fingers twisting together again.

"Hey." Obito feels like he should have something better to respond to you with, but his blood is rushing too loudly in his ears for him to focus.

"Sorry about yesterday, I wasn't spying on you or anything, just couldn't get the damn window open.” You chuckle to yourself, a slight grimace to your mouth as you remember the moment. 

"Yeah, I could see that. You made quite the scene." Obito can't keep the amusement out of his tone or the smile off his lips at the memory.

You look at him with wide eyes, your amiable smile dropping as your lips part in apparent surprise, gently scrutinising his expression. He should feel self conscious with how intently you're staring at him, but everything within him is too busy fighting not to stare at your full mouth and the way your lips look all shiny with gloss. Obito wants to ask you what has you so focused on him, but he doesn't seem able to form the words. 

All he manages is a rough clearing of his throat and a hard swallow. But it's enough to snap you back to the present.

You laugh then, a beautiful sound, “What can I say? I'm clumsy. And that window wasn't playing fair!” The little pout you give following that statement almost has his heart seizing in his chest.

“But enough about me embarrassing myself, please. I saw you working on your garden, it's really beautiful! I wish I had a green thumb so I could sort out the mess in my backyard.”

And without even meaning to, he's taken a step closer to you, as if he can't help but be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. A false sense of bravado courses through him at the way you look up at him through your lashes in surprise, the picture of innocence, if it isn't for the way your thighs clamp together instinctually. Your own body betrays your desire.

"Thought you weren't spying?" Obito teases, crossing his arms over his chest, and staring you down as if daring you to deny it. 

It's your turn to stutter over your words, eyes wide, and mouth opening and closing several times as you try to process his proximity and how to respond. He can practically see the little cogs turning in your brain, you're so cute. 

Maybe Obito can get used to being a little braver if it means this is his reward.

You laugh, voice barely an octave higher than usual, but your pretty face is composed once again-body language no longer timid.

“Okay, big boy, you got me there.” You mirror his own action and take the last step towards him, practically toe to toe, playing a game of chicken that you know you'll win. And he knows it too. Did you just call him…big boy? Obito isn't conceited in any sense of the word, but he knows he's large, he's worked hard to stay healthy and strong (especially after the accident). But even so, hearing it come from you? It's almost too much for him to handle. 

“But I just couldn't help admiring the view.” You utter it so casually, a small and easy smile on your face. But he watches you look him up and down, eyes roving over his hips where his sweats hang low on his frame and lingering on his chest, his crossed arms doing little to hide his muscular physique.

And that's all it takes for him to lose all composure, that fragile confidence, any and all thoughts in his brain. If it had ever been in question that you had been flirting with him, that uncertainty dissipates with your sweet words and hungry eyes. Obito doesn't know what comes over him but in the next second he's speaking.

"Yousaidyouwantedtogarden. Learn, I mean. I-I can teach you, you should come over sometime.” The words pour from Obito's lips like an unstoppable tide, jumping forth from his hazy mind without his permission, and he curses himself for being so weak and smitten. What does he do if you say no? Melt into the core of the earth, probably.

But before he can retract his offer and apologise for being so forward, for assuming that you would ever want to spend time with him outside of pleasant niceties, you accept-with a quick "Yes! I mean, I'd love to.” That coy look creeping back into your expression.

Your eagerness is honestly adorable (you look as if you like the idea more than Obito himself), especially hidden behind a sheepish smile, looking up at him through dark lashes. It's the first time he's ever seen you look so unsure of yourself. Embarrassed or surprised (and most recently flustered), sure, but not this self-doubt. Like he might suddenly change his mind and reject you, decide he isn't mildly obsessed with you. As if he ever could.

He knows then and there he's done for.

[professorspork]

u should like!! toootally drop blake and yang outfit references for ur newsbees au. for like. research purposes

!!! okay I can't tell if you're asking this for fanart reasons (EVERYONE SHOULD FEEL VERY FREE TO DO THAT) or for spank bank "my thirst requires an accurate theater of the mind" reasons (VALID) but

this makes me UNHINGED and i plan to be SO THOROUGH so THANK YOU FOR ASKING

i have put this under a cut to spare you all but i think you should click on it and admire the gilded age urchin chic

first of all, let me say that Newsies Are Beautiful. They have never met two clashing patterns they didn't want to combine and I think they are perfect in every way

that said

the classic Jack look could certainly use some tailoring before it's truly ready for the Yang prime time

these numbered fellas give us a better place to start when it comes to I WANT MY NEWSIES TO NOT BE SWIMMING IN CLOTHES TWO SIZES TOO BIG YES I KNOW THE VERITAS OF THEM SCROUNGING FOR WHATEVER BUT ALSO. THIRST.

Fella 1 is a pretty bang-on Yang and you can tell that was his intention because he's growing out his hair, bless. sleeves rolled to show arm, shirt unbuttoned scandalously to show cleavage, open vest, neat cap, high socks. the lower half does lose points for the striped socks that remind me of the Wicked Witch of the East's feet sticking out and the fact that he's clearly in tap shoes as opposed to work boots like his friend Fella 3

Fella 2 gets EXTRA sock points for the argyle and the vest-but-no-collar combo which is very Nora. He also has a neat cap, which Blake always does because she's hiding her ears.

Fella 3 has a sloppy cap but is otherwise a bang-on Blake; kempt and tidy in ways Yang never is even though they are essentially wearing the exact same thing. Blake knows how to button buttons and Yang pretends she forgets every day

Fella 4's rocking the henley and suspenders combo which serves any member of our cast, a fucking classic

Fella 5 is wearing a tie he is trying so hard he wants to look nice at work, 100% a Jaune move

sir that-- that's not how crutches are supposed to-- SIR--

this Crutchie exhibits excellent Newsie styling in a very Yang color palette. high socks, mixing of patterns, rolled sleeves; excellent. the slightly fancier waistcoat, actually buttoned, isn't something Yang would go for but certainly wouldn't be amiss on Blake, Ruby, or Velvet

Ruby also, of course, wears a signature red scarf instead of her cloak:

like her scarf and hat just absolutely dwarf her, she's WEE SMOL

above we see our previous example Crutchie not leaping through the air, and his outfit remains exemplary but for the backwards cap, which I shan't abide. the Jack to his left-- what with his WIDE open shirt, tight undershirt, rolled sleeves, and suspenders, is very Yang.

good Yang looks can also mean THE SHORTEST SLEEVES EVER, TO SHOW OFF THE GUNS:

both excellent choices, and of course our lower fella (TURN THAT CAP AROUND YOUNG MAN) has got his bandana going, which is Quite Yang

all the guys in the background there are gold too tbh

look at this king in this fashion pose but also YEAH WHY NOT BANDANAS ON THE ARMS BANDANAS EVERYWHERE the yang xiao long story

^^ this outfit, on the other hand, is pretty exactly spot-on for Blake immediately post haircut/makeover

Weiss, I'm sure you've already guessed, is a Classic Katherine:

she's buttoned-up, she's fancy, her shit matches and she's the only one in a skirt.

the only thing where my brain gets REALLY SPECIFIC is the finale so uh. spoiler warning I guess for screenshots of the Newsies film and vague references to a plot resolution if you're reading the AU without having watched it

but the finale looks are ICONIC and non-negotiable

button shirt OVER henley OVER bandana and nothing's buttoned? suspenders on but hanging loose from the hips? hell yes.

i actually even managed to make that dirt smudge on David's tummy plot-relevant to Blake and that was completely subconscious and I didn't realize I did it until looking up these screenshots but there you have it. and by this point Weiss gets to be a little more loose and dressed-down, a la Sarah

in conclusion they're in love look at those heart eyes oh my god

[void-botanist]

Cady & Declan OTP asks 1/6

From this question list.

There are 60 questions, so I'm gonna slowly do this in 10-question chunks.

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut

Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with ‘because I love you!’ ? Cady for sure. He means it, but it's also a stand in for the things he can't find the words for when things get heated. However, Declan is usually thinking it.

What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare? 1) Be a comforting presence. But if comforting and cuddling doesn't work, there's always 2) Hot beverage, and sitting up bleary-eyed at the kitchen table trying to talk about non-nightmare things.

Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.) For the most part, no. They're not very the same size, and Declan's piercing jewelry is all in 24/7. But Declan has more than once been fooled into wearing Cady's titty window shirt. It's usually an accident, because Declan has other black turtlenecks without heart-shaped apertures in them, and not an intentional plant on Cady's part (that's not to say that Cady doesn't very much enjoy the results though).

Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected’? I think I initially set it up as Declan is the protective one and Cady is the protected one. But there is more than a little irony in there. Declan is more protective but he also really strongly relies on Cady, and Cady is one of the few people who will be protective of Declan on Declan's own terms.

Describe their cozy night in. They have a buttery baked something for dinner, then settle in to watch some TV. I think Cady would have some old sitcom that he's working his way through and Declan would find it amusing enough to watch a few episodes. Back in the day, before Cady disappeared, they might both have a drink at the same time. Declan's drink of choice was session cider, and Cady is deeply deeply enamored with rum cream. And then they play some kind of board game, maybe space Scrabble, maybe something that in my head looks like Rummikub mixed with Magic the Gathering. Eventually they go to bed, which is really getting into bed and then hanging out with each other for like another half an hour before they even attempt sleep.

Who would beg the other not to leave? Who has to leave to protect the other? I can't think of a situation where one of them has to leave to protect the other but both of them would absolutely beg the other not to leave. Cady will do this kind of as a joke, like "oh no, do not depart to the grocery store" or whatever, and Declan occasionally does it too if he thinks it's funny enough.

Would they build a pillow fort together just because? Sure they would. Declan doesn't fit very well in the average pillow fort (Cady doesn't either but he does not care) but he has been known to initiate them from time to time. Sometimes Cady just makes a pillow fort to read in and Declan finds a way to join.

What happens if one of them gets sick? They're both good at taking care of each other while they're sick, and doing everything they can to make sure that the other actually rests. It helps that they are self-employed and it's usually trivial to just be like, "we're going to be on the ground for a while longer". The biggest problem they have is getting each other sick, especially when Declan is sick because Cady constantly wants to be around him and half the time ends up getting sick also which means calling in reinforcements from the crew, or occasionally calling in Cady's mom, which Declan will admit does make him feel better, but he hates having call on her.

What are their thoughts on having children? Cady has always been like, maybe someday, but realistically no, especially when his life revolves around going to space. Declan finds children to be a lot and would rather not.

Describe their first date. They met at a mutual friend's wedding, which is to say that Cady noticed this hot guy hanging around who didn't seem to be with anyone and decided to take responsibility for him. They spent most of the wedding talking to each other, which was honestly an ideal situation for Declan, and then Cady invited him to coffee the next morning. So their first "real" date was a coffee date, followed by Cady showing off his beloved bicycle.

[a-little-birdie]

can u do rottmnt x reader suffering from period

Heck yeah! Because you didn’t specify who or what the relationship is, ima just do general headcannon style (with some small blurbs) with the main boys and romantic if that’s okay! I wanted to try my hand at romantic for a bit, of course mikey is platonic!

Tw: female anatomy but I did my best to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, talk of periods, blood, menstrual pain, nausea, vomiting the works.

General

Im going to say it here and now: Splinter did not teach his sons about periods or anything like that. However April did explain everything to them before they met you so they actually understand quite a bit. They listened to April very intently because it means they’d be able to help her in the future with anything she might need or want.

So if you come to the sewers looking uncomfy or in pain, Mikey has the most awesomest chocolate in the world hand made by the one and only, Leo is in the kitchen making tea for you, Raph has plenty of pain pills and gravol to share and Donnie has blankets and heating pads!

Even though they understand the pain you’re feeling they’re still goofballs so they’ll pretend to be you while on your period sometimes and it’ll become a “who can make the best zombie impression” contest. It’s still great fun though.

Leo

I’m going to say he’s very sweet when you’re on your period, if you’re ever sore or in pain or just in general uncomfortable he’s always willing to help you out.

Has stolen menstrual health products for you and will do it again.

His favourite thing to do with you while your on your period is turn on the TV and cuddle while marathoning movies together. Sweet, salty, spicy and savoury overpriced snacks surround the two of you as you watch the movies together. It’s nice.

You sit cuddled up against Leo’s plastron while playing with the tails of his bandana. Leo currently has his arms wrapped around you as he slowly works through a small knot in your back. Another wave of pain hits you and you shudder in Leo’s arms. “Leo.” You whine out and he kisses your temple while moving the blankets around a bit to better cover the two of you. “I know, I know. It hurts, but it’ll be okay. It’s just a little longer.” You whine a little more before nodding and settling back down. Leo gives you another kiss as he squeezes you in a gentle hug and then starting to work more on the knot he was earlier. Just a few more minutes before the pain meds kick in. Then you’ll be able to eat all the junk food you want and marathon movies with Leo.

Raph

This man has all the pain meds you might need. Advil? Check. Tylenol? Yep. Aleve? What does he look like, a chump? And of course he also has Gravol for any nausea you might have.

Speaking of Gravol you tend to need it, a lot. It’s not something he’s upset about though. He’s the oldest brother to three other children in a sewer pipe, when they were younger they’d get into all kinds of crap that would make them sick. So it’s okay, just let Raph comfort you.

When you’re not nauseous and having to live with a bucket in between your hands, the two of you pretty much continue on as business as normal. While you still take it easy (because Raph refuses to let you push yourself to far) you still do some light workouts and stretching with him and the boys.

(Warning!! I know I already mentioned vomiting and nausea but this is where it’s ramped up! There is some description, but not much.)

You sat on Raphs bed with a blanket around your shoulders. He had quickly cleaned his room before you walked in which was really sweet but you couldn’t care less while you were puking your brains out. You swallowed as another wave of nausea rolled over you, trying not to lose whatever food you had left in your stomach before giving up. You gagged as you vomited into the bucket and looked at what was inside. Eggs from breakfast and…. “Carrots, why is there always carrots?” You mumble out loud as Raph rubs your back in a soothing motion as he hands you your water bottle. After rinsing your mouth of whatever bile was left in there you settle back against Raphs side. Raph puts an arm around you shoulders. “You gonna be okay?” You nod your head as you lean into him, a grounding and solid weight you can rely on whenever you want. Yeah, you’ll be okay, especially with Raph here to help you.

Donnie

Donnie understands your pain, at least a little. He’s had really bad stomach cramps and has just felt overall really bad. But Y’know what’s always helped him? Coffee, heated, weighted and normal blankets and video games. It’s to do with something something rest something something don’t worry about anything.

If you come over looking like and even feeling like death, he’ll set you up with a nice cuppa Joe (coffee) if you want and your choice of heated and weighted blankets. Then he’ll hand you a controller and join you for a game of your choosing. It’s quiet and he’s not the most physically affectionate but it’s more the silent “I’m here, don’t worry” message when he passes you the blankets.

Will get you anything you want. Literally anything. Remember how splinter wanted some extinct robin eggs or something like that and S.H.E.L.D.O.N. Got him DINO EGGS OF ALL THINGS??? Yeah, he can and will get you anything. So if you want some super fancy croissant? He’ll go to Paris and steal get one from the greatest pastry chef in France. Or you want some kind of cheese that was only available a long time ago? Hold on one second, he’ll send Sheldon out for you.

You sat comfortably on a separate gaming chair next to Donnie, both of you sipping on coffee while playing Stardew Valley (I play Stardew and it’s really comforting, if you don’t like it you can imagine something else) together. You were trying to get the perfection ending by the end of year two, which was a challenge but still nice. Of course Donnie figured out a schedule and a chart to be as efficient as possible, however with things like weather being random it became more of a guideline than anything. “Damn it.” You hiss out as you lost the fishing mini game. “You’ll get it next time.” Donnie reassures you and you look at him. “Right, like when you said that the last three times.” Donnie raises his eyebrows. “Scoff.” Is his only reply. “Snort.” You playfully retort back and the both of you smile as you continue playing together, enjoying the music of the video game.

Mikey (platonic)

This dude is so ready to help you feel better ASAP. Prepare for Dr. Feelings, Dr. Positive and even Dr. Delicate Touch if you need a swift kick in the butt. But you’re most likely just gonna be cooking in the kitchen with Mikey. You two are gonna make the greatest pizza in the entire world!

After pizza you two play some slightly competitive video games. It’s loads of fun with lighthearted banter and trash talk. Of course there’s some playful wrestling involved! You totally don’t steal his remote before he can reach the finish line in Mario kart

All in all, spending time with Mikey while on your period is mostly just him trying to cheer you up and help distract you from how uncomfortable your period is. You’re his best friend and he hates seeing you in any type of pain, so he’s going to do his absolute darnedest to help you out as much as possible!

You sat on a beanbag in front of the large tv next to Mikey, the upbeat and fast paced music of the racing video game keeping you focused on beating the other to the finish line. “Oh, you are going down!” You scoff as Mikey clicks away at his controller furiously. “Yeah right! We both know I’m the reigning champ!! And as always. Eat. My. Dust.” You say with a finality that is punctuated with your ultimate move. A big, fat “YOU LOSE!!” Screen flashes across Mikey’s half of the game and you let out a victory whoop. “Noooooooooo! My victory! My high score! My win streak!! Stolen from me by my one and only friend!” Mikey says with a theatrical air while dramatically sinking to the ground in mock despair. “What will I do now? How shall I live on?” You wheeze after holding back your snorts and snickers and burst into full laughter. Mikey joins you rolling on the floor and clutching his sides. After both of you calm down you purse your lips before looking at Mikey. “Wanna go for round two?” Mikey gives you a devilish smile telling you he won’t let his win streak go so easily. “You’re on!!”

Wow, much longer than I expected! They all aren’t balanced, especially in terms of quality I think. I tried to make it more balanced though between the four of them. Lemme know what’cha think! I absolutely loved writing this by the way, it was quite comforting. Periods really suck so I hope this might comfort anyone dealing with that stuff! I wanted to get a bit of all the different sides of a period but I didn’t really get to sadly. And I’m gonna stop there because if I don’t I’m gonna go into a big long spiel about periods and no one wants to hear or read that! Anyways hope you enjoyed and that this is what you wanted!!

[darthzero22]

A lazy morning

Hunter x Reader 

Another day of work. Another day of probably doing a job for Cid. Mornings lately were lazy for you, and for Hunter. No doubt the life of a mercenary was not the same as that of a soldier.

Added to the Masterlist

The Havoc Marauder was in the same port on Ord Mantell. A few minutes ago it was already dawn, so it meant that you had to start the day. Usually, since you and your squad stopped being soldiers, you didn't wake up on such a strict schedule. You usually slept more minutes, even an hour longer.

Everything indicated that you were going to sleep more than usual, especially after yesterday's complicated job. 

All was quiet on the ship, especially in your room. Until suddenly you started waking up a few minutes later than your "usual" wake-up time. You knew that no one had woken up because they would have told you over the communicator, and in Hunter's case, he was sleeping next to you. He was lying face up on your bed, and you were lying face down with your cheek on his chest.

You always preferred Hunter's chest to a pillow.

The beating of his heart, his breathing and the feeling of closeness made you lazier than usual. You didn't want to get up, you didn't want to separate from Hunter, and even more when he had his arm around you, practically hugging you.

Despite the relaxing and pleasurable feeling Hunter was giving you, you had to get up. Being very careful not to wake him, you move slowly and then sit up in bed. You rub your eyes with both hands in an attempt to wake up better. Now you could see Hunter sleep better, and you could really watch him for several minutes. He was so handsome and so attractive in his sleep, more so than usual, that you wanted to kiss him, but you didn't want to wake him up, so you just watched him.

What you did is to remove a few strands of his hair from his eyes with your fingers, always carefully and softly.

You stared at him for a few minutes. You had to get up and start the day, and that was your intention, but suddenly Hunter gently grabbed your wrist and stopped you. He didn’t have his eyes open, but they were not necessary for him to perceive and feel you.

“Is it time to wake up already?” he asked with a very lazy voice.

“It is” you smile. “But actually... we overslept, again”

“This is becoming a habit” Hunter sighs and brings a hand to his eyes to wipe them.

Hunter looked annoyed, even grumpy. You kept smiling because he looked adorable when he got grumpy.

“Well, you look very handsome. Does that put you in a good mood?”

“Every word you say puts me in a good mood"

“I can see that not enough. How about this?”

Hunter pulls his hand out of his eyes to watch you lean toward him, and when your face was close to his, you kiss him on the mouth. He obviously reciprocates, bringing his hand behind your head to make the kiss deeper, but never leaving that loving touch. After the kiss, you were so lazy that you lay on top of him and rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“I think we should get out of bed” he said.

“I know. But I'm so tired… Yesterday's job killed me”

“Uh-huh” he raises an eyebrow and smiles, then he strokes your head softly.  “I know yesterday's job was complicated, but I think you're exaggerating, cyare”

“No” you clears your throat. “Well, maybe a little”

“You love to exaggerate things” 

You, still on top of him, move up so that you are now with your chin on his collarbone, then you straighten his back a little to look at him and start stroking his hair. When he didn't have his bandana on it was much easier to run your fingers through his beautiful hair. He closes his eyes and sighs in relief, then you hear him let out a grunt of pleasure, because feeling your fingers on his scalp was a more than pleasurable and relaxing sensation.

Thanks to his enhanced senses, he felt your caresses more intensely.

“Right… That just makes it hard for me to get up” he said. 

“That is my intention” you smiled.  

“You are evil, cyare”

“I know” 

You kept stroking his hair with one hand, and with the other hand you stroked his cheek where he had his tattoo. 

You loved everything about him. 

You suddenly feel Hunter put a hand on your back and start stroking it. He opens his eyes slightly to look at you, with a charming smile on his face, and puts his other hand on the back of your neck to caress it as well. He wanted to feel you more intensely, so he caressed you softly. 

“Well, if it was really your intention to keep me in bed longer, you succeeded"

“Great. Aren't you going to congratulate me, my sergeant?” you smiled. 

“If I do, I'm not being a good sergeant” 

“You know this is between us. Remember? We are partners in crime"

“That's true. Then in that case, I congratulate you, soldier, for making your sergeant lazy to get out of bed”

“Thank you. I strive every day to improve and be better" 

You looked at each other with Hunter, and after being silent for a few seconds, finally you two start laughing at the same time at how silly you two could be. 

“I think we should get out of bed"

“Oh, no. Now you stay here with me, cyare”

“Is that an order?” you smiled.

“Yes” he smiled too. “So you have to listen to me"

“Of course. Then I will stay with you"

Without saying anything else, you finally kiss each other in a deep and loving way. With that kiss you were able to feel better and know that you didn't want to go anywhere else. You stroked his face and he stroked your back.

You just wanted to stay with him, and he with you.

[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Thurs 10 June ‘21

DREAMS DO COME TRUE and fanfics do come to life, how lucky are we? Seriously though, cooking show Louis AND footie Louis in one day, have we finally crossed out of the dark timeline and into some kind of blessed AU?! Louis is doing a COOKING SHOW (well, a little cooking video), and even better- it’s one of those things where he tries to recreate a recipe on his own for the camera! Full Time Meals is part of Marcus Rashford’s campaign to end child food insecurity in the UK. Celebrity chef Tom Kerridge makes easy meals from cheap ingredients for folks to follow along with, so Louis shouldn’t have too much trouble- good for him, though maybe not quite as entertaining for us, but this is one step closer to Celebrity Bake Off, keep dreaming big and crossing those fingers! Kerridge will post his recipe video on Sunday, and then Monday they’ll post Louis making the same thing. The preview pic is just long ass hair everywhere OMG. Put on a hairnet, hippie! NOT ONLY THAT I guess he is still at the studio, but hey that just means more video for us and not only that, today’s fan videos are of Louis kicking a football around- look at him GO!- with CHILDREN, goddddd. TOOO much, truly excellent.

My Policeman filming officially wrapped, and Harry took a fan pic in London (with a fan called… Harry!) Harry (Styles) is wearing his “louie” shirt (hey I didn’t name the thing okay it’s literally called that) and carrying his blue bandana in his back pocket (on the left, relevant if hanky code, probably not relevant if he was just carrying it for hay fever symptoms or whatever.)

Liam assured us that the Vegas entrepreneur dinner will be very fun and (in his underwear, hello) said that he loves his discord and he did a live chat about Lonely Bug and NFTs. He said, “lonely bug is my inner child,” there will be LB merch- “very limited toy drop might add clothes don’t know,” that the new song has “very very bright lyrics,” and said both that his knee is sore and that his knee is much better thanks, how very Liam.

And in a (these days rare for me) dip into fandom discourse, I see writer Kaitlyn Tiffany is back making the rounds of blogs for her book about the 1D fandom and how craaaazzzy larries are; BLOCK HER. Her tumblr url is kaittiffany (EDIT SJDKJFKS she has deleted since this morning OK THEN but she will be back again; I’m leaving this in for next time as we definitely haven’t seen the last of her, plus you know I went to all the trouble of writing it.) A book actually reporting on this complex and somewhat unique fandom objectively from a place of interest and curiosity would be fascinating and totally worthwhile… but sadly this REALLY ain’t it. She has made it clear she has no intention of actually writing about the intricacies of this fandom, only in finding material to bolster her already decided upon thesis about the ‘clinical paranoia’ and conspiracy theorizing of young women online. Her entire premise is based on her own preconceived bias, and she came here to find things to support her premise rather than coming up with it based on what she saw (not to mention it’s totally dated at this point, she really missed the cultural moment on that) and she has no interest in hearing what we have to say, only in pathologizing to support the sensationalist brief she probably got a publishing advance for and finding things to pull out of context to make her already decided on points. Anyway she wrote the intern- who had not blocked her to that account, oops- offering the ‘choice’ between one of our posts being quoted in her book with or without a name attached GEE THANKS SUCH GREAT OPTIONS; once she sees anything she wants to pull out of context, you can’t do anything about it (this is a public platform), so just block her so she doesn’t see it in the first place.

Hey but since we’re not getting an actual balanced book about the fandom maybe someone should write a companion book to hers analyzing the psychological phenomena of antis! Hey publishers, I can throw around buzz words too plus unlike her I know what I’m talking about as an actual member of this community, check it out: I propose an analysis in the aftermath of the Trump era of ‘othering’ in online spaces and how certain fandom groups operate as a socially acceptable entry level location of practice in demonizing a peer population which can act as a gateway to normalizing the othering of other cultures, races, etc. In this essay book I will address how fans experience peer validation and support to egg each other on in bullying other people because those people have been coded as Other and Wrong and because their community reinforces the idea that attacking other humans is Good Behavior and that normal constraints and ethics are suspended when people need to be Made to Understand the Righteous Truth and that any means justify that end, and how that carries over into non-fandom life and is dangerous as hell. Now THAT’S timely, DM for deets about where to send my advance!

[lesbobiwan]

sorry if this is too much lol but could you do a fic with hunter where both him and the reader are taking it slow but hunter keeps moving for more penetration so you bring him over to a chair, tie him to it with his bandana and you’re just edging and cockwarming the hell outta him until you finally bring him back over to the bed and ride him out, and this man cannot be quiet 🤚 so you just make out with him so he’ll shut up lmao

anon i can do that. dont u worry i can fucking do that

sergeant hunter x reader

cw: cockwarming, sub!hunter, praise kink

Hunter's hands drift towards your waistband, clever fingers slipping underneath your pants and underwear. His lips trail down your jawline, pressed against the pulse point that he loves feeling.

Hunter's fingers, to his credit, pause before he touches you. He enjoys pushing your limits to see how much give you allow him but he's never overpowering.

Recently though he's been... needy.

You've been trying to take it slow — you like Hunter a lot, dare you even say you love him — but all of your past relationships have been more sexual than romantic and the two of you agreed you would wait a little before actual penetrative sex.

Hunter seems to be regretting this a little.

Please, he'd whine into your skin, hands skimming down your thighs reverently, I just wanna feel you. You'd feel so warm, baby.

It's endearing in its own way. Hunter usually never begs — he has too much pride — so for him to allow himself to ask for something repeatedly is a heady feeling.

It was endearing at first, at least. Now all you want to do is teach Hunter a lesson.

Good boys are patient for the things they want.

"Hunter," you murmur as a blaster-calloused finger begins to circle your clit.

"Fuck," Hunter slides further down his body until he's pressing hot kisses just below your naval. "I can smell how wet you are, sweet thing,"

Your breath hitches.

It'd be easy to slide your pants down your legs and hook your thighs over Hunter's hips. It'd be achingly easy to let that happen, to let him fuck you. He'd make it good for you, you know that.

But you can't let bad behavior slide.

"Hunter," you say again, "take your pants off."

Hunter pulls his head back to stare at you for no more than two seconds before hissing a quiet fuck, yes, and ripping his pants off.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs and its enough to make your mouth water.

"Go sit on that chair."

"Are you — what?"

Hunter's face drops in less than a second. He glances at the offending chair and a strangled laugh escapes him, like he isn't sure how he should react.

"Go sit," you repeat, sitting up from the bed.

Where is his — ah, there it is.

You scoop up Hunter's signature bandana as he settles into the chair. He shifts, obviously more vulnerable than genuinely nervous, and his eyes lock onto the bandana in your hands.

"If you want to fuck me," you grab his hands and loop the bandana through the chair's back and around his wrists, "you have to be good."

Hunter's groan echos through the room and like this, on your knees, you're eye level with his throbbing erection.

"I can be good," he manages, chest heaving already even though he's done nothing but sit.

You tsk disapprovingly and he lurches in his chair like he's just been shot. "Baby, I don't think you can be. At least, not yet."

You rise with all the grace of a woman in charge and purse your lips as you eye Hunter's lap. Now, what would be the best way to approach this?

"I can be!" Hunter insists even though his voice is mainly white noise as you think. "I can be good, I swear I can —"

Ah, this would be good.

You swing your leg around his lap until he's bracketed between your thighs.

Hunter's babbling stops as you stand above him.

You tip his chin up with your forefinger, forcing his gaze up to meet yours. You can see how his breath catches in his throat and it sends a thrill down your spine.

"Here's what we'll do," your whisper is a blaster shot in the quiet room, "I'm going to sit on your greedy cock and you won't move. You won't cum. You won't whine."

A strangled noise catches in Hunter's throat but he swallows it down.

Good. He's already catching on.

~

Hunter pants, hot and wet into the crook of your neck.

The chair creaks with the strain of keeping Hunter's wrists locked together with the bandana.

You grin, not that he can see it with how his forehead rests limply against your shoulder, and rake your fingers through his hair.

He shudders against you, cock throbbing inside of you so violently you'd worry for Hunter if he wasn't murmuring lovely, desperate mando'a into your skin.

"Hunter," you cooed, rolling your hips for the first time in what feels like hours.

Hunter gasps, jerking beneath you with enough force to almost knock you straight off.

You grin and roll your hips again — this time with more intent and Hunter reacts beautifully.

His wail can barely be muffled into your skin. Teeth graze against your shoulder and you find yourself lamenting the fact that he didn't bite you.

"Be a good boy for me," you whisper, beginning to bounce yourself on his cock.

He fills you perfectly. The stretch, even though his cock has been inside of you for... for you don't even know how long, is enough to have you gasp into his hair as you bounce.

"Fuck," he wheezes into your skin. His thighs flex beneath you and you can hear how the chair squeals with how he strains against his bandana.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, using them as leverage to lift yourself up. It's bliss to finally ride Hunter's cock like you've been aching to do since you started this.

You can feel your release building like magma in your gut. Fuck, you want him to cum first, though.

Hunter curses again under his breath, finally sinking teeth into your skin. "'m gonna cum," he says around a mouthful of your shoulder.

"Go ahead," you urge breathlessly, rolling your hips faster against him.

Hunter jerks beneath you, eyes clenching shut. His jaw unhinges from your shoulder in favor of falling open. A guttural moan escapes his throat, shaking your chest with its intensity.

He trembles through his orgasm, chair creaking against him.

You let him tip his head forward and pant against your skin, riding out the aftershocks of his orgasm until his trembling subsides and —

You jump as hands grasp your waist.

"Wha — Hunter, when did you slip out of the bandana?" You relax back into the feeling of his hands stroking up your spine, calloused fingers pressing beautifully into your skin.

Hunter grin's weakly, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, "A while ago," he admits, "I just..." he clears his throat, "I just wanted to be good."

"You are good," you whisper to him, speaking to hide the fact that your heart flutters in your chest like its trying to fly away. "So good for me, Hunter."

Hunter hums thoughtfully, hands trailing down until they rest on your upper thighs. "I can be better," he murmurs, fingers creeping up to tease at your clit. "You haven't cum yet," he reminds you as if you've forgotten the ache burning in your gut.

"Hunter, it's —"

"You could let me eat you out."

You freeze, cunt clenching at his words.

"Ye-yeah," you agree. "That works too."

[cloud9in]

You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable.  And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over.  A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

--------------------------------------------------------

End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

Construction of the tower was going smoothly. Neither King Dedede, nor the Waddle Dees tried to return to the castle. Instead, they set up tents around the base of the structure so they could stay through the nights. The tower rose in the sun, and rumors quickly spread all throughout Dream Land.

"It seems that King Dedede has started something strange again."

"He said he was building a tower. It's a tower for battle."

"It's so ugly. Let's stay away." 

The people didn't approach out of fear of getting involved, but one day, an unexpected guest passed through. Meta Knight. He came alone without his subordinates.

"Mmm? Isn't that Meta Knight?" King Dedede, who was supervising the construction site, looked back and raised his voice. Meta Knight looked up at the tower, only just completed up to the fifth floor.

"Are you alone? What did you come to do?" When King Dedede asked, Meta Knight replied with his eyes still locked onto the tower’s summit.

"I heard a rumor that you were building a tower for battle. I came to see what it looked like."

"Hmph, is that so? Then, take a closer look!" King Dedede proudly turned and gestured. "It's not just a tower. It's a decisive battle tower that decides the strongest warrior!"

" …………… " Meta Knight was silent, however, the sharp eyes behind his mask gradually began to shine. King Dedede continued to talk comfortably. 

"One night, a shooting star fell on this land." 

"A shooting star?" 

"Oh, a mysterious shooting star with incredible power. Thanks to that, huge peaches began to grow in the surrounding area, and the masks that were buried here ... " The King swallowed his words and cleared his throat. "Erk, ahem! Anyway, there was a special power in this place, so I decided to build a battle tower here. There will be lots of tough traps littered throughout that will plague the challengers! Only those who overcome the numerous trials can reach the top floor! What’s at the top? I am, of course! There will be a ferocious battle at the summit!"

"—I have a suggestion," Meta Knight said quietly while looking at King Dedede.

"What is it?"

"Can I also be added to the battle at the summit?"

"Eh?" King Dedede was surprised to hear that from him. "Well ... if you want to fight, don't worry. As a challenger, you'll start from the first floor, then, you'll challenge me on the top floor ... "

"I refuse." Meta Knight quickly swished his cape. "I also want to meet the challenger who makes it to the top."

"What ...? "

"I want to fight the strongest warrior," Meta Knight said flatly. King Dedede replied, dissatisfied.

"This is my tower. The final boss on the top floor will be decided by me!"

"I understood, I want to fight the challenger together—you and I, as two."

"Two people?"

"You must have expected—who will be the strongest challenger arriving at the tower’s summit?"

"Hmm ... " King Dedede frowned. "Kirby."

"Exactly," Meta Knight nodded, "Kirby will absolutely be the one to make it to the top. I want to be the one to fight him seriously."

"I'll be the one!" King Dedede raised his voice. "I want to be the one to fight Kirby! I need to win spectacularly and get even with the lil’ runt!"

"Neither you, nor I, have the intention of giving up the right to fight Kirby. The only solution is to fight him together."

"With two people?" The King shook his head indignantly. "Fighting two-on-one is what a coward does, I don't like it!"

"Who said it was two-on-one? I don't want such a fight."

"Huh ...? " 

"The game will be two-on-two. Let Kirby choose a partner."

"Choose a partner ...? " 

"Whether it’s Burning Leo or Knuckle Joe, he’ll head to the top with a strong partner."

" ... A serious match between two pairs ... I see, interesting." King Dedede nodded and grinned. "It's a good idea, Meta Knight! Then, it’s a challenge. I'll hit Kirby with a challenge letter. Waddle Dee, bring some paper and a pen!" Hearing King Dedede’s voice, Bandana Waddle Dee rushed in, also carrying bricks. With paper and pen in hand, King Dedede wrote the challenge letter at once.

"Kirby! I Invite you to ‘King Dedede's Strongest, Most Dangerous Tower!’ King Dedede and Meta Knight are waiting for you at the summit! Choose the strongest companion and come at once!" 

"No good," Meta Knight said quietly. King Dedede, who was attempting to put the challenge letter into an envelope, quickly froze. 

"What's wrong? It's the perfect challenge."

"The name of the tower is the problem. I think it'd be better to have a simpler name that describes the characteristics of the tower."

"Characteristics of the tower ...? What kind of name would be good?"

"That's right, because it's a tower that one fights with a partner ... How about the ‘Buddy Fighters Tower?’"

"Hmm." King Dedede folded his arms. He was a bit annoyed his name wasn't included, but the name Meta Knight suggested was unexpectedly cool. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was much better than "King Dedede's Strongest, Most Dangerous Tower." Therefore, King Dedede said, looking reluctant on purpose, "Well, it's not bad. I’m the owner of the tower, but I'll hear out your suggestion because I’ve got an open mind."

"Much obliged."

"Then ... " The King rewrote the challenge letter and handed it to Bandana Waddle Dee. "Deliver this to Kirby, be sure to get a reply."

"Yes, understood!" Waddle Dee securely re-tightened his bandana and began running, full speed.

Bandana Waddle Dee gradually began to grow tired as he ran through the woods. He never grew tired when he was working on building the tower, even without break.

"Hah ... hah ... I'm sweating ..... my legs ... it hurts ... " Finally, he couldn't run any longer. The leaves rustled as he sat down, and he could hear the peaceful sound of birdsong. After a long time, Bandana Waddle Dee felt calm. "Ahh ... Somehow, I feel sleepy ... " 

He thought as he closed his eyes. "How mysterious ... I wasn't tired at all when I was building the tower. Actually, I couldn't stay still because my body was coursing with so much energy ... " 

"Ora ora!" and "Get to it!" he had said. He turned red, remembering yelling those words he didn’t usually use.

"I was speaking so aggressively, even though I was in front of King Dedede ... ‘Move, I got it!’ What ... " Bandana Waddle Dee was speechless. "It's strange, somehow. Not only me, but everyone, even King Dedede, was acting more aggressive than usual. Why ...? " 

The thing that came to mind was the shooting star—the power of the shooting star that produced an abundance of large peaches on the trees in the forest.

"Was it the influence of the shooting star that made me feel so aggressive? Maybe that shooting star poured too much energy into the surroundings ... "

That may have been the reason King Dedede and Waddle Dee had become unprecedentedly violent and combative. And, the masks excavated from the place where the shooting star fell were worrying. Those masks were strangely eerie, in a way ... 

"The shooting star ... those masks ... Somehow, I have a bad feeling ...! " Bandana Waddle Dee stood up. He was tired, but couldn't rest. "I have to call Kirby. Kirby will surely do something about this!" He started running again, breathlessly. 

Even though King Dedede built the battle tower, even though rumors had spread throughout Dream Land, Kirby probably still hadn’t heard of it.

Kirby today, like always, had lunch at Chef Kawasaki’s restaurant and was now taking a nap in the shade, in good spirits. Bandana Waddle Dee rushed over to him, happily sleeping and drooling.

"Kirby! Wake up, Kirby!" Kirby cracked open his eyes when Bandana Waddle Dee shook him. 

"Ah ... Waddle Dee ... Fried rice seconds ... and after, hamburger and donuts ... " 

"If you wake up!"

Kirby rubbed his eyes, yawned wide, and finally looked up at him.

"Hmm? Waddle Dee? Where? My fried rice ...? " 

"I’ll make you fried rice another time. Instead, listen to this story!" Bandana Waddle Dee presented the challenge letter from King Dedede.

"A letter? From King Dedede?" 

"It's a challenge, look here ... " He told Kirby about the shooting star falling in the forest, the parts scattering when King Dedede touched it. "Mysteriously, lots of huge, sweet peaches began to grow in the area. I'm sure the power of a shooting star ... " 

"Ehh!? Peaches!?" Kirby had been listening uninterestedly, but suddenly, his eyes began to shine. "Lots of huge, sweet peaches!? Really!? Really, Waddle Dee!?" 

"Uh, yeah. That’s why the Great King put the tower there ... " 

"Hooray! So he sent me an invitation! How kind of him!" Kirby jumped at Bandana Waddle Dee. 

"I-it’s not like that, Kirby. This isn’t an invitation, it's a challenge ... "

"You're going to have an all-you-can-eat peach party? Let's go fast, fast, Waddle Dee!" Kirby started running, pulling Waddle Dee along with him.

"It’s not like that!" Even when Bandana Waddle Dee screamed, Kirby didn’t hear at all.

"Well, okay ... Kirby is wrong, but he’ll know it’s not a party when he heads to the tower," Bandana Waddle Dee thought as he ran, being dragged along. "I'm sure he will return the Great King back to himself!"

The pair dashed and bounded through the forest at incredible speeds.

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[novelconcepts]

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale. 

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

1

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure. 

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie. 

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways. 

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this. 

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping. 

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face. 

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado. 

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality. 

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth. 

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own. 

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces. 

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work. 

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything. 

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face. 

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans. 

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing. 

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap. 

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them. 

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle. 

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself. 

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space. 

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees. 

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans. 

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses. 

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second. 

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes. 

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump. 

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

2

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill. 

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it. 

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits. 

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying. 

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her. 

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of  little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it. 

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses. 

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good. 

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head. 

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection. 

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn. 

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie. 

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach. 

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie���s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining. 

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood. 

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear. 

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again. 

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should. 

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her. 

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw. 

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes. 

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her. 

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers. 

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy. 

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

3

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted. 

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away. 

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin. 

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her. 

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked. 

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over. 

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against. 

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action. 

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained. 

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less. 

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand. 

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body. 

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it. 

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil. 

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control. 

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm. 

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls. 

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.” 

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her. 

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore. 

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release. 

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down. 

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees. 

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script. 

4

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie. 

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. 

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time. 

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas. 

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop. 

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down. 

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her. 

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason. 

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot. 

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others. 

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world. 

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all. 

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking. 

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani. 

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle. 

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home. 

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before. 

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push. 

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself. 

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe. 

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes. 

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument. 

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in. 

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips. 

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck. 

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway. 

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her. 

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums. 

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep. 

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill. 

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

5

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity. 

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines. 

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her. 

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all. 

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace. 

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy. 

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers. 

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity. 

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.  

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse. 

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart. 

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head. 

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check. 

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive. 

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down. 

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway. 

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg. 

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life. 

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe. 

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this. 

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life. 

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face. 

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less. 

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long. 

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know. 

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani. 

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond. 

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose. 

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose. 

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear. 

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin. 

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later. 

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace. 

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane. 

6

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt. 

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence. 

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected. 

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment. 

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant. 

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders. 

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus. 

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart. 

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you. 

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough. 

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too. 

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body. 

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant. 

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs. 

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait. 

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated. 

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders. 

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much. 

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want. 

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake. 

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips. 

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it. 

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly. 

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder. 

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress. 

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. 

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self. 

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real. 

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room. 

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow. 

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not… Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: nothing too serious

Word Count: 2.9+k

Author's Note: Another chapter, yay! Hope you enjoy, guys! I'm sending you all love. Each and every one of you matters!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 5: Uneasiness

As it turned out, you bumped into Nick as you were heading back towards your home. He was quick to pull out his weapon, but you recognised him immediately and called at him. You saw him look at his main hand that was holding the hatchet and upon following his sight, you rapidly retracted your hand from his and looked away. In awkwardness, you missed the confusion etched on his face.

You both apologised instantly, both in different reasons, and he stashed the armament back into its strap and ruffled your hair. Something you had done to Tubbo not so long ago, but you suppose you deserved it.

On your way home, you had talked about your ventures. Nick gloating about his glory and how he's been more productive than you were, claiming how getting a friend instead of proper gear is lame. You knew he was teasing you, but you caught a slight bit of hesitation and envy shine through. Though, you shrugged it off for the time being.

Nick gifted you a bayonet with a white string tied around the handle and a bandana of your favourite colour as you were standing before your home. You gave him a quick hug before putting the knife into your bag and tying the cloth article around your head. He whistled as you now wore one, too.

For the rest of the day, you stored away your findings with tales of your journeys. Mostly Nick's, since you had to be honest and say he did a great job at scouting the east side of the town. Though, you told him some details about Tubbo and your time with the boy, dodging certain parts as you felt it wasn't your thing to reveal to him.

You were a little scared to tell him about their settlement the bee boy mentioned to you, but Nick seemed to know exactly what you were talking about. He had seen it from one of the taller apartments and showed you an impromptu map that he drew quickly.

To your surprise, the portrayal was decently drawn and his handwriting was legible, though he still suggested he's willing to show you the place. What didn't miss him was the chance to announce how he'll turn it into a date where you'll lie under the stars with a wink to add to the spice.

You punched his arm while he laughed it off, slouching his hit arm across your shoulder and pulling you close. This time, you jab at his ribs and he lets you go voluntarily, still laughing. It didn't even seem like you had done something to him, so you stuck your tongue at him and rushed up the stairs to sort out your own things.

A feeling like something is going to go terrible wrong sits in the pit of your stomach as you rummage through the chest.

• • •

The night comes quicker than you expect, and a not-so-stray feeling of anxiety begins to flow through your veins accompanied by your pacing as the sun slowly falls beyond your view.

The first two knocks executed on the door go unnoticed by you. It's the third one that stops you in your tracks and you go open the door for Nick, resuming your pacing once he's inside. He notices your jittery movement straight away and quirks an eyebrow at you, “You okay there?”

“Do I look like I'm okay?” You mutter to yourself, but he hears it nonetheless, “Who would be at the thought of some dangerous creatures lurking in the town at night?”

Nick sighs and slowly saunters to your side, gently resting his hands on your upper arms and makes you face him, “You weren't scared yesterday, what has changed?”

“I don't know,” you shrug, “maybe the bad feeling in my stomach that has persevered since we came home?”

“Okay, okay, smartass,” Nick's retort is light-hearted, only meant to get a smile out of you, “We are both spooked, but c'mon… What's this scowl doing on your face, pretty?”

Before you can react quickly, or protest, he flicks the skin in-between your eyebrows and tugs your lips into a smile. You grasp his wrists with your hands to lower his down and a small smile does make its way onto your face. There's no denying that he makes this hell of a place better, but there's a tight feeling in your chest at the thought of what lies in this world. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this and you seriously hope you don't even need to do that. This is a nightmare come true on its own, why would anyone want this to be real?

Your eyes shift around the room and you step away from Sap, letting his wrists fall free in the process. The lights are turned off in case there really is someone else and they might notice the lit-up house from afar. You aren't going to give people the chance of figuring out where your base is, if there are more groups alive than you realize. Even if it's people similar to Tubbo. There might be some help to find in his group, but you aren't willing to familiarise with them. Nick is the only person that you truly trust as of right now and you believe that it could be okay like this for the time being. You'll survive this. Through thick and thin, hopefully.

“We'll get through this,” he raises three of his fingers while holding his pinkie with his thumb, straightening his back. His face changes to a stern look, but silliness dances in his brown orbs, “Scout's honour.”

He expects the roll of your eyes, but the small laugh that escapes you makes his heart swell with an unknown feeling. He doesn't pay it much attention, just silently watches as you sit down on the bed against the headboard. Nick joins you in a while and gazes at you as you rest your head on his shoulder, “I honestly don't know what to expect at all and I'm worried, Sap. It's so hard to rest when my stomach is churning like I'm going to vomit.”

You feel his arm snake behind your neck and his nimble fingers soon start working their magic on your scalp, “We'll be fine, okay? There's nothing that would separate you and me. I won't leave you.”

Just then, a whistling noise echoes throughout the neighbourhood. An eerie melody that travels across the quiet street. Visible confusion is etched onto your face as you exchange looks with Nick.

The tune starts to raise its volume and it puts you, along with your companion, on guard. You wonder who is out there and what they're trying to achieve. You aren't one to test your luck, so despite your heart telling you to check the situation, you stay rooted to your spot. You were hoping the feeling wasn't going to be true, but here you are; hearing the whistles of someone unknown.

“Hey, hey,” Sap takes your hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. He leans into your view, trying to hypnotise your eyes to look into his. When he doesn't succeed, he shuffles in front of you and waits until your focus is solely on him. He gives you a soft smile, “I'm here with you. Nothing is going happen to us, I promise, and knowing you, you'd sass your way out of the situation.”

“Nick,” you start, “We've known each other for hardly three days.”

“So, what? It might be true, but your sass is immeasurable at times and you've hit me so much I lost count a long time ago,” he laughs quietly, then his laugh slowly transforms into a smirk. A teasing realisation present on his face, “You're literally hitting on me, baby.”

You groan, “I pity the person who will be with you, seriously, and don't you dare call me baby again.”

“You're with me,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, squeezing your hand playfully, “and about the 'baby' part… By seeing your reaction, I'd say I'm going to use it more often.”

Nick isn't ready for the switch of your personality as you decide to smile at him sweetly, lifting one of his hands close to your face, watching him intently. He visibly gulps and you have to push back a laugh to maintain your innocent façade. You put his hand on your cheek and lean into his palm. You stay in that position for a few seconds before rapidly moving your head and attempting to bite his finger. Your attempt is unsuccessful as he quickly retracts his hand and clutches it to his chest protectively, giving you a shocked look.

“Did I render you speechless, baby?”

The pet-name rolls of your tongue with ease. It seems so natural coming from you and his heart clearly betrays him when he feels its pace quicken. He quickly recovers, though, acting like what's just happened actually didn't, “I mean, my tactic at distracting you worked, so who's the winner here?”

“Certainly not you.”

The mood drops when you finally register the quietness, looking around you for any signs that could tell you what's happening. No whistling is heard, and you contemplate checking the windows to gather some sort of information regarding the stillness on the street. Nick gives an affirmative nod towards the boarded-up windows and gets off the bed with you. He follows your footsteps in silence, hovering over your shoulder as you get nearer.

A bolt whizzes through the air and before you can say anything, it strikes one of the planks in front of you. You flinch back into Sap's chest, guard rising, “Go take something so you could defend yourself, too, please.”

He gives you a side glance, inspecting your features, but you've put on a neutral blockage, “Will you be fine?”

The shrug you give him doesn't lower his worry and he analyses you one more time. He walks off in search of anything sharp and usable after you signal your certainty. As he leaves, you eye the bayonet strapped to your thigh. The metal weapon giving you at least some sort of reassurance.

Pure silence follows and you hold your breath in as you glance through the gaps in the barricade. Someone is definitely too close to your preference, yet you can't see anyone outside. They're hostile, that's without doubt. The bolt that clearly sticks out of the wood is an obvious proof of the hostility.

The moon's glow then reveals a person standing in its light, illuminating their figure.

They have a pig mask on with small tusks protruding from the side and a hood over their head with thick white fur adorning the sides of it. Raspberry pink, clearly chopped, shoulder-length hair visibly poking out and the wind ruffling it a bit. A shiny golden crown, which adorns gems of multiple colours, rests atop. You can't phantom how it's holding on the hood. Their crimson red cape with golden clasps and rubies attached to it flows in the wind and the crossbow's metal parts are shining. There's a satchel of bolts attached to the side of their thigh as they balance on the roof across from you.

“Who are you ogling at?”

The whisper against your ear makes you swat at his chest, shushing him immediately. He feigns being hurt, but raises his arms to swat at you back. It's when the figure proceeds to speak do you stop and a realisation comes to you that it is in fact a male, “Dream, I warned you to not come here. Ever. Wasn't the last time enough for you?”

Your interest peaks at the mention of a past encounter the supposedly two people had, wondering how that one had gone. From his words, it doesn't sound like it went very greatly and completely not in favour of Dream's side. What moved him into trying to take over the land again if he knew he had lost the last fight?

Nick watches your investment in the conversation rise, so he just crosses his arms. The hatchet at his hip ready to be taken out in case something was to happen. Though, he settles for watching you for now.

“I don't care, Techno. I own these lands. It's only fair that you will surrender and hand it over.”

“Don't make us fight you, pig.”

Another voice; another male one. This time it's slightly higher pitched than the other two, an obvious British accent to its overall sound.

Just from a few spoken sentences, you can tell both sides are ready to fight. What you aren't sure of, is if they'll really start fighting here or leave to sort it out elsewhere. You're praying it's the latter. Although your hopes aren't high when you continue listening in on their conversation.

“And I don't care, because you're stepping foot into my territory,” Techno, or whatever they called him, continues, “I shot a warning shot to gain your attention, but I will make sure to be precise this time and aim for your vulnerable body parts. Especially you and not a wooden plank. You damn well know I hold poison bolts and the two of you surely recognise my capabilities with a crossbow. You get struck with one, just one, poison arrow and you can go back to your village to get it taken care of.”

Territory? What's he talking about– wait… Don't tell me he's protecting us…?

You can't see the others, but you get a feeling Techno is more important than them. For whatever reason that is, you aren't able to steer your eyes away from his figure. A sense of déjà vu flowing through your body as you marvel at the man. You believe you've seen this man before. Even if once in your life, but your foggy memory blocks any of this information from you.

Unexpectedly he turns his head towards the window you're looking out of and locks eyes with you. Maroon eyes that sparkle with mischief meeting yours. He cocks an eyebrow at you, as if challenging you. Unable to see it, nor perceive it as a challenge, you deliver no reply. You're more than curious by the exchange, but it doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. Even though he noticed you, he doesn't do anything about you. Merely directs his gaze back to the people below him. Which strikes you as weird since you were guessing he'd do something. Literally anything. Yet, you're glad for his act of kindness. If it can be interpreted as such.

You completely miss the way Nick looks at you. The gears in his head turning at the strange stare off you two had. Do they know the guy? He doesn't like the look of the Techno guy at all and the ping of jealousy seems to agree with him as well. He knows it well, yet he just rests his hand on your shoulder.

“We have armour and there's two of us. You can't fight us both and win.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of your words,” the reply is overly confident, “I've fought many and still came out with no scratches. You're belittling my knowledge of fighting and tactical thinking.”

After Techno finishes his sentence, arrows and bolts go flying through the air.

The very first one coming from him as another warning shot. This time not aimed at your house, but at the ground. Another two come from the ground level but miss him by a few feet. Terribly aimed shots, if you have to say (not like you could do better, but you're just a spectator in this situation). They don't seem to be that good at aiming at the pink-haired man, rather missing him. To your bewilderment, he never flinches or tries to dodge. Basically, a still target for both of the shooters.

Not that his aim is any better, but you hear one of the guys wince multiple times as if the bolt scraped him. The distance is also something to take into consideration.

The final shot before the shooting halts is taken by Techno, who decides to truly aim at one of them and you can hear a high-pitched scream echo throughout the whole street.

This can't be good.

You start hearing the inhuman screeches from everywhere and Shadows start flying from the end of the street. You gasp in horror because this isn't what you were expecting. You didn't expect them to attract a whole bunch of the creatures and possibly doom you all.

“George! You idiot! You were supposed to dodge, not walk straight into his range!” Dream yells at the whining guy, “You've attracted Shadows now. Good job.”

“Look what you've–”

The rest of the words are tuned out by the screeches of the monsters. Nick squats down to the floor, tugging you along with him. He doesn't let you say a word as you sit next to each other, holding a finger to his mouth when he sees you ready to tell him something.

While you rest your heads against one another, both of you come to terms that sound attracts them very easily as you hear them bang against trash cans and dumpsters, chasing their intruders. You wait until you hear no more screeching, slowly rising to your feet and looking through the gaps once more to check for any signs of the creatures.

When you find none, you send Nick to his own bedroom, insisting you'll be fine. He gives you three chances to back down from your statement, but you persist through. As he has no reason not to trust you, he slowly retreats to his room with a promise that if you need anything, just to wake him up.

[nerdypanda3126]

City of Love – Ch. 12

Luka is surprised to see Marinette at the club and plans a surprise for her in turn.

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After getting his name on the list for the open mic and stashing his guitar backstage, Luka wound his way back to where he’d left Sass. But Sass was standing stock-still with his back to Luka and staring at the entrance. Following his gaze, it took Luka all of two minutes to process the two women walking in the door. There was no way. No possible way. They couldn’t possibly have decided to come out tonight, to the same place, at the same time. 

But it was unmistakably Marinette, in a t-shirt that she’d shredded and knotted back together skillfully, baring cuts of skin along her sides that only flashed when her jacket moved. And that was definitely Tikki next to her, a head shorter, her band t-shirt tied in a knot just above her navel and the stretchy black skirt she wore doing wonders on her petite figure. Luka let his hand fall on Sass’s shoulder to snap him out of the trance and he visibly jumped. 

“You said—” he hissed, but Luka shook his head. 

“I didn’t set anything up.” When Sass shot another sidelong glance at him, Luka clapped him one more time on the shoulder for good measure. “Looks like you get another chance after all.” 

Sass swallowed, and Luka noticed that he’d started trembling. It wasn’t like Sass, but then, this had taken him so off guard that Luka couldn’t blame him. 

“What am I supposed to say?” he asked, his voice hollow and empty. Luka shrugged. 

“Once the music starts up, you won’t have a chance to say much.” 

Sass nodded back, but his eyes were locked on Tikki as the girls sidled up to the bar. As Marinette leaned on the bar, those pink jeans from earlier that morning brought up memories of the night before and Luka couldn’t help his hands from twitching, aching to hold her again. The only thing that kept him from running to her and lifting her off her feet was that she seemed completely oblivious to him, focused instead on Tikki as they laughed together. It was meant to be a girls’ night out; she hadn’t planned on seeing him any more than he’d planned on seeing her. 

He had to smile as he realized that meant she didn’t know he was signed up for the open mic, either. Or that he planned on playing the song he’d written while she was painting. The song inspired by the sunlight bouncing off her hair and the smell of her perfume wrapped in her pink bandana and the way her tongue poked out of her mouth when she was concentrating. 

“I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he said to Sass with an absent-minded grin, a plan already forming in his mind.   

After another dazed moment of staring at the girls, Sass nodded to agree and followed Luka out the back door. 

***

"What about him?” Marinette leaned over to ask Tikki over the pounding music, pointing with her drink to a guy who had his back turned but looked like Tikki’s type. Short, dark, and suave. 

Tikki glanced over and frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she considered him. Marinette couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t think it was intentional, but Tikki had been turning down every one of Marinette’s suggestions, and her eyes had been far away all night. 

The band came to a stop and Marinette applauded as well as she could with a drink in her hand. They were good. Different from the last time she’d been here, but it seemed like an open mic night. The thought crossed her mind that she should’ve let Luka know, but that meant Sass would come along and the whole point of tonight was for Tikki to get some time away and think. 

In the lull between bands, Tikki grabbed Marinette’s sleeve and tugged. It took Marinette a moment to figure out what had her so excited until she caught the half-terrified, half-bewildered look on her face and followed her gaze. 

The guy Marinette had just pointed out was actually Sass. He’d hopped up on the stage to help someone out with something and that someone… 

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. How in the hell had Luka known to show up? Or maybe he hadn’t known? Maybe he’d just decided to come out tonight and bring Sass like she’d decided to drag Tikki out and—

He was setting up to play. Luka was on stage and adjusting the mic and as he did his eyes flicked straight to her and he grinned . 

After his introduction, he strummed a few chords and leaned into the mic again, locking eyes with her. “Surprise, beautiful. Thought you’d like to hear the song I wrote for you the other day.” 

Tikki clutched at her arm and it was only with a vague sense of wariness that Marinette noticed Sass approaching them. He didn’t say anything, though, as he sidled up to Tikki and shoved his hands in his pockets. She could feel the tension coming from both of them, but her heart and her focus were both locked on the stage as Luka started strumming. 

It wasn’t as showy or nearly as loud as the other bands, but Luka had his own quiet charisma that drew everyone else’s attention, too. It seemed like the entire club stopped to listen. There weren’t any lyrics, but he hummed a harmony part into the mic, letting the notes weave themselves together. 

You took something that I don’t even think about most of the time, and you made it beautiful. You made it art. It’s nothing short of a miracle, if you ask me. 

As his words from before came back to her, she hid a laugh behind her hand. She got it now. The way she saw the world in paints and fabric and sketches was how he saw it in music. And he’d seen this in her. 

As soon as his last note rang out, the crowd returned to its buzzing, the sound around her rushed back, and she was acutely aware that there was something unspoken happening between Tikki and Sass. They were both stiff, and Tikki still had an iron grip on Marinette’s arm. It was like they were both waiting for the other to make a move and neither wanted to be the one to break first. Marinette subtly pressed her own drink into Tikki’s hand. 

It wasn’t until Luka came and found her and pulled her into a tight hug that the tension dissipated like ice on hot pavement. 

“So?” he asked in her ear, breathless with anticipation. “What’d you think?” 

Instead of answering, she grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him down to her to press a fierce kiss to his lips. She heard a few whistles around her and broke away self-consciously, but he chased after her and swept her up in his arms, smiling against her lips as he spun her around. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked when he set her toes back on the ground. 

Marinette dared a glance back at Tikki, but she gave a small, determined nod, and Marinette turned back to Luka as her fingers dug into his shirt. 

"I could use some air." 

With a lopsided grin, he took her hand and led the way through the crowd out the back door, and as soon as they were outside he had her pressed up against the wall, trailing kisses down her neck. 

“Do you think we should’ve just left them like that?” Marinette asked, although it was hard to focus on worrying with his mouth on her. He hummed in response and nipped at her ear before dropping a kiss there, too. 

“We’ve done all we can,” he said, his voice dropping into that low rasp he’d had the night before when he’d been moaning her name. His hands were planted firmly on her waist, but she had a feeling if they were anywhere else that was more private they’d be roaming everywhere. 

“Besides,” he continued, pulling away the slightest amount to look in her eyes, “I’ve been wanting to have you to myself since you surprised me by walking in that door tonight.” 

"I surprised you?” She curled her fingers into the lapel of his jacket again and that lopsided grin was back on his face. It was smug and sheepish all at once and she didn’t know how he did that. “Listen here, one of us had the element of surprise tonight, and it wasn’t me.” 

“You’re right,” he agreed, laughing, “Sass looked like he shit a brick when he saw Tikki.” 

She smacked his shoulder, blushing at his word choice, but he was unrepentant. 

"What?" He shrugged. "Swearing in English is fun. There's something about it that's so much more satisfying." 

"I like your French better," she muttered, her blush creeping all the way across her cheeks and down her neck. She'd been remembering his fluent curses in her bed and how it'd made her feel to make him come so undone. From the hungry look in his eyes, he was remembering, too. 

"D'accord." 

He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips and it quickly became heated as he tangled his fingers in her hair and started whispering French praises in between breaths. 

If she had another thought for Tikki, it was a brief memory of the first night they'd come here and she and Sass had disappeared, probably to do something a lot like this, and suddenly she didn't feel so bad about letting Luka push her up against the wall or panting his name into the Parisian night.