#annoying! there are more eloquent words but after months of sleeping on it it all boils down to that

[portokali]

12 & 13 pame hateposting

my ystato beloved, always here to provide me w hateposting opportunities <33333

12. Any books that disappointed you?

disappointed kind of implies i walked in having expectations, so i won't list every book i didn't like, and though it's on me for having any in the first place since it's m*ggie well what the fuck was greywaren tell me.

13. What were your least favorite books of the year?

hmm in general i mostly read books i enjoyed, but detransition baby was largely annoying and written in a voice that seemed very contemptuous and simultaneously self-absorbed that was hard to shake off or flow with. unlike other books about terrible people making bad decisions or dark comedies etc i found it hard to suspend my disbelief and enjoy the book for what it was w this one. i mostly connected to the book on the parts where it approached gender the most closely, but the bigger picture does not hold up to its best moments

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Lestat/Armand + Moments that makes me feel Insane

If there had been a summons, I never heard it. If there was a greeting, I didn't sense it now. He was merely looking at me, a radiant creature in jewels and scalloped lace. And it was Cinderella revealed at the ball, this vision, Sleeping Beauty opening her eyes under a mesh of cobwebs and wiping them all away with one sweep of her warm hand. The sheer pitch of incarnate beauty made me gasp. Yes, perfect mortal raiment, and yet he seemed all the more supernatural, his face too dazzling, his dark eyes fathomless and just for a split second glinting as if they were windows to the fires of hell. And when his voice came it was low and almost teasing, forcing me to concentrate to hear it: All night you've been searching for me, he said, and here I am, waiting for you. I have been waiting for you all along. - The Vampire Lestat

He looked to Gabrielle, who stood near the fire, and then to me. And silently, he said, Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me. This silent entreaty had an eloquence, however, that I can't put into words. "What can I do to make you love me?" he whispered. "What can I give? The knowledge of all I have witnessed, the secrets of our powers, the mystery of what I am?" It seemed blasphemous to answer. And as I had on the battlements, I found myself on the edge of tears. For all the purity of his silent communications, his voice gave a lovely resonance to his sentiments when he actually spoke. - The Vampire Lestat

"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said. "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!" And I knew, as I had all along really, that my restoration was illusion, that I was the same skeleton in rags, of course. And the house was still a ruin. And in the preternatural being who held me was the power that could give me back the sky and the wind. "Love me and the blood is yours," he said. "This blood that I have never given to another." I felt his lips against my face. "I can't deceive you," I answered. "I can't love you. What are you to me that I should love you? A dead thing that hungers for the power and the passion of others? The embodiment of thirst itself?" [...] Yet memory plays its tricks. Maybe I imagined it, his last invitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the months passed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking those old Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that it was a lie I'd spoken to him, that I did love him. I did. - The Vampire Lestat

In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was. “That’s what you always want,” he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn’t hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it at all. “When you found me under Les Innocents,” he said, “you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves.” “Yes,” I said, “and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.” My tone was angry. “You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.” We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn’t tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn’t. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard. - Memnoch

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. - The Vampire Armand

I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him wherever he'd gone and whatever had taken place, he was now safe again with us, but nothing could quiet him. A deep exhaustion saved us all from the inevitable tale. We had to seek our dark corners away from the prying sun, we had to wait until the following night when he would come out to us and tell us what had happened. Still clutching the bundle, refusing all help, he closeted himself up with his wound. I had no choice but to leave him. As I sank down that morning into my own resting place, secure in clean modern darkness, I cried and cried like a child on account of the sight of him. Oh, why had I come to his aid? Why must I see him brought low like this when it had taken so many painful decades to cement my love for him forever? - The Vampire Armand

Two hundred years ago he stripped me of illusions, lies, excuses, and thrust me on the Paris pavements naked to find my way back to a glory in the starlight that I had once known and too painfully lost. But as we waited finally in the handsome high-rise apartment above St. Patrick's Cathedral, I had no idea how much more he could strip from me, and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep. - The Vampire Armand

Of course I knew the very moment that he left this world. I felt it. I was in New York already, very near to him and aware that you were there as well. Neither of us meant to let him out of our sight if at all possible. Then came the moment when he vanished in the blizzard, when he was sucked out of the earthly atmosphere as if he'd never been there. Being his fledgling you couldn't hear the perfect silence that descended when he vanished. You couldn't know how completely he'd been withdrawn from all things minuscule yet material which had once echoed with the beating of his heart. - The Vampire Armand

“Armand,” I said. “Please.” I dropped down on my knees in front of him, looking up into his face. All the emotion he had held back was printed there now. He was in a rage. “Is your heart totally turned against me?�� I asked. “Do you have no faith in what we seek to build here?” “Fool,” he said again. His voice was roughened now by emotion he couldn’t suppress. “I have always loved you,” he said. “I have loved you more than any being in all the world whom I’ve ever loved. I have loved you more than Louis. I have loved you more even than Marius. And you have never given me your love. I would be your most faithful counselor, if you allowed it. But you don’t. Your eyes pass over me as if I don’t exist. And so they always have.” - Blood Communion

“I love you still,” he said. “Yes, even now, I love you, as they all love you, your minions seeking just a smile or a nod or a quick touch of your hand. I love you like all those throughout this palace who are dreaming of drinking just a drop of your blood. Well, you can leave me now. I’m not going anywhere. Where is there to go? I’ll be here if you want me. And grant me my wish for the moment, you and your august friends. Go and leave me alone.” - Blood Communion

Armand suddenly began to weep. “Don’t do it, don’t trust him,” he said. “Lestat, he’ll just destroy you. And if you are gone—.” Ah, such sweet words from one who only hours ago had been cursing me with his every breath. - Blood Communion

The only thought in my mind, the only image, the only idea, was of Armand, and how Armand would feel when he too could hold Marius like this and know that Marius lived, that Marius had been restored, that all of them were safe and secure, and using my strongest power I sent the word to him. I sent the news. And I sent my love to Armand with it. - Blood Communion

[mygodyouredivine]

Something About You

Summary: After you joined the Avengers, you had quickly bonded with all the team members and accepted even Loki. Loki finds himself drawn to you and develops a begrudging fondness for you. He doesn't realize just how deep that affection was rooted until you are injured on a mission.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor injury (nothing graphic), minor angst

Word Count: 2965

Notes: Hi! This is my first ever fanfiction and the first time I’m posting on tumblr! I’ve read many (many, many, many) Loki/Reader fics and I wanted to give it a try to see if I could write a short interaction between Loki and the reader. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and if you enjoyed, any feedback/comments would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Loki despised the Avengers. It was impossible to miss the distrustful looks thrown his way, the way the air shifted uncomfortably when he entered a room, or the thinly veiled jabs at his loyalty despite him living in the compound for well over a year. However, their treatment of him wasn’t the source of his contempt. It was you, and for all the Norns he couldn’t determine why. 

You had moved into the compound a few weeks after he had and every single occupant of the tower had been immediately infatuated with your charm. Not that Loki could blame them. You maintained a sense of innocence he could hardly believe, especially due to your history. He didn’t know much about you, but you had been rescued - and then recruited - into the Avengers after all. A tragic backstory was practically a prerequisite. You were also contradictory; for though you exuded innocence, there was also a complexity and rage that simmered underneath your skin. During missions, you were a force not to be underestimated - you stuck down enemies with a certainty and ease that even Loki respected. But in the safety and comfort of the tower, you were, for lack of a more eloquent term, adorable . Walking around in oversized Midgardian articles of clothing and fuzzy socks that often sported cartoonish designs of various animals, you almost appeared soft. Paired with your bright, but not blinding, personality, it only made sense that the others warmed to you so quickly.

Stark was the first to fall under your spell, pampering you with his latest inventions before showing anyone else. Loki supposed it had to do with your genuine enthusiasm when Stark talked, and the team had quickly learned that besides Pepper, you were one of the only people who could persuade Stark to venture from his lab to get the rest that all mortals needed. Rogers had been next. It wasn’t hard to see why the Captain had taken such a quick liking to you. Loki personally believed Rogers only saw the innocence and not the complexity, but that innocence had apparently activated his protective mode, for the Captain was oh-so-careful whenever he reluctantly sent you on any missions. Next, it had been Banner. You and the shy doctor had bonded over your shared love of quiet relaxed conversation and he could often find you in Banner’s labs, assisting him with various mundane tasks. You had even swayed the ever-suspicious Widow. How you did so, Loki had no idea. Even now, months later, the Widow only gazed upon him with open hostility. Finally, his oaf of a brother Thor. Thor had loved you from the first time he met you, but that was no surprise. What was surprising was how you tolerated his boisterous brother’s extroverted and often over-enthusiastic nature with a never ending well of patience. He could see how you flinched when Thor would sometimes talk too loudly, but you were always quick to cover it up with a smile and a hug for the oaf. 

Loki noticed that like many Midgardians, you seemed to crave touch. Even among the highly suspicious Avengers, they all seemed to trust you intimately. Stark, who, putting it lightly, was not a hugger, seemed to enjoy the occasional brush of your fingers across his arm. Rogers loved to ruffle your hair whenever he saw you, his large hand continuously running through your soft locks during meetings. Loki wondered briefly what it would be like to feel your silky strands of hair between his fingers, to have you sigh contentedly and close your eyes while he wove intricate braids into your hair. He didn’t know. The only one besides Rogers who touched your hair was the Widow, and you could both often be found brushing and braiding each other’s hair. With Banner, you seemed to be fond of side hugs, quickly smooshing the entire side of your body against his, and with Thor, well, you seemed to be the most comfortable with his brother. Your customary greeting was a hug, and it often annoyed him when his brother would abandon whatever interaction he was having with Loki to embrace you and spin you around while you giggled with a childlike glee. During the weekly movie nights, you could usually be found next to Thor, curled next to him with one of his arms thrown haphazardly behind your shoulders. Loki hated it. 

When you had first moved into the compound, you had been cautious around all of your new companions. Slowly, that careful apprehension had faded away, and you had become an integral part of their family, while Loki had remained an outsider. He had tried to hate you, and for a time, he was successful. He looked down upon your openness, your softness, and categorized it as a weakness. Over time, he began to see your courage and ability to trust as a strength and as a sign that you were truly comfortable with all the occupants of the tower, and he admired it, rather against his will. 

Though Loki refused to admit it to himself, his fascination with you had nothing to do with how the others saw you; Loki couldn’t care less about the opinions of Midgardians. Except you. There was something about you that drew Loki to you, for when he noticed you were relaxed with all of your roommates, he was startled to see that it included him. Not to say he was your favorite by any chance, or that you paid special attention to him, but he was excruciatingly aware of your perfectly average treatment of him. The way your eyes met his without flinching and how your body refused to tense when he entered a room and the way you didn’t hesitate before contentedly dropping into a seat next to him made him feel accepted. Though his pride prevented him from acknowledging it, acceptance was one thing Loki strived for but could never reach, regardless of his Silvertongue or magic, charm or tricks. But with you, Loki didn’t have to strive for acceptance, he simply was. As uncomfortable as it made him, Loki begrudgingly began to develop a fondness for you.

Not only did your laid-back treatment of Loki prompt him to lower his defenses around you, your complete and inherent trust in him pleased him immensely. He wasn’t talking about you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets with him, but rather the way you trusted he wouldn’t hurt you or betray the Avengers. Occasionally Loki would unintentionally hear snippets of conversation between ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ making jabs regarding his ability to be trusted and simply at his expense, but you were never a part of the unpleasant discussions. In fact, Loki would often see you frowning disapprovingly at whomever had made the disparaging comment, and while the others’ opinion of Loki did not matter to him whatsoever, seeing your discontent had him appreciating you even more. More than how you acted when Loki wasn’t present, Loki still mostly enjoyed the interactions you did have with him. Loki typically hated movie nights as he was forced to suffer through the combined presence of all the people who disliked him crammed into a single room. He constantly craved to distance himself from everyone, including you, until he had experienced your closeness for himself. Though it was unbearably harder to see you interacting so affectionately with Thor after he knew just how intoxicating you were, the times you would touch him always kept his negative feelings at bay. On the rare occasions when you weren’t glued to Thor’s side during movie nights, you opted to sit next to him. More often than not, you ended up falling asleep, either right next to him, or on him, though that seldom ever happened. The few times it did, Loki found himself paying even less attention to whatever repetitive and predictable Midgardian film was playing and focusing on you. The steady rise and fall of your breaths against his skin, the warmth your body radiated, contrasting deliciously with his own icy interior, and the unpredictable actions you took in your sleep, such as the occasional tightening of your fingers on his chest or the charming way you enticingly nuzzled your cheek into him. Whenever you feel asleep on him, Loki would take extreme care to keep his breaths as even as possible to not disturb you. He once mustered up the courage to drape his arm across your slumbering form, and you had sighed ever so softly and only burrowed deeper into his side. When you woke up, you always looked mortified and apologized profusely, as if Loki could ever be displeased by your actions. Unbeknownst to you, the moments you spend curled up next to him warmed him during the days you were absent or off on missions.

He doubted you knew how much you mattered to him, and he himself didn’t understand just how deep he cared for you, until he almost lost you. You were on a mission with Thor and the Widow and were supposed to be back a week ago. Various complications had arisen, and while worry grew within Loki, he pushed it deep within himself as missions rarely did go completely smoothly. However, his sleep quality, while usually less restful when you were not within the compound, deteriorated at a rapid pace, and he found himself in the kitchen making tea when the Quinjet returned, announcing your return. Loki immediately knew something was off, for he did not hear any quiet chatter or soft laughter that usually accompanied you, Thor, and the Widow. Convincing himself that he had nothing better to do, Loki had gone up to the roof with the intent of offering his brother tea as a guise to check on you. The sight Loki was met with had his fingers tightening on the mug and his teeth being grinded so hard he could almost hear it. For there Thor was, leaving the Quinjet with you held in his arms and the Widow prancing along behind. A concoction of emotions began boiling within Loki: confusion, hurt, anger, disgust. As Loki continued to watch from the shadow of the roof, his revulsion only increased as Thor lowered his face to yours in a disgustingly sweet manner and whispered in your ear. However, as Thor and the Widow drew closer to where Loki was standing, he began to pick up on the oddity of the situation. Why would Thor be carrying you in his arms? The Widow was not prancing, she was running. Why was she running? Why were you still limp? Was that blood? Loki quickly emerged from his corner and walked forward towards you. The sight he was met with had the tea in his hands dropping to the floor and shattering with a crash that Loki couldn’t hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything but a distant buzzing surrounding him, for you were there, lying in Thor’s arms with your eyes closed, skin sickly pale but shining with sweat, hair matted, and coated in blood that seemed to ooze from your body. Without a word, Loki had teleported all of you into the doctor’s lab. 

As Thor positioned you gently down onto the bed and the Widow ran to summon the healers, Loki could only focus on you. Your breaths, so solid against his side a few days ago, were erratic and thin, your chest barely rising at all. Your fingers twitched, not in the peaceful way they had against his chest, but painfully. Your brows furrowed and you whimpered pathetically. Loki’s heart shattered. Under any other circumstance, he would have immediately demanded what had happened, but he could not tear his eyes from you. Oh, you precious little mortal. Loki had forgotten how frail Midgardians were and how easily you could break, how utterly short your existences were. He reached towards your fragile form, carefully brushing your tangled hair away from your face. He poured his seidr into you, praying to all the Norns - Hel, even to Odin - that you would survive this ordeal, all the while cursing himself for not going with you, for allowing you to become injured to such an extent, and for not practicing healing magic when he had a change. His desperate attempt to heal you and self loathing was cut short by the arrival of doctors, nurses, and the other Avengers, all wildy alert after receiving news of your injury. Loki allowed himself to be jostled away while medical personnel surrounded you as the others began questioning Thor and the Widow on how you had arrived in this condition. 

Now, Loki sat by your bedside, where he had resided ever since they had stabilized your condition. He refused to budge, plainly ignoring anyone who tried to take his place and brushing off Thor’s half-hearted attempts to get him to eat. No, Loki spent all his time here, watching you for any sign of recovery and ensuring that your breaths kept coming. Your clothes had been changed. You were no longer wearing your bloodied uniform, but a set of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt taken out of your bedroom. Your body had been cleaned and hair had been brushed. You looked so peaceful, just laying there on the crisp white sheets. Your eyelids fluttering randomly and the occasional wince and groan were the only signs of life you exhibited. Your body convulses, and your face tenses as sweat begins to bead across your forehead. Loki recognized these symptoms all too well. You were having a nightmare. 

“Darling? Darling do you think you could wake up? I know you can. Come on, you can do it.” 

Loki whispered encouragement into your unconscious body, hoping he could rouse you from whatever torment your subconscious decided to inflict upon you. Surprisingly, you do awake, though it was not with the grace he typically saw from you. Instead, your eyes jolted open with a start and you immediately attempted to sit up, falling back down onto your back as your injury took over you. Your eyes were clouded as a result of the medication the doctors had pumped you with and your lips were chapped. Your hair framed your face haphazardly as a result of your incessant twitching from the nightmare. Your eyebags were prominent and half of your body and face still swollen. Norns, Loki thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Seeing him, your half alert face breaks into a genuine smile and Loki hands you a glass of water, prompting you to greedily gulp all the liquid down.  

“Loki?” , you croak. “I'm cold.”

Loki’s relief at your awakening is palpable, and he immediately shrugs off his hoodie and bundles you up in the dark green (and insanely soft) fabric. His heart seems infinitely lighter as you look up at him wearing his ridiculously large hoodie and softens when you lay back down and burrow yourself into the fabric. You looked so small there in the hospital bed, your body still recovering and drowning in dark green cotton, and Loki has a sudden desire to brush his lips against the top of your head. Justifying his actions of simply that of a concerned friend, Loki gives into his want. The instant his lips come into contact with your skin, Loki never wants to let you go. The warmness of you seeps into him and fills a void within himself he didn’t even know he had. But Loki lets go, and you sigh happily. Looking down at your now sleeping figure, Loki decides to alert the others. As much as the Avengers dislike him, he does not take joy in witnessing their restlessness as they wallow in guilt. Moving away from you, Loki is stopped by your voice. 

“Don’t go.” , your sleepy voice whispers, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Though he wasn’t sure of the exact details of your past or what experiences prompted you to ask him to stay, but in that moment Loki vowed to completely annihilate not only those who put you in your current state, but also any being who had ever dared to harm you in any way, even if he had to track down the man who had cut in front of you when you were in line getting coffee for the team a few weeks ago. Your eyes look at him with sadness and pleading within that whatever miniscule amount of conviction within Loki dissipates. He quickly returns to your bedside, dragging the chair closer to you. Selfishly, Loki wants to touch you again, so he reaches out a hand to close your eyelids. 

“Shh. It’s okay love. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. I promise. Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. You’re the best you know. You’re my favorite,” you mutter almost incoherently as you doze off again. As he moves his hand away from your face, you grimace and grab his hand before he can pull back entirely. Your fingers intertwine with his as you bring it back to you. Turning onto your side, you pull your connected hands back up to your face and cuddle with it. You. Cuddling. With him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to leave,” you mutter as you frown, “Lokiii” you drawl. You smile then, and truly drift off.

Something inside Loki cracks. He had been suppressing and denying it for weeks, months now even, but he could no longer run from the realization that his heart belonged to you. Looking at your sleeping form, willingly grasping onto him even though you knew his history and all that he had done, Loki finally let himself believe he might not need to run anymore. 

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter III

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and smut.

A/N:ENJOY!!!!

Jungkook shone.  He really, really did. 

You watched him from across the room - the way he drew people in like a magnet.  He was stunning.

You knew he could tell you were watching him.  The way his eyes flickered to yours, and the side of his mouth pulled up slightly. 

Perhaps he enjoyed the power he had over you.  After all, you were his wife.  It was only normal that he wanted you to be attracted to him… Wasn’t it?

You couldn’t ponder on that thought.  Couldn’t let yourself think about Jungkook wanting you to love him.  It was too much - too overwhelming.

You turned from him quickly, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in almost one gulp.  You cringed at the unfamiliar taste - and the burn at back of your throat - but you needed a distraction.  From your husband, of all people.

Your life really was ridiculous. 

“Y/N?” 

You turned quickly, snapped out of your reverie by the sound of your name. 

Kim Namjoon stared back at you, a small smile on his face.

“Namjoon,” You relaxed a little, lips splitting into a smile of your own, “Hi.  How are you?”

“I’m fine,” He gestured at the champagne flute in your hands, “You’re going to snap that.”

You looked down noticing your grip was like a vice and gasped. 

“Shit.”  You loosened your fingers and blushed, “That would’ve been embarrassing.”

He gave you a sympathetic look, “Tough week?”

You groaned, setting the glass to one side and shaking your head, “Tough month.” 

Namjoon and you were fairly close.  The two of you had grown up together - along with Nayeon and Jungkook - and you felt you could genuinely trust him.  He was the only member of the Special Seven - apart from Jungkook of course - that you felt you had a real friendship with.

Namjoon was different to other made men.

He was intelligent and grounded.  He didn’t act on impulse or throw himself into situations he couldn’t handle. 

Namjoon was like the centre of gravity that Bangtan desperately needed.  

You liked that about him.

“It’s not your doting husband, is it?” He asked, raising a sarcastic brow.

You assumed he knew the truth about your marriage - even down to the fact Jungkook had no romantic feelings towards you.  The two of them were close - brothers, really - and you imagined they shared everything with one another. 

“It’s not his fault,” You answered, though you weren’t sure you totally believed it, “We were both… Forced into this.”

“But you love him.”  The words weren’t questioning - they were a statement.  Namjoon always was so intuitive.

“How did you - I  mean… What are you talking about?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Anybody with eyes can tell you love him Y/N - that you have loved him for years.” 

Something inside you twinged.

It wasn’t that you cared that other people knew.  You didn’t.  Love wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

It was just…. Well Jungkook knowing that other people knew.

Would he care?

And at this point… Did it even really matter?

“It’s not his fault he doesn’t feel the same way,” You said eventually, deciding it wasn’t even worth it to deny Namjoon’s accusations, “That’s just life.” “Jungkook is an idiot,” Namjoon wrinkled his nose, “He wouldn’t know love or commitment if it whacked him in the fucking face.  He’s spent his entire life dropping women’s panties and not sticking around to get to know them.  He thinks he’s incapable of anything more.”

You raised a brow, “I think he just doesn’t want anything more.”

“Bullshit,” Namjoon shook his head, “He doesn’t know what he wants.”

“And you do?” You replied, smiling a little at the way Namjoon’s brow furrowed into a frown. 

He seemed genuinely annoyed at your husband’s behaviour.

“I know he’s too much of a pussy to even open himself up to the idea of being with you for real,” He shrugged, hands reaching for his pockets, “Even told him so myself.” “Really?  And what did he say?  I’m sure that went down a treat…”

“Told me to fuck off of course.  But what else did I expect from the ever eloquent Jeon Jungkook?”  You laughed at that and so did Namjoon, shaking his head at his younger friend’s apparent stupidity, “Honestly.  I know Jungkook.  And I know that deep down inside, all he really wants is to be loved, Y/N.  And I think you could help him realise that.”

His words warmed you down to the tips of your toes.

“You think so?”

When he nodded, you felt something in your chest expand and lighten.

For the first time since you’d found out about your engagement, you felt a little better about things.

If Namjoon thought Jungkook had the capability to come around.. Then maybe things weren’t so bleak.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly, “Thank you.  For speaking to me.  It really has helped.” “Just being honest,” He shrugged, “Thought you deserved to know my opinion, I guess.” 

“You always have been the smartest Bangtan boy.”

A throat cleared from somewhere to your life and you both turned to look, lips lifting unconsciously into a smile at the sight of your husband.  But Jungkook wasn’t smiling.  In fact, his mouth was pulled taut into a firm line.

And he was… Glaring at Namjoon.

“What are you two talking about?” Jungkook asked, hard eyes turning on you.

You felt a little intimidated by the way his gaze seemed to sear straight through you. 

“Just catching up, Jungkookie.”  You watched your husband cringe at the nickname that rolled off Namjoon's tongue, “Don’t keep her locked away for so long again.”

“I’ll try not to Joonie.”  His eyes were still pitch black, “You ready to go, Y/N?  I’m getting tired.”

You arched a brow at his odd behaviour. 

If you didn’t know any better you would think he was jealous.

But there was absolutely no way Jungkook would feel jealous or possessive over you… Was there?   

“Okay.”  You nodded swiftly and turned to Namjoon, “It was nice speaking to you Joon.  I hope we can catch up again soon.” His eyes were soft and he smiled, “You can count on that.”

You didn’t even realise Jungkook’s hand had slipped into yours until he was pulling you away from the crowd almost roughly.  Namjoon gave you a little wave and a knowing wink, and you shook your head, confused by your husband’s sudden shift in behaviour.

There was no way he was actually jealous, was there?

Not after knowing the way you felt about him.

Not after pushing you away himself and making it clear he wasn’t interested in a real marriage.

No.  You shook your head.

He must just be tired, like he’d said.

When the two of you made your way outside, you finally tugged your husband’s hand and forced him to look at you.

“What?” The word was sharp and angry.

You flinched, “Are you… Okay?”

“Just peachy.  Enjoyed your little chat with Namjoon?”

You followed him down the marble staircase, towards the garage.

“Wait.  Is that why you’re acting like this?”  You were speaking to Jungkook’s back - why was he walking so damn fast? - as you struggled to keep up, “Because I was talking to Namjoon?”

Your husband decided not to answer as he grabbed the keys wordlessly from the valet and continued making his way towards the car.  You trailed after him, feeling dejected and hurt by his sudden sourly attitude. 

What right did he have to be angry at you when all you had been doing was talking to a friend?

“Jungkook!” 

His name flew out of you angrily, just as the two of you reached the car.

He froze for a moment, and then turned, eyes hard like two glass balls of obsidian black.

You finally caught up with him, confused and hurt at the way he was treating you.  It made absolutely no sense.  

“Why are you mad at me?” “I’m not mad.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously you are.  I’m not stupid.  So why are you mad?” “I’m not mad,” He answered unlocking the car and - despite his apparent fury - opening the passenger door for you, “I just find it sweet that you and Namjoon seem to get on so well.”

He slammed his own car door shut and your fingers twitched as you clicked in your seatbelt.

“You’re being stupid.” He turned to you again, his eyes wide, “Sorry what?  This coming from the woman that basically pissed on me in front of Jihyo to mark her territory?” Ok.  Now you were mad.

“How the fuck can you even compare the two?”  You couldn’t believe how irrational he was being, “She was literally all over you.” “So was Namjoon!”

“Oh my god.”  You tugged a hand through your hair, “You’re an idiot.” “I’m an idiot am I?  For finding it uncomfortable that my wife and my best friend spent the evening flirting right in front of me?” “Why do you even care?”  Your eyes were watering with angry tears but you bit them back, “You made it very clear that you aren’t interested in making this marriage work the way I want it to.  So what does it matter if I flirt with Namjoon?” You knew maybe your words weren’t the wisest.  Perhaps you should’ve assured him that the reality was all you’d spoken to Namjoon about was how much you loved your oblivious husband.

But he’d hurt you.  You sort of wanted to hurt him back.

“Right,” He seethed, “So it’s not alright for me to have an affair, but totally fine for you to?”

Your heart clenched.

“Oh my god.  Oh MY GOD.  Jungkook what the fuck?  We were talking about you for god’s sake.  Okay?!”  You pinched the bridge of your nose and felt the tears catch on the edge of your fingers, “What the hell?  Why would I ever cheat on you?  Not only am I completely in love with you but Namjoon is your best friend!  Jesus.”

The words were like lava spilling from your mouth, hardening everything they touched.

You couldn’t take it back.  It was all out there in the open.

Completely in love with you, you’d said.

Shit.

You squeezed your eyes shut, counting to ten.  Waiting for something.  Anything.

After a moment, your husband cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Your pulse jumped.

“What?” You opened your eyes and when you looked at Jungkook, he was already regarding you with something… Different.  It wasn’t the same affection he usually regarded you with.  It was… Deeper.  You didn’t know what it was.

But it sort of scared you.  In a good way.

“I said I’m sorry.  You’re right.  I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”  He shook his head and tugged a hand through his hair, “I was...Jealous.”

The word fell like a stone between the two of you.

“What?”  Your voice was like the wind, almost, “Why would you be jealous?” He smiled - small and gently - and shrugged, “You’re my wife.  That means something, doesn’t it?  So I don’t - I wasn’t thinking straight.  I reacted badly.  Forgive me.”

Your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest. 

“So it was a possessive thing,” You answered, licking your bottom lip.  Your husband’s eyes flickered to your mouth, “You wanted to stake your claim on me.”

He shook his head, “No.  It was more than that.”  He clicked his tongue, “I was jealous that you weren’t with me.  He made you laugh.  I hated that.”

Now you were sure you must be dreaming. 

There was no way your husband was saying these things.

You tucked your lip between your teeth, “What does that mean?” He shook his head, eyes searching your face before they fell on your mouth again.

“I don’t know.”

He leaned in slightly and you held your breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?”  You whispered - nerves wracking through your body hotly.  

It felt like the world stood still for a moment.  And then Jungkook’s eyes softened like butter. “Yeah.  I am.  If that’s okay?”

You nodded stiffly. And then he kissed you.

Your body hummed to life at the contact eyes falling closed immediately as you allowed your husband to bundle you up in his arms.  It was uncomfortable of course - cramped in the front seat of the car - but Junkook picked you up and pulled you towards him, anyway.

You giggled as your dress caught on the gear shift, and your husband laughed, pressing his forward to yours, settling you into his lap.

“You look beautiful,” He told you honestly, eyes earnest, “Did I tell you that already?” You shook your head - breathless and hot all over.

Jungkook - your Jungkook - was kissing you.

He was kissing you.  And he seemed to be really enjoying himself.

“Well you do,” He said decidedly, pressing his lips to your collarbone as he pushed the strap of your dress further down your arm, “You look beautiful.” Your heart caught in your chest, and it felt almost like you were on fire.

Everything Jungkook’s lips touched tingled, and even though you knew this was actually happening, it still felt like some kind of vivid dream.

“Thank you,” You whispered breathlessly, not knowing what else to say.

Jungkook smiled softly at your words, his mouth moving towards your collarbone and pressing kisses against the skin there. 

“I love these freckles,” He groaned, tracing the dots with the tip of his nose, “So cute.” Your heart flipped and you sighed, “Thank you.” 

He pulled away a little and pressed his forward to yours, chuckling softly.

“That’s all you have to say?”

You felt dazed as you stared back at him, “Huh?”

“Thank you,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your brow, “It’s all you have to say, it seems.”

“I’m a little…” You cleared your throat and felt a shiver crawl up your spine as Jungkook tucked some hair behind your ear, “Lost for words.”

Your husband smiled - self-satisfied and a little proud, “C’mere.”

He leaned towards you and once again you were swept up by his kisses.  It felt as though you were spinning out of axis - but it was so good.  Nothing had ever come close to this and you told yourself that if this was it - if this was the only time Jungkook was going to kiss you - then you were going to make it count.

You brought your shaky hands up to his chest, intending to push his jacket off his shoulders, but losing your nerve along the way.  Instead you tightened your grip on the material of his blazer.  You felt him smirk against your lips.

“Want me to take it off?” He asked, after a moment, pulling away so he could search your face for an answer.

You expected him to be cocky - smug - but instead his gaze was just questioning.  Your heart twisted. 

“Yeah,” You nodded furiously, “Please.”

He smiled again, and did as you’d told him to, removing the jacket and throwing it somewhere to your left.  You continued kissing him with fervor - making up for your lack of experience with enthusiasm - and after a while you felt his lips venture towards your throat… 

And then lower to the valley of your breasts.

And - for some reason unbeknownst to you - you froze.

Jungkook took that as a cue to stop and pulled away, a dark brow arched.

“Sorry.”  His hair was all out of place, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to-”

“No, I liked it.”  You assured him, feeling your heartbeat pulling out of your chest, “I just… This is my first time doing anything like…. This.”

“Right.”  He still seemed unconvinced.

“But I’m enjoying myself.  I was enjoying myself.  All of it.” 

Jungkook’s eyes were warmer than you’d ever seen them.  He pushed your hair out of your face and bit his bottom lip.

“We should probably stop anyway.”  

Your heart fell. 

“Oh.”

“We’re in the front seat of a car - anybody could walk by,” He added on, eyes following your expression carefully, “Not exactly a good idea.”

“Okay,” You nodded, suddenly realising the position you were in.

Jungkook had pushed the straps of your dress down your arm - exposing more of your cleavage than you probably were comfortable showing in public - your hair was a mess, your lips were puffy and your make up was probably all smudged.

You made to climb off your husband’s lap, before Jungkook grabbed the back of your head gently.  He forced you to look at him.

“I was enjoying myself, too.  For the record.”

And then he kissed you again, once, soundly - on the mouth.

God. 

You really did love him.

//

The days after your tryst in the car were filled with uncertainty.

Jungkook had driven the both of you home in almost complete silence - save for the murmuring of the radio - and when you climbed into bed that night, the only thing he offered you was an arm to cuddle into.

You’d taken it of course - gladly - and every night since then the two of you moved towards one another as soon as the bedside lamp clicked off.

But it wasn’t enough for you.

And apart from night time snuggling - nothing much had changed about your relationship.

But after having felt Jungkook’s lips on your own - felt the way his kisses seared straight through you - you wanted that feeling again.  And despite what he’d said about enjoying himself… You wondered if maybe that was just to spare your feelings.

Perhaps he’d realised all at once how little he was attracted to you.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t made a move since.

The thought caused your throat to clog up, and your heart to clench, so you pushed it all back down, trying not to think about it.

Instead you found another pet project - this one a pair of dark blue jeans that Jungkook had ripped a hole through.  You’d heard him complaining to his butler, Minhyuk, about how they were his favourite pair, and you wanted to fix them for him.

You sat in the same armchair you always did - tucked into the corner of the master bedroom - and listened to the radio mumbling gently in the background.  It was some stupid cheesy love song, but still the lyrics caused the same feelings you tried so very hard to push back down, to bubble up.

A figure in the doorway paused your actions and you looked up.

It was your husband.  His eyes were unreadable.

“Jungkook,” You smiled softly, “Hi.”

You couldn’t hide your content at seeing him - could never hide how happy he made you - and you resigned yourself to stop trying.

He didn’t say a word.  Instead he walked over to you carefully and fingered the material of the jeans.

“Oh.”  You laughed gently, “I just heard you talking about them the other day.  Thought I could pull my weight around here.”

Your movements had stopped, but Jungkook’s big hand came to rest over your own.

He bent down so that his face was level with yours.

“You didn’t have to do that.”  His eyes were like two balls of fire now, melting you from the inside out.

You felt your bottom lip tremble, “I know.”

And then his mouth was on yours.  He took the jeans out of your hand and set them to one side, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

You giggled a little, and when Jungkook pulled away to watch you laugh, he couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

“You’re so…”  He didn’t finish the sentence, instead leading you over to the bed and laying you down.

His eyes were questioning as he played with the hem of your t-shirt, and without a second thought you lifted your arms, letting him pull it over your head.  It was embarrassing of course.

The first time Jungkook would see you in underwear and you were wearing the most unflattering beige bra.  But he didn’t seem to mind.

He helped you unhook the bra, and when your hands came to cover your breasts, he stopped you.

“Let me see them.  Please.”  His eyes were hot and you felt like you were suffocating almost.

You nodded wordlessly and pulled your arms down, watching as Jungkook took in your naked torso.  

“Fuck.  So beautiful.”  He whispered, leaning down and pressing his mouth against your breasts. 

You arched against him, feeling as though you were going to explode just from that one touch, and Jungkook smiled, “So sensitive, too.”

His lips moved to your nipple, and he sucked gently, watching you attentively.  His body was completely taut - waiting for your reactions - and when you moaned wantonly he smirked.

“Fuck,” You whispered and your husband clicked his tongue teasingly.

“Such profanity.”  He smirked and tugged your trousers down slowly, “Guess we’ll have to clean your mouth out with soap, Angel.” The nickname was like a surge of warmth, straight to your core.  He’d barely touched you and already you were panting like you could no longer take it.

“Please Jungkook,” You begged, not even knowing what you were begging for, “Please.” “Alright, shhh, shhh.  I’ll give you what you want baby,” His lips played with the hem of your panties, and after a moment he pulled those down too, “C’mere.” And then his mouth was on you and it felt like time itself had stood still.  You arched your back almost completely off the bed - and if it wasn’t for Jungkook’s steadying hands on your thighs you might have melted to the ground right then.

He licked at you diligently, and you found yourself winding tighter and tighter like a coil about to break from the pressure.

“Oh god… Oh god…”

His eyes bore straight through yours, and you felt like you might pass out from the intensity.  

“That’s it,” He whispered, removing his mouth and using his hands instead, “Cum for me Angel.”

And finally, a wave of indescribable pleasure washed over you.  It was so strong you thought you might shatter into a thousand pieces.

Jungkook coaxed you through your climax, and when you finally came down from your high - your bones like jelly - he climbed up your body and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“A thank you,” He smiled boyishly, “For the jeans.”

Your eyes were round and wide as you stared up at him, “But don’t you want-” 

“Nope.  Don’t need it.”

Jungkook pulled you under the covers, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing you towards his chest. 

“But  Jungkook-”

“Sleep Angel.”  A soft kiss was pressed to your forehead, “We’ve got plenty of time for everything else.”

And in that heart-wrenching moment you realised that Jeon Jungkook not only owned your heart - he owned your body, mind and soul too.

“Okay,” You whispered, pressing a kiss against the firm plane of his chest, “Goodnight.” 

That night, you slept like a baby.

//

[lightgriffinsect]

And Now That You’re Back

(Friday Night Funkin’)

Words: 942

Summary: Agoti’s back, Aldryx keeps reminding himself. He’s home and safe and very much sleeping okay.

It doesn’t feel like it, though. The worry lingers, every night, until he relents and checks inside, just to reassure himself Agoti’s there.

This is one of those nights.

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

Not again, Aldryx’s mind complains. You’ve been doing this literally every night since he got back! He’s fine, for god’s sake!

But he’s got to be sure. He’s not sure. So he tentatively reaches for the smooth doorknob, turns it with a soft creak, and peeks inside. Just to ensure that it’s all real, that he hasn’t been hallucinating, that Agoti is truly home.

His gaze falls on a thin form enveloped in a maroon blanket, its chest steadily rising and falling, moonlight filtering through the window and casting a soft glow upon its peaceful face. 

His brother’s sound asleep, but his phone is still on, soft music diffusing from his headphones’ speakers into the air. Sighing softly, Aldryx takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to switch off his brother’s phone, careful not to wake him up and annoy him any more than he already has.

Agoti had snapped at him earlier today, after almost a month of incessantly hovering around the younger as if he might collapse at any moment. And that had been understandable, obviously, Aldryx knows he wouldn’t like being treated like glass himself, but it had still stung. As if he’d been burdening his brother, instead of helping protect him like he’s supposed to, like he’d failed to only the year before.

Don’t suffocate him, Sol had chided Aldryx gently. I know you hate leaving him alone, and so do I, but he needs his space, too.

Aldryx had said okay, fine.

But it’s so difficult when every moment together with his brother, every bit of physical contact, could very well be the last one he’ll ever get. Every grin, every shared joke and song and game now has to carry with it a sense of dread in the back of his mind, pushing him to pin down this exact instant he’s spending with Agoti and draw it out for as long as possible. How can he possibly just let his brother venture off anywhere again by himself, when it’s been proven that he can so easily just up and vanish? It’s so selfish of him to want Agoti completely to himself, but the alternative, simply leaving him on his own, feels just as heartless.

He’s never been so lonely in all his life as he had this past year. Aldryx has always been the better of the two at making friends, with his eloquence, natural charm, and calm, easygoing disposition. The feeling of being truly alone, no Tabi or Sol or Agoti to keep him company, to keep him alive, had been exhausting, something he’d never been accustomed to. He hadn’t realized just how much he and Agoti had relied on each other’s companionship, until his baby brother was gone. And now he’s back, breathing softly and practically concealed within the folds of his thick blanket, and Aldryx can’t bear for any of this to be fake. He’d rather Agoti be here and annoyed with him than be gone forever.

Maybe some night, he’ll find it in himself to walk past his little brother’s bedroom door without caving and sneaking a look inside. Not tonight, though. He’s already relented to the urge to ensure Agoti’s safety. And he should feel ashamed of it, but he doesn’t.

A faint, almost inaudible whimper yanks Aldryx from his spiraling thoughts, and he glances back down at his sleeping brother to find an expression of anguish, completely opposite of the calm that was present three minutes ago. Another low, agitated whine of distress prompts him to comb his fingers through his brother’s tendril hair, a soft shushing sound escaping his lips. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here.” Aldryx’s stomach twists in worry. “I’m here.”

Agoti’s brow remains creased, his form still tense and trembling. Aldryx can’t help but start humming, old tunes from when they were young drifting to the forefront of his mind, pulling up other memories. From when he’d hold his little brother close and quietly sing him to sleep after a horrible day failing to fit in with the other kids. From when he himself had been stressed and tense and afraid, and his brother had launched into belting out “Lo-Fight” or some other favorite song of theirs, to distract him, to help him be at ease. 

Agoti gradually seems to relax under the hand stroking his head, alleviating his discomfort, a soft murmur of contentment escaping his throat as he curls up a little closer to his brother. He’s still asleep. 

Aldryx stays there anyway, continues to hold him, sing to him, whisper words of consolation and empathy. “I’ve got you.” His voice is impossibly soft. “We’re gonna be okay.”

When he’s absolutely sure Agoti is sleeping alright, Aldryx lets go of him. As much as he wants to stay, he doesn’t need Agoti more irritated with him than he’s already been. So with a gentle “‘Night,” he quietly leaves the room, trying not to let the doorknob creak any more than it has to.

_________________________________ It doesn’t occur to him how late it is until Aldryx’s eyes drop to the bright 12:48 AM on his bedside clock, the only thing illuminating his room. His eyelids suddenly begin to droop as he yawns softly. Aldryx glances one more time through his bedroom doorway to his baby brother’s room at the other end of the hall, fear and hope and love warring in his chest, before sinking back down onto his bed. He soon leans against his pillow, relieved to get some genuine rest after the lingering emotional and mental exhaustion from the worst year of his life, and closes his eyes.

[e-spits]

latched on - lee juyeon

words: 4.8k

genre: smut

warnings yandere!juyeon, dubious consent, knives, all around filth

The pressure balancing college and a social life was difficult. Classes were long and overbearing, the workload heavy to carry and parties or events were almost impossible to fit into your schedule. You rarely attended any social events, rarely met up with anyone aside your roommate if it weren’t to study in a café. And meeting new people was essentially a no go. Your roommate had tried tirelessly to get you out of your tight shell, dragging you to different parties but even when she was successful, you mind was absent. Too worried about the commitments you were neglecting. You did try to engage but what was important was getting through college though it didn’t stop your friend from trying.

On one Friday night, your roommate had selected a particularly rowdy party for you to attend. She smothered you in the dorm, soothing over your complexion with makeup and applying bright colours to your skin. You knew you didn’t dress up much but with the effort she was making, you knew her intentions were less than pure. It was too much effort to fight back and so you allowed it, even letting her loan you a strapless, skin-tight dress that blinded you with its red colour. Your roommate stood back, admiring her handy work, and grinning from ear to ear.

‘It’s beautiful.’ You mumbled, turning to examine your reflection in the mirror, eyes skimming over your own figure as though it were a mannequin. You did look nice but why. ‘What’s it for?’ You finally asked.  

Your roommate giggled below her breathe.

‘What?’

‘Don’t be mad.’ She continued, wandering over and placing her hands on your shoulders.

‘About?’

‘So, there’s this really hot guy in my class and I figured, you know since I’m already dating someone, maybe you could go for it. We both know you should.’

Your eyes narrowed toward the other girl, hands hitching themselves on your hips. ‘How cute?’

‘Like, fucking hot, okay, trust me.’ She nodded frantically, your stomach tightening. ‘Besides, it’ll be a step up from that stalker of yours.’ Your roommate laughed loudly, nausea filling your gut at the mere mention of the stalker, the so-called, not so secret admirer.

Three months ago, a letter had arrived at your doorstep. It was in ink of your favourite colour, the words like artwork or poetry. The writer had noted all the things they claimed to love about you, all the things they had noticed while watching you around campus. It was juvenile, strange but sweet, just a secret admirer like you imagined lots of people had. And then they became more frequent. Every few days another letter would appear outside your dorm room, full of more romantic rambling that made you only slightly uncomfortable at the time.

And then came the wave of presents, the many, many presents. Flowers, chocolates, clothes, brand new textbooks you’d been eyeing at the campus shop. It was then you knew you were being watched, surveyed, and documented. Your roommate found it hilarious, sharing your abundance of gifts and noting how even her boyfriend didn’t do this for her. A part of you liked being admired, liked the attention and romantic writings that came with being observed. However, the thrill of it dissipated when gradually, it became more intense.

The letters became several pages long, the handwriting descending into scribbles. And the longer they became the more descriptive, more explicit they were. You began not reading them, skimming the filthy intentions the writer had with a casual eye before throwing them out. Giving the presents to your roommate instead of indulging them. It all seemed like a prank, some kind of joke someone was playing, not an admirer at all. Your roommate insisted it was likely a horny, frat boy, obsessing over conquering a girl who had no interest in being conquered though it felt like more. The words eventually became heavier, threats beginning to soak in as the writer laid out their violent plans. You didn’t show anyone those letter, you didn’t want anyone to worry and so you carried it all by yourself.

This boy would probably be a step up.

The house was large, full of people and booming with music. All it made you think was how you’d rather be home, in pyjamas, watching sitcoms and studying. Your roommate shimmied you into the building, holding your hand as she pushed you through the crowds. Bodies brushed against your bare thighs as you picked up a couple drinks and eventually you made it to a particularly quiet stop in the corner couch of the lounge. You found yourself surveying the crowds, eyes clinging to each male face, wondering which one was the one your roommate had mentioned. And if maybe, your stalker was also here, hiding between the faces in the hubbub.

Your roommate nudged your ribcage, mumbling something beneath her breath before her eyes lit up, mouth spread in a wild grin.

‘He’s here?’

She merely gestured her head forward, yours following the motion. At first, you couldn’t see him but then through the huddle of people, one was clearly approaching. His face was warm, eyes bright, his smile so dazzling you couldn’t see anything else. Your friend was right, he was hot, insanely so but you still couldn’t pay attention fully. You were too busy being afraid your stalker may see you with someone else and carry out those plans he’d detailed.

The boy wandered over to you and your friend, pushing in and sitting between you two. Your roommate laughed lightly, giving you a certain look before she stood up from the couch. She wiggled her eyebrows at the boy and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you all alone. You looked over at him, his figure only inches from you, his expression covered in even more worry than yours.

‘Hi.’ You finally broke the silence.

‘Um, hi. I hope you don’t mind this, it’s just, your friend mentioned she wanted me to meet you, and I, I can see why.’

Your cheeks burnt. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’

‘Cool,’ he was grinning wildly, ‘I just, I think I’ve seen you around campus before, I don’t think I could forget anyone as gorgeous as you.’

A chuckle passed your lips, the boy taking a sip from his own drink as you did from yours. The thick, hot liquid rolled down your throat, worry beginning to subside the more drink you gulped.

‘I’m Juyeon, by the way.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Juyeon.’

Though earlier you were wishing to go home, now all you wanted to do was sit in the crowded room and talk to this boy all night. Wishing everyone else could leave so you could hear every inflection in his honied voice. The more words that poured from his mouth, the more you forgot about the comfort of your dorm, instead, all your focus was on him. Juyeon charmed you relentlessly, dousing you in compliments but underneath the obvious flirting, he had substance. He spoke eloquently, voice soft and polite no matter what he said. He clearly knew a lot about the things he spoke of, which only made you more enthused to talk to him.

The party rolled on as did your conversation, Juyeon inching closer to you as his confidence settled in. While he was lovely and beautiful, you still didn’t want to engage in hooking up at a party, only to never see someone again. You knew boys all too well, they were charming when they were or weren’t interested and you hated the thought of the latter. With each subtle move he made, you slid away, wishing you could speak candidly without the distraction of his lips. You wanted him to kiss you, but you didn’t want him to be disappointed.

His hand reached over and smoothed over yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand. The warmth he emitted was intoxicating and it took everything not to melt into it. Juyeon was unfazed as though he hadn’t noticed your reservations at all, still moving in dangerously close. His mouth was only an inch or so from yours, his hot breath fanning your blushed cheeks. Your eyes closed for a moment, considering allowing contact to be made but as you felt acceptance greet you, a voice interrupted. Your roommate stood in front of the couch; eyes wide as she visibly regretted interrupting.

‘I’m sorry, I just, I wanted to check in, I’m pretty fucking tired if I’m being honest.’ She chuckled, smile dissipating quickly as she folded her arms.

Juyeon remained silent, sinking back into his original position while gulping down the rest of his drink.

‘It’s fine,’ you turned to the boy beside you, ‘it was really nice meeting you Juyeon, I, um, I’ll see around.’

He said nothing, leaving you to stand up and wander off in silence, taking your roommate’s hand and letting her guide you outside. You began meandering through the dark streets, your friend beginning to laugh hysterically.

‘God, I’m so sorry, you just, and he,’ she cut herself off with a loud giggle.

‘Shut up!’ You laughed back.

‘He was so mad.’

‘I think he was just annoyed he didn’t get any, it’s fine honestly. Besides, he’s so hot he can be mad if he wants.’ You giggled, wrapping your arm around your friend as you continued your way home.

‘Wait, are you whipped for someone? After one night, what’s gotten into you.’ She tilted her head down, eyes wide toward you as you found yourself smiling nonchalantly.

‘No, not him, thanks to you.’ She sighed as you spoke.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled dramatically, ‘there are other parties you can fuck at, don’t worry. Now, hurry up, I’m so tired.’

The dorm was silent when you arrived, darkness swirling around the space. Your roommate quickly dived into her bed, falling asleep almost immediately leaving you to roam your thoughts. As you did, you felt a little relieved the moment had been interrupted, that way, Juyeon might still be interested. Instead of being disappointed or bored, he know had to continue the chase and that meant he definitely would want to see you again. You smiled to yourself, cheeks hot at just the thought of the boy you’d spent hours talking to. Sleep eventually overwhelmed you, eyes heavy as you curled up in bed, still in your dress and fell asleep.

It was still night when your eyes were shocked open, a cold, metal sensation running over your neck. Pressure appeared upon the warm skin, your eyes wildly searching the room before you realised what was happening. Someone was kneeling against your arms, their legs either side of your torso though the room was so dark you couldn’t make out their face. You wriggled underneath the weight, but it was pointless. Your head snapped toward your roommate’s bed, it was empty, duvet thrown on the floor in a heap. Where was she? What was happening? A knife was pressed against your throat, the sharp metal grazing the sensitive skin.

‘Please, please don’t.’ You cried out, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks and splash onto the pillows beneath.

The figure above shifted slightly, their free hand reaching over and switching on your lamp. A yellow light danced across the room, your eyes adjusting quickly before realising who was threatening you. Juyeon. The same gummy smile, the same honey skin, the same big, bright eyes but now they were much darker. Something had consumed him, something dark.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Shh, shh, it’s okay baby, don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t.’ Juyeon dragged the thick blade down your neck, letting it sit on your collarbone.

‘What’s happening, where’s my roommate?’

‘She’s fine,’ he rolled his eyes, ‘I just had to get her out of here, can’t have her interrupting again. Not when I, not when I got so, so close.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You cried.

‘Yes, you do.’ Juyeon smiled menacingly, pushing the knife into your skin ever so slightly. You could feel a droplet of blood roll down your neck, a tinge of pain rolling through your body.

His words didn’t make sense for a few moments, your mind racing through every word he’d said earlier in the night. He’d been so nice, so eloquent, so charming, and now he was so angry, so scary, so threatening. Just like your admirer. Just like your admirer… And then it dawned on you, Juyeon was your admirer, your stalker. It suddenly made so much sense, his entire demeanour created to lure you in, just like the letters and gifts had been.

‘It was you.’ You uttered in defeat, head sinking into the pillow as you gave in. Juyeon laughed, his smile transforming into a wild grin.

‘You were lovely last night, it was lovely. God, I couldn’t have planned for it better, we just, we clicked. If it hadn’t have been for that bitch of a roommate, fuck, all the things we would’ve done. We’d still be fucking now. But it’s okay, now I know you like me back, we can be together.’

‘You’re hurting me.’ You mumbled, trying to wriggle your neck away from the knife. Juyeon tilted his head, his free hand brushing through your locks, twisting around the hair softly. His fingers began stroking your face, travelling across to where the knife had nicked your skin. Another drop fell onto his thumb, the digit raising as he placed it in his mouth. Juyeon closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the metallic taste before he leant down.

You could feel his hot breath over your face, his mouth only inches from yours. The cool metal of the knife disappeared from your throat, Juyeon leaning down and replacing the sharp blade with his lips. His mouth wrapped around the small wound, tongue soothing over the skin. You closed your eyes tightly, beginning to try and move when he became distracted. Lifting your arms, you began trying to push the man away though it didn’t take long for him to notice. His lips left your body, sighing as he realised you were still trying to get away.

‘Hey, hey, you liked me earlier. Why it that different now? Now you know that I’ve loved you for months, it should be better, right? You know how much I want you. Don’t you?’

Your stomach tightened, realising there was no way out, you began to listen to him seriously. Juyeon had certainly showed he cared, and he was okay earlier, he was lovely earlier. That part of him had to be in there somewhere, maybe if you went along with his actions, that part of him would come back. Perhaps you could draw it out. You let out a deep breath, staring up at the boy knelt atop your arms.

‘I know,’ you mumbled, nodding, ‘I know.’

His mouth began leaning down again, yours leaving the pillow to meet his lips. Juyeon let his mouth press onto you strongly, engulfing you in the kiss before deepening it. You did nothing to fight back instead closing your eyes and letting yourself enjoy the touches.

It felt wrong that you were allowing him to do such a thing so tentatively, especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it. But when Juyeon forced his tongue into your mouth and let the muscle explore your wet skin, it was impossible not to give in. Your head tilted back in pleasure, the boy suddenly pulling away and immediately attacking your neck with kisses and small bites. He did this for a few minutes, his body becoming so entranced in the motions that he let your arms out from beneath him. However, you found yourself motionless still, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of Juyeon nibbling at your neck.

The boy moved down your body, lips staying on your skin, as they travelled to your chest. Juyeon poked his tongue out, licking at the skin closest to your covered breasts before he looked up at you. His eyebrows furrowed together, body lifting as he peered down to your free hands then back up to your face. After a moment, you noticed he was no longer touching you and opened your eyes. Juyeon was hovering above you once more, face tightened in thought before he grabbed your hands again. His grip was harsh, like it had been with the knife, which he’d long ago forgotten. You tried to wriggle away from instinct but found it impossible beneath his strength, instead having your wrists moved to above your head. For a moment, you thought he was returning to how he’d been, however when he began tying your wrist to the bedpost, you knew he wasn’t quite there yet.

You were unsure where he’d gotten the tie but assumed he’d brought them along with him. Perhaps he’d expected you to fight it more, but he already had a certain control you didn’t understand.

After tugging on the tie, you realised quickly that you were trapped in place. Juyeon, still hovering above you, smiled widely, admiring his handy work.

‘There, we don’t have to worry about you going anywhere now.’ He said, still grinning.

‘I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.’

‘I know princess,’ Juyeon let his finger caress your cheek, moving down until it reach the neckline of your dress. ‘I just have to make sure, until I know how good you are. Because I know you can be a good girl, can’t you?’

You nodded frantically, pushing your chest up into his touch. Juyeon continued grinning, encouraged by your movements. He unzipped your dress, pulling the material down until it was thrown to the floor. The boy straddled your naked body, looking down at your figure as his hands continued their journey downward. Fingertips burning circles into your cleavage and stomach until they stopped just above the hem of your panties. He hesitated for a moment.

‘Say yes.’ He whispered almost silently as you remembered all the times you’d read those words in the letters he’d written. Say yes to him, in every way. And though you never imagined you’d be doing it, the word poured from parted lips almost instinctively.

Juyeon was spurred on, his mind suddenly clearer than it had been all night. You looked down at the boy as he trailed the underwear over your legs, chuckling when he noticed the wet patch in the centre. Juyeon sat over your calves, leaning down until his face was equal with your core. A whimper left your mouth, floating into the air as suddenly, you felt lips wrap around your already sensitive clit. You choked out a moan as Juyeon pushed further in your heat, mouth moving up and down, the muscle prodding your entrance. More squeals came from your lips, stomach tightening as you pushed your core up into his mouth. His tongue continued to work your heat, moving quickly and powerfully until you could feel a coil beginning to form in your loin.

You pushed up further, hoping to cause more friction and find your high. As abruptly as he had begun, Juyeon pulled away, letting you writhe around, helpless. A particularly loud groan bellowed into the room. The boy moved back up your body, leaving kisses on your naked form every so often, the remnants of spit sticking to your skin. He continued until his face was inches above yours, his fingers meeting your bottom lip and pulling your mouth open. Juyeon dropped his forehead against yours, eyes big as a long, pendulum of spit emitted from his mouth. It dangled between your faces, Juyeon holding your lips open until his fluid reached your tongue. The taste of him spreading out over your taste buds, it was the same thick, sweet taste of the drink you’d been gulping at the party. It made you feel closer to him, comforted almost.

Juyeon forced his mouth down on you again, lips mellowing out onto yours in a much sweeter way than before. He continued for a while before lifting up and moving off your body for the first time since you’d awoken. Your chest could finally move better but as soon as you became adjusted, Juyeon grabbed your hips and spun you around. Suddenly, your bare ass was met with cool air, your face pressing into the pillow. Juyeon let his fingers grip you tighter, pulling your hips upward so your back arched and heat was vulnerable to him.

Your face tried to turn back to see what Juyeon was doing, but it was impossible from the angle. Instead, you waited, restless, rocking softly wishing silently that his touch would return. The sound of rustling and shuffling greeted your ears but still no touch. The knowledge that he was likely undressing graced your mind but still no touch. You waited and waited until finally, the warm, hard flesh of Juyeon’s cock brushed against your slick entrance. The member twitched in anticipation before the boy pushed it inside you, the stiff member filling you. Your heat stretched and pulsated, Juyeon remaining motionless for a moment to let you adjust to his size. After a moment, he began thrusting in and out. Slowly at first and then quicker, the pace building and building until your body began rocking with his thrusts. Juyeon held you in place by your hips, his fingertips likely leaving bruised bevelled into your skin.

Juyeon continued his thrusts, the tip of his cock nearly prodding your cervix as he furthered his assault. Your body felt weak and would’ve likely collapsed if it weren’t for Juyeon holding you up.

‘God, this feels even better than I imagined, you’re so tight, so warm. Fuck.’ The boy moaned, deep growls passing his lips as his thrusts burned into your core. You pushed back against his length, allowing it to brush against your g-spot, the walls of your heat twitching at the contact.

The boy let one hand dance onto your back, stopping just between your shoulder blades. He pushed down, your breasts pushed onto the plush duvet, the new position making it much easier for Juyeon to brush against your g-stop again and again. You writhed in pleasure, stomach tight.

‘Don’t you move baby, don’t fucking move.’

Juyeon let his other hand raise high into the air, slamming down against the taunt skin of your ass. Pain sprung out onto the flesh. The boy lifted his hand again, slapping you again, and again and again. Though at first it burnt, the jolts of pain began to add to the mound of pleasure in your loin. Juyeon continued his tirade of slaps, your ass beginning to burn with pain though that only seemed to spur him on. After a few minutes of thrusting and slapping, he swapped hands and began slamming down on your other cheek.

His thrusts became messy, his open palm clamping back down onto your hip to steady himself. Groans fell from his mouth, your back arching to let him hit all the deepest parts of your heat. Another few minutes passed, Juyeon slowly down and then with a particularly guttural moan, he pulled his length from within you. Your core felt empty, cold almost until his hands flipped you over. The tie wrapped around your wrist tightening and digging into your flesh. It burnt, just like your ass still was. Juyeon now looked down on you, kneeling between your legs, naked.

The boy looked like a statue, made in a laboratory. You didn’t understand why he was so enamoured with you, willing to break so many laws and moral barriers to be with you. He must be crazy, he was.

Juyeon leant down, hand on the bedframe to hold himself up. His mouth lowered, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking on the tender flesh, and letting it bounce back with a pop. A whimper bellowed from your mouth, Juyeon looking up at you with dark, arrogant eyes. He moved up, face hovering above yours, his hard member brushing against your entrance, teasing you. A smile sprouted on his lips, one hand disappeared to stroke his cock up and down your slick entrance.

‘Please…’ You found yourself mumbling absent-mindedly, not even realising what he had done before.

He laughed.

His face moved away from you suddenly, fingers clasping the knife that was sat on your bedside table. Your stomach tightened, Juyeon’s member still on your entrance. Juyeon held the knife forward, pressing the tip against your breast, pushing down slightly. You felt the point dig into your skin, a droplet of blood seeping from the warm flesh. Another small whimper fell from your mouth, Juyeon’s smile growing tenfold.

‘Beg for it.’

‘What?’

‘I said,’ Juyeon ordered, pushing the blade down harder, another drop of blood slithering down your breast. ‘beg for it.’

‘Please. Please.’

‘Please… what?’

‘Please fuck me, Juyeon. I want you to fuck me, please. I want you inside of me again, please, I want you to fill me up.’

Juyeon smiled wide, sliding the knife downward and then pulling it away from your skin. And with one sharp movement, he pushed his length into you, stretching you once more. You both moaned loudly, Juyeon beginning to build his pace again. Hips bucking onto yours. The thrusts became as quick as they were before, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix again, the coil of pleasure tightening in your loin.

Once again, Juyeon lifted the knife and this time pressed it to your throat. The sharp blade slightly scraping your elongated neck, still continuing his thrusts until they became messy again. Juyeon let out several grunts, the sounds roaming the room like music. The boy made sure not to cut you, instead letting you merely feel the threat of danger. He snapped his hips onto yours once more, the pleasure in your stomach burning and finally, unravelling.

A long, feral whimper exploded from your mouth, head tilting back as Juyeon continued to thrust. The feeling of you tightening through your orgasm made his cock twitch, the member releasing its warm liquid into your heat. The warmth of his seed caused another moan to fall from your mouth, Juyeon growling low as he rode out his high. The boy trusted one more time and then let his length slowly fall out of you.

He still held the knife to your throat, hands still clasped around the headboard. You waited for something, for Juyeon to untie you and snuggle up to you in bed. Instead, he knelt above you, knife still on your skin.

‘What are you going to do now?’ You asked as Juyeon looked down at the ground beside your bed. He sighed.

‘I’m going to keep you. I just haven’t decided where.’ The boy uttered as though it were the most normal thing in the world. Only now, you’d let him.

[willowcrowned]

Okay but has anyone considered Obi-wan/Cody/Satien (is that how its spelled?) Regardless, hes got two hands for his two mandalorians, the au where this happend is gotta be top notch ridiculous ye?

Okay thank you so much for giving me a reason to think about this, because this AU contains three things I adore: polyamory, ships where everyone is frighteningly competent, and Obi-Wan

In this AU, Ventress is somehow even less well-adjusted (bear with me). What this means is that, instead of taking a gap year and finding herself after her family is brutally murdered, she decides she needs to get revenge even more now. What does this mean? In the short term, she still becomes a bounty hunter, but in the long run? She’s looking for a Sith lord team up so she can punch Dooku (with a lit lighstaber) in his stupid, elitist, backstabbing face.

So when Maul invades Mandalore, what happens? Ventress comes right along, ready to give her ‘I know we hate each other, but consider teaming up to kill someone we both hate even MORE’ space TED talk. And though Maul may be terribly annoying, a closet theater kid, always in a tits out kind of mood, and denying his gay awakening, he’s not stupid. He knows Sidious is coming for him, sooner rather than later, and he knows he needs more people on his side than his (impressively beefy) brother. He and Savage agree to the team-up.

Cue Obi-Wan showing up, ready to save his sort-of girlfriend, and finding Pre Vizsla, who got REAL sus the second ANOTHER lunatic with a red lightsaber showed up, occupied by capturing Maul, Savage, and Ventress. 

Obi-Wan saves Satie, who convinces him to call Cody for a quick evac, and they’re running away, flirting, and arguing over shooting things (as usual), when they spot Ventress, Maul, and Savage, about to be executed.

Oh, they both think, hell no. And then, because they have a stupid moral code that makes them do stupid moral things, they go save them.

A little background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has been fighting in a war for over two years. He is exhausted, close to a breakdown, and seriously questioning his place as a General. Next to him at all times, supporting him, helping him, and saving him, is Cody, who is clever, kinder than he has any right to be, and is, of course, devastatingly handsome when he does his special, unique-to-Cody half-smirk.

Obi-Wan, to put it mildly, is totally gone on him. Obi-Wan also, to put it less mildly, is his commanding officer in an army that Cody can’t leave on pain of death. To do anything— make any advance beyond the flirting that he engages in with most people— would put Cody in a very uncomfortable position, whether or not he returns Obi-Wan’s feelings. So Obi-Wan watches him from afar, hoping against hope that his affections are returned, and that one day, after the end of the war, there will be a future for both of them.

A little more background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has always respected Satine. Their correspondence fell apart just a few months after the end of his mission with Qui-Gon, but he’s been keeping up with her professional accomplishments for years. Over time, the love he bore for her faded, leaving him with good memories and an enduring appreciation for her courage, her cleverness, and her ability to deliver devastating blows to someone’s confidence with a few well-placed words.

Until he sees her again. And yes, alright, he might be angry that she’s choosing to stay out of the war— he knows what good she could do— but he understands her fears, understands the very real possibility that if Mandalore gets embroiled in yet another war, they may never recover. The thing is... well, she’s still very beautiful, especially when he’s yelling at him, and as slowly as his feelings had faded then, they come back in a rush now.

He has very much fallen in love with Cody, and he is very much still in love with Satine.

Cut back to the present— Obi-Wan and Satine rescue the three most annoying Sith in the galaxy and get the heck out of dodge. Cody, because he’s Cody, comes swooping in with a last-minute rescue.

At this point, two things are occurring.

The first: Obi-Wan is stuck in a room with four people he’s periodically flirted with over the past few years, two of whom he’s desperately in love with, one of whom he had a weird encounter with that he can never tell Anakin about when she and him got trapped in a middle school auditorium, and one of whom is definitely wearing no shirt and all that jewelry for a reason. It is Supremely awkward for him.

The second: Every single person in that room, each of which is (barring Savage) deeply attracted to Obi-Wan, is realizing that Obi-Wan is dressed in Mandalorian armor, and while Obi-Wan in three layers of tunics and a cloak is an absolute knockout, Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armor may very well kill them (and he won’t even have to touch his lightsaber to do it).

For one single moment, everything is absolutely still as they all stare at each other.

...And then Maul starts on the ‘I will rend your flesh from your bones, feel my wrath, Kenobarrgh’ spiel, and Satine stuns him. Oh, and Savage. Ventress agrees to watch the two of them if they don’t stun her, and Obi-Wan agrees.

Which then leaves him, Cody, and Satine in a room alone.

A word on Cody at this point: He has been bred from birth to be the perfect soldier— loyal, clever (but not too clever), and rigourously adherent to protocol. Yet, within three months of knowing Obi-Wan, he’s, well, calling him Obi-Wan in his head. Even just that is a gross breach of protocol, but he’s compromised in more ways than one. He talks to Obi-Wan, now, not just as a subordinate, or secondary advisor, but as a friend, as a councilor. Every time Obi-Wan touches him— never for longer than a brief second— his skin lights up under his armor. One time, Obi-Wan fell asleep on him for half an hour, and Cody’s was sure everyone would hear his heartbeat. 

What he’s doing— how he feels— he knows it’s putting Obi-Wan in danger, knows that if the Kaminoans had wanted to the clones to be equals to the Jedi, they would have told them so. And look, he knows what the natborns would call the way he’s feeling, but he can’t feel that way. He’s a clone— he’s expendable by definition. Even if, on some off-chance, he makes it out of this war alive, there’s nothing for him. Obi-Wan couldn’t care for him like that, couldn’t care for a man with the same face as millions of others, born and bred only for war. So it doesn’t matter how he feels.

A word on Satine at this point: Obi-Wan, when he left, was a gawkish, bumbling thing of red hair and freckles and the sweetest smile. Obi-Wan, when he came back, was graceful, eloquent, and very, very handsome. He is also infuriating. (This does not change how attracted she is to him in the least.)

She’s not a romantic, really, but she is a realist, and she knows she’s loved him in some form or another for over twenty years. She knows she can’t ask him to return it— knows that asking him to leave the order for her wouldn’t just be for her, it would be for Mandalore, and while the politician in her cries for her to claim him, the person in her who loves Obi-Wan could not abide tearing him away from his culture for her own purposes. She still loves him, deeply and irrevocably, and she knows he still loves her. (Maybe, she thinks, after the war... But she can’t afford to be sentimental).

What do Cody and Satine have in common? They’re both extremely competent, both instinctively ruthless, and they both love Obi-Wan. Oh, and they’re also both immediately jealous of their counterpart.

They know they shouldn’t be. They know it’s not fair, not when Obi-Wan isn’t theirs anyways, but it doesn’t change the surge of envy and dislike that happens when they see Obi-Wan use the soft voice he only uses for the people he likes best on the person across from them.

Cody knows he can never compare to the Duchess, who is beautiful and well-spoken and has held Obi-Wan’s heart since they were fifteen. Satine knows she can never compare to Cody, who has been at Obi-Wan’s side every second since the war’s beginning, who is so much closer in ideals to Obi-Wan than she is, however it might appear on the surface.

Fortunately, they don’t have to deal with it for long, because Ventress comes in with Maul and Savage and proposes a team up, at which point Maul reveals the identity of the Sith Master.

Obi-Wan swears a string of words that Cody and Satine are both very impressed by, and agrees to the team up. Cody and Satine, who are both going to Coruscant anyways, agree to it too.

What ensues is a good deal of scheming, during which Cody and Satine avoid each other like the plague, Obi-Wan is repeatedly told to get some sleep, and Ventress cuffs Maul to a door on multiple nonconsecutive occasions. When they get to Coruscant, Satine has already told Padmé, who has in turn told her group of anti-war (and anti-Palpatine) senators, Cody has given Rex a heads up, and Ventress, Maul, and Savage have been metaphorically sharpening their lightsabers for ages.

(It occurs to Obi-Wan, at one point, after he’s woken up from his enforced 25-hour nap, that Palpatine must have created the clone army for a reason— must have a failsafe in place— and he asks Ahsoka to pull all the data the Kaminoans have on the clones. They find out about the chips, and Ahsoka immediately immediately holds the Kaminoans at laser sword point until they reprogram every order into a command that dissolves the chip.)

The thing about organizing a coup together is that it makes it very hard to avoid each other. Cody and Satine are forced to work together, and, what do you know, it turns out that even with seething jealousy at work, they end up respecting each other. (Note: Obi-Wan comes into a room at one point to see them both bent over a commlink, heads together and hands nearly touching. He short circuits.)

In any case, coup, Palps dies, Republic fixed, whatever.

What’s important is that Obi-Wan gets really, really injured— so much so that he might die. Cody and Satine have dealt with him being dead before (Deception arc anyone?), but this? Watching him slowly fade, knowing there’s nothing they can do about it? That’s worse.

One night, when Anakin has fallen asleep, they have a long conversation in low voices about Obi-Wan, darting from fond to furious to devastated over and over again. If he wakes up— if, not when— they agree to say something to Obi-Wan, to let him know that they love him. It’s a meager consolation after all they’ve been through, but this is the end, in one way or another, and they deserve to be honest with him.

(Cody thinks, privately, that he will be— well, not tossed aside, because Obi-Wan isn’t the sort of person who does that, but there won’t be a place for him by Obi-Wan’s side anymore. Obi-Wan is a Jedi, a negotiator, a peacekeeper, and Cody is a soldier for a now-ended war. He is already steeling himself to accept Obi-Wan’s polite rejection with equanimity, to not cause more pain to the man. (It will be easy, he knows, to wish him every peace, every happiness. Cody has only ever wanted to see Obi-Wan happy. This does not mean it will not be painful.) Obi-Wan said once that he would have left the Order for Satine if she’d asked— she will ask, now, and Cody knows Obi-Wan will leave, can see the love written in his face, in his spine, in his hands, whenever he is around her. Satine will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Cody will be left to look for a place in this new galaxy.)

(Satine thinks, privately, that Obi-Wan’s feelings for her must be long faded, replaced by his obvious ones for Cody. Obi-Wan is a warrior, a Knight, and Satine is a diplomat who foreswore violence long ago. She is already steeling herself to accept his rejection with grace. (It will be easy, she knows, to wish him well. She has only ever wanted good things for him. This does not mean it will not be painful.) He said once that he would have left the Order for her if she’d asked, and whatever he’d felt then for her pales to what he feels now for Cody. Cody will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Satine will rule as she always has.)

And then Obi-Wan wakes up.

Cody and Satine let him have his long talk with Anakin first, partially because they know how important it is to him, partially because Anakin wouldn’t let them if they wanted to, and partially because they are dreading their own coming conversation. When Anakin has finished, and Obi-Wan is asleep again, they go in, hand-in-hand, and wait for him to wake up.

When he does wake up, he sees them holding hands and immediately comes to several wrong conclusions. Wrong Conclusion A: Cody and Satine are in love. Wrong Conclusion B: Cody and Satine are going to try to break the news that they’re in love to him gently. Wrong Conclusion C: This conversation is about to break his heart.

Then they speak.

At the end of it, Obi-Wan has some Thoughts. Thought One: alkdfjhskhsgjljlbhkgkjbjvnab,gkjvn;qlerghjsv?????!!!!fwbfwlkrehwogwhuwrijvhfdbhkf!!!! Thought Two: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Thought Three: Oh, we’re all idiots. Fantastic. 

He then passes out, because being on the edge of death for days and then having a shock to your system this big tends to do that to you.

When he wakes up, he is mildly more coherent. Then he sees that Satine and Cody are asleep on each other, and the coherence is lost, but he does manage to wake them up and get across three things:

Thing One: He is desperately in love with them both.

Thing Two: He’s leaving the Order for a multitude of reasons, but they are a Significant Bonus.

Thing Three: He would very much like if they both held his hand while he falls back asleep.

Cody takes Obi-Wan’s right hand, Satine takes Obi-Wan’s left hand, and the three of them stay like that, fingers intertwined, for a long, long, while.

[playlistmusings]

I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings

1,347 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Jude has a gift for Cardan, but she is also Jude 'I hate emotional vulnerability' Duarte, so... You know how that usually works. It's pretty much just a fluffy "Jude gives Cardan a wedding ring" fic. (technically set post tQoN in my mind, but there’s no spoilers past tWK so it could be set whenever)

More fluff that is pretending to be angst because I love the idea of Jude giving Cardan a ring and wrote this while listening to love songs written by Taylor Swift. 

-----

It was late in the night—or early in the day, depending on whether you woke up during the late afternoon or at dawn—and the sky was brightening before Jude’s eyes. As she gazed out at the royal gardens her stomach was flipping despite the calm atmosphere. The flowing gardens were always full of life and tranquility no matter the season or the time of day, two things that were ironic to Jude when she thought about the death and chaos she caused in the very same place. But that wasn’t what she was pondering. In the cool air, she stressed over her future, fiddling with the ruby ring on her finger while a million thoughts flew through her mind. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he thinks it’s just a dumb human tradition? What if I’m going to make a fool of myself?

As the sun rose past the horizon, Jude knew she had to be decisive, it was now or never—even though it really wasn’t, because she could just give up and wait until tomorrow (except that was what she had been doing for the past week and a half)—and spun around on her heel, marching confidently back into the palace. She was determined, nothing would stop her now, not her own fears and definitely not anyone else.

She made her way towards her chambers, the ones she now shared with Cardan, hoping that he was still there, ideally still sitting on their bed reading, just as she had left him with some excuse of needing fresh air. She was already making scripts in her head—she would walk in, take the book from his hands, and declare she had something to talk about, it would be that easy. But if it were going to be that easy, why was doubt creeping in again, screaming at her that she was making herself too vulnerable.

She shook her head as she passed the guards at her chamber doors, lifting a hand to make a motion vaguely similar to a wave, before pushing her shoulders back, lifting her head high, and pushing through the doorway with as much confidence as she could muster. You can do this. It was a mantra repeating in her mind as she crossed the antechamber and opened the bedroom doors, closing her eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath before steeling herself for what she was going to do.

“Cardan! I have—” something for you. The words died on her tongue as she saw Cardan sitting on her side of the bed, a black box left haphazardly on the sheets next to him, a ring held between to fingers.

They were both slow to react, Jude out of shock and fear, Cardan because he was seemingly to focused on the band he held to realize his wife had even entered the room. After what felt like years to Jude, he turned to her, a look in his eyes that was familiar, but she couldn’t tell from what.

“Would you like to explain what this is?” His voice was clear and left no room for games, but Jude could hear slivers of confusion intertwined with the words.

She let herself freak out for a few seconds, before getting a shaky grasp on her emotions, trying to drive the fear and stress away. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a ring, it’s nothing. Except it was something, it was something important to Jude, but it had been a long time since she had voluntarily said something was important to her. She much preferred to leave it unsaid, to show that something—or, most recently, someone—was important through meaningful actions and other words. With Cardan it was whispered ‘I love you’s as she drifted off to sleep and cups of his favorite tea when he woke up, soft glances from across the room during meetings and light kisses when they were finally alone for the night. She let herself take one more deep breath, remembering that he was her husband and this wasn’t really that big of a deal.

“It’s a ring,” His eyes bore into hers, screaming I know that, stop being difficult! She continued, “It’s a ring, uh, a ring for you.”

He nodded once, something about his demeanor changing slightly. “It’s a ring. For me.”

Jude nodded, trying to force the words that had been playing in her head for the past month out of her mouth, but Cardan spoke before she could, “Then why was it hidden? And why now? There’s nothing to celebrate.”

Jude glanced at the ground quickly before looking back into Cardan’s eyes, “I just—It’s for you because you’re my husband and I know that sharing rings and whatever isn’t like a thing for faeries but it is for me and you gave me a ring when we got married which meant that you know that, even if it was technically mine to begin with, before you were an absolute asshole and stole it. So, I got you a ring, a dumb human ring, because you’re my husband and married people give each other rings, even if the idea of giving you a ring is dumb and intimidating.”

It all came out at once, in a much less eloquent fashion than she had intended, but Jude supposed she shouldn’t be picky about how it came out when at least it was finally out.

Cardan seemed to be in shock at Jude’s outburst, looking at the ring then her then the ring again.

“You got me a wedding ring?”

Jude nodded sharply. Cardan grinned.

“And then you hid it because you got scared?”

“I was not scared!” Jude shouted, “I never said I got scared!”

Cardan grinned wider, if that was even possible, standing up and walking towards where Jude stood by the door.

“Sure, not scared, just—what was it?” He pretended to think as he approached her, “Oh yes, you said it was intimidating to give me a ring.”

Jude glared, “This was supposed to be romantic, you know? Not you making fun of me for a poor choice of words.”

Cardan smiled, leaning in to kiss her brow, and mumbling something along the lines of “Sure, if that’s what you say.”

Jude tried to stay annoyed with him, but he was frustratingly good at using soft touches to unravel her, his breath making her shiver as it brushed along her jaw and neck.

“It’s just—Cardan, stop, I’m trying to talk.” He grinned, stepping back from where he was leaving a particularly dark bruise on the underside of her chin. “It’s just that I grew up seeing rings on my parents’ fingers and now I have a ring on my finger and I like it, a lot more than I thought, and a lot more than I’ll ever admit again. And I just wanted that for you, I wanted to give you something that you could have forever, to remind you that I loved you, even if I wasn’t there to say it.”

Something softened in his eyes, a genuine smile flashing across his face as he reached down to grab Jude’s hand.

“Jude, I promise you, I could never forget that you love me. And I don’t know what you’re worried about, I love it, I love you.”

Cardan smiled before making a show of slipping the ring onto his finger. Jude smiled back, hesitantly, before reaching forward to cup Cardan’s cheek and pull him in for a sweet kiss.

“So, how long were you hiding it before I found it? Days? Weeks? Maybe a month? Am I really that scary?” Cardan’s voice filled the room before he began laughing at Jude’s exasperated groan.

“Maybe I’ll take it back, then, if you’re going to make me wish I never married you.” She countered as Cardan crowded her, pulling her towards their bed.

“Oh, we both know you’re never going to wish that.” Jude swallowed a sharp retort and just shook her head, smiling as Cardan kissed her.  

[secretshinigami]

Tangle

Author: @hazblogs For: @beyondplusultra Pairings/Characters: Near/Mello/Matt Rating/Warnings: G Prompt: “mello with even longer hair, braided in some cool style” + “mello x matt x near college AU shenanigans (can be ship or gen)” Author’s notes: ok so you have no idea how hard i hand flapped when i saw your prompt - and then your name. aka i wrote a thing for you last sse which was a very very perfect companion piece for the one i’m gifting you rn. lots of love <333333333

————————

“Matt. Are you trying to tell me something ?” Mello asks.

“Me ? Communicating ? I’ll have you know that hasn’t happened since the great fire of the library of Alexandria. I was devastated and vowed to never speak again, which I would have fully respected had you not decided to spawn a few centuries later to torment me.”

Mello is tempted to chuck the pair of scissors to his face, but that would probably be dangerous. They are adorned with a little bow and a note that says “Put them to good use !” in tidy, loopy letters.

A snicker rises from the then-two-now-triple bed, a small white head emerging from under the blanket. “I see you’ve found my present.”

“Near, I’ll ask this once and once only: why in hell would you ever think I’d cut my hair ?”

They’ve been growing it out very, very patiently ! It took months ! After the incident and the fact that the hospital had to shave most of it off, adding to the fact there’s now a bald scar patch on the side of their head, Mello tried really really hard to gain a sense of… self-love ? Looking at their face in the mirror was never a chore before.

Feeling the wind blow through their now quite long hair had been amazing.

“It goes into my mouth when we sleep,” Near answers. “I’m tired of waking up and having to spit it all out.”

Mello has half a mind to tell him that if he doesn’t like it that much, he just has to not cuddle up to them in his sleep, but that’s unfair - and also unwanted. Mello quite likes waking up to Matt and Near snuggled up so close to them that they feel loved in a way only kids can feel, with their utmost certainty in the good of this world. It’s a nice warmth, spreading from their chest to their toes.

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll tie them up.”

“What ?” Matt almost yells from his place on the floor, a true cave troll. “I’ve been trying to make you do that for months and you always said you hated it ! And Near doesn’t even have to ask ? I haven’t lived that long to be disrespected in this way. I am appalled, I am betrayed, in my own home-”

“You don’t even go to this uni,” Mello usefully provides.

“Fiend. Rascal. I’m looking up hair braiding tutorials right this instant.”

“Oh, let me join,” Near asks, and soon enough, the two friends are completely ignoring Mello’s fuming, too busy looking at EveryDayHairInspiration videos on Youtube, her chipper voice filling the room with detailed instructions.

Nothing more comes of it. Or at least, that’s what Mello thinks, because they haven’t been jumped on and tied to a chair, where Matt’s deft fingers - and Near’s less deft fingers but keen memory - will wreak havoc on their admittedly finicky strands. They have thin, blond hair, though they know not who in their family passed on those genes. The woes of being adopted. It is almost impossible to comb, in spite of their best efforts and the KeraCare Hydrating Detangling Shampoo that Matt surreptitiously bought and sneaked into the bathroom, but that does not deter them.

Nor does the ever growing “Mello’s hair collection” that Matt keeps, like a creep, “So I can sell it when you become a best-selling author of course !” Mello thinks it’s for doll-making purposes, should he take offence to something they did and want to stab them in a more discreet fashion.

In any case, it’s been a few weeks when Mello comes back to the dorm room to find it in a state of upheaval it hasn’t known since Near arrived. There’s at least three cans of hairspray, a million and a half elastic ties of various shapes and sizes, and an office chair. Mello has been complaining about not having a chair to be able to work at the table, but Matt had always whined that it was “unnecessary, and would take up too much space”.

“Mels ! You’re here !” says the obvious culprit. “I borrowed Mikami’s chair, I hope he doesn’t mind.”

Incredible. The chair isn’t even going to stay !

“Will you come in ?” Near smiles, absolutely delighted at Mello’s crumpled features. “We’ve set up the hair salon.��

“Wow, you two have ambition,” they mock. Mello does feel a little bit of terror at the twin gleams in their eyes.

Near simply ushers them towards the seat, detangling lotion ready, and he begins applying ungodly amounts of it while Matt combs through their hair with vigour. It does feel quite nice, Mello muses, to be pampered like they’re worth it. The amount of sappiness can be felt in the air, the love pouring from their friends right onto them making them feel giddy.

“You okay, Mello ?”

They don’t even know who said it. They startle awake, wondering when they even started to doze off, and Matt laughs heartily at their dazed-out face.

“Oh my god, Mels, you look like you’re in heaven.”

“Mrrgh,” they muster the courage to say. 

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up, Near…” 

The energy isn’t quite there, though.

A few moments pass by while Near and Matt keep twisting their hair in weird ways, the tingling sensation on their scalp never nearing pain with how careful they are. And then-

“Ta-da !” Matt says, happy as can be.

“We did good work,” Near concurs. “Wait, I have a mirror.”

Mello sure hopes so. Truth be told, they’re quite curious to see what the other two managed to do. Matt makes them close their eyes, spinning the chair for good measure, and Near laughs airily in the background, hands flapping a little.

“Open your eyes !”

They do. At first, they almost don’t see it - their hair is gathered on their right side, as usual. But then they notice the subtle ways in which their hair glows under the light, a small black hair tie at the bottom keeping it together.

Somehow, they manage not to let those annoying tears flow.

“They like it !” Matt whoops.

Near relaxes - he seemed unsure of their reaction, but Matt knows how to read them perfectly, and he knows, he just knows. The force of habit.

The braid stays on for about two days. Mello keeps forgetting it’s there and running their fingers through their hair only to have them tangled in the braid, or turning too fast and flinging it in someone’s face. Near eventually undoes it when they whine about washing their hair, though it returns soon after. He cuddles closer now - Mello feels their heart jump each time they wake up to their two loves, if they can say the word, and they remember that moment throughout the day when they play with the twists.

[silkylious]

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen­– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jaskierswolf]

Fuck Indeed - Pt. 3/4

OnlyFans - Geraskier AU

Previous - AO3

CW (for whole story- Although this chapter is smutless!): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

It was three months into Jaskier’s new job online and it was going well! He’d gained more subscribers than he’d ever thought was possible, and quickly too. He was proud of himself, if one was allowed to be proud about wanking in front of a camera, although he couldn’t help the niggle of doubt in the back of his mind. That annoying little voice that told him he wasn’t allowed to have that many subscribers and that he was a fraud. One day he’d wake up and they’d all be gone, but every morning he woke up and there were just…. more?

It was utter nonsense, but he was having the best time!

The White Wolf was still a favourite of his, and his videos were just getting better and better, which just wasn’t fair. Jaskier’s heart just couldn’t take it, and his dick wasn’t doing much better. Wolf was often the, umm, inspiration for Jaskier’s videos, which was blurring some lines that really shouldn’t be blurred.

Jaskier thought back to Wolf’s bottoming video. At one point it had sounded like he almost said “Dandelion” before the word was muffled by his hand. Jaskier must have watched that video a hundred times, before he’d told himself he was being silly. Yes, Wolf was also subscribed to his channel but they’d never spoken. Jaskier had thought about DMing him a couple of times, perhaps if they were local then they could film a video together.

It was nothing but a pipe dream, and it would never happen.

And anyway, tonight wasn’t about that. He had a gig! Like an actual, using a guitar not a dildo, gig. It wasn’t much, he wouldn’t even be getting paid. Ok so it was less of a gig, and more of an open mic night… but he was excited! It would be good to play again, to have an audience he could actually see.

He stepped into the bar, stinking of sweat and booze as they so often did, and he grinned. He loved bars, they were grimy in the best way! The atmosphere was just brilliant. You couldn’t get it anywhere else, and these were real people with real stories to tell. It was what kept him coming back. Honestly, the songs he’d written just from listening to people in these godforsaken places. It was a gold mine.

Last week, for example, he’d met a rather terrifying, gorgeous woman. She’d had violet eyes and smelled like lilac and gooseberries, with long raven black hair that fell down her back. She looked like something out of a fantasy game, Skyrim or the likes, so naturally Jaskier had strolled right up to her to get the details. She’d been utterly fascinating, a biting wit to match his own and he’d practically run home to write a song about her, well… after he’d been told that there was absolutely no chance in hell that they would sleep together, but one couldn’t blame him for trying.

He grinned, perhaps she would be here again tonight. He enjoyed a good flirt and she’d been fun to hang out with after his performance. She’d also had excellent taste in wine.

“Jaskier,” a silky smooth voice called and he spun round, gripping the straps of his guitar case.

“Yennefer,” he greeted “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

Yennefer snorted. “I’m not here for you, buttercup. My friend, however…” she nodded to a booth to Jaskier’s left.

He frowned and followed his gaze. His jaw dropped when he saw the shock of silver hair. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

But it couldn’t possibly be him. No. No, no, no. Jaskier was just a little infatuated, seeing him in places where he simply wasn’t. He was sure lots of people had long silver hair and were built like fucking gods.

“Problem?” Yennefer asked, smirking at him, and fuck it was like she could read his fucking mind.

“Oh ho, no… no problem. There’s no problem. I just… I thought I recognised him, but I’m mistaken,” Jaskier rambled, tapping out fingerings on his guitar strap to try and calm himself down.

Shit.

Did he have a Pavlovian response to silver hair now?

No. It was more than that, it was in the way he was built, the line of his jaw. “What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably.

“Ask him yourself,” Yennefer said with a laugh and then went off to the bar, leaving Jaskier alone in the middle of the room with just his guitar for company.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Come on, Jask,” he muttered. “It’s not him, get over it.”

He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of times before heading over to the stage instead. He was being a coward, but he needed a drink first and his performance was scheduled soon. If he played well, he’d get a drink on the house and he really could do with that right now, although his wallet wasn’t quite as empty as it once was.

He channeled his nerves into his performance, using that energy to pour his soul into every note. The audience were entranced, he could feel it, pride bubbling up in his chest, he was able to open his eyes and bask in the attention, letting the music flow from him like a river into the sea. His gaze drifted over to the booth where Yennefer’s friend had been sitting but it was empty.

His voice wavered slightly as he bit back the disappointment.

Fuck, another missed opportunity. He tore his gaze away and smiled at his audience, winking at a pretty blonde by the bar, and then smirking at Yennefer. She had her arms around a gorgeous brunette, almost a tall as he was, wearing red flannel and black jeans.

And then he saw him.

Standing right at the corner of the stage.

It was Wolf, it had to be. Jaskier knew those lips. He knew that jaw. He knew the soft wave of his hair. He almost dropped his guitar and he forgot to sing for a couple of beats but he was a professional, sort of, and managed to pick it up to finish the last few lines of the song. He quickly thanked the crowd, dropping his head in a barely visible bow and then he jumped off the stage. He grabbed Wolf’s arm and started to pull him back to the more isolated booth at the back of the bar.

“Get off!” Wolf growled in that low sexy voice that had Jaskier’s heart thumping in his chest.

“The booth is more private, Wolf,” Jaskier snapped back. “Or do you want the whole bar to know?”

That shut him up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He should have known that Wolf was a man of very little words, he barely spoke to the camera when he was being paid to perform, why would he bother free of charge. “Eloquent as always, darling.”

Wolf stiffened at that word, skidding to a halt. Jaskier turned around, both hands on his hips. “Wolf, please, let us have a little privacy.”

“Right, yes,” he mumbled, and was he blushing?

Jaskier smirked and then licked his lips, he supposed he did use that particular term of endearment in his videos quite a lot… and Wolf did watch his videos. Jaskier filed that information away for later, perhaps his dream of a collaboration could actually become a reality. He willed that glow of hope to go away. He didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment, but fuck… Wolf was even prettier in real life.

Were his eyes honestly that golden, or was it just a trick of the light?

Jaskier could write sonnets about those eyes, like honey, like molten gold, gorgeous amber eyes…

Oh fuck… perhaps it was a little more than an infatuation. He had always fallen in love a little quickly, but this was really taking the biscuit. Wolf grunted as he fell into his seat. Jaskier slid in opposite him, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.

“You watch my videos,” he purred, his eyes dropping to Wolf’s lips.

“It’s research,” Wolf growled.

Jaskier laughed, “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why you were watching my performance so intently?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head.

“You have more subscribers than I do,” Wolf leant in, in a way that was probably supposed to be threatening but Jaskier… well… he was getting hard already. It probably didn’t help that he’d seen this man cum in so many ways already. “Do you know how frustrating that is? I’ve been doing this for longer than you, and then you just swan in looking all pretty.”

Jaskier frowned. Wolf seemed angry at him? Of all the things he’d imagined… this hadn’t been one of them. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back at little. “Well I’d have one less if you unsubscribed,” he muttered, the words sounding bitter on his tongue. “Fuck you, Wolf.”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“My name. Is Geralt,” Geralt growled. “Not Wolf.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You do know I watch your videos?” Geralt nodded. “And you don’t even show us your quite frankly gorgeous face?”

“So?”

“Is Geralt your real name?” Jaskier said, biting his lip, not sure whether he was flirting or just anxious. It was probably both.

“Fuck.”

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier said softly, a peace offering of sorts “A name for a name?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt snorted.

“Oh fine!” Jaskier through his hands up. “You got me, it’s Julian, but no one calls me that. So Jaskier is my name, Dandelion is my stage name.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pouted and leant back forward onto the table, catching a lock of Geralt’s hair in his fingers. “I recognised your hair first, it’s really quite unique.”

“Don’t touch me,” Geralt grumbled but didn’t move away, face still flushed.

“Are you really mad that I have more subscribers?” Jaskier asked, licking his lips as he dropped his hand away from Geralt’s hair. “Perhaps I could help?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “How?”

“Well, individually we are good, right?” Geralt nodded. “So together… we could be unstoppable.”

He watched Geralt’s face carefully as he processed Jaskier’s suggestion. At one point Geralt seemed like he was about to decline, and Jaskier steeled himself, ready for rejection, but it never came. “Alright.”

Jaskier sat back, surprised by his success. “Wait, what? Really?”

“It’s a good idea.”

“Well, yeah, it’s a fantastic idea! but I didn’t think you’d agree. Honestly, I was just hoping for a quickie in the bathroom at the very least,” Jaskier admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t like losing.”
 “Right, yes well… Do you want my number? Easier to umm.. well. You know, organise this…” he gestured between them.

Holy mother of fuck, they were actually doing this. Jaskier was actually doing this… and Geralt, his Wolf, had agreed. Now Jaskier just had to keep his pesky feelings in check and everything would be Dandy!

Fuck.

_______

Next

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (next part)

(word count: 3,098)

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

Part Two: Sapnap

Sapnap has never thought of himself as an outwardly sentimental person, but nights like tonight make him consider changing his mind on that front.

Things have been weird, lately. Weird in a different kind of way from the usual weirdness. Personally, he blames Wilbur Soot and his dumb drug van that has somehow evolved into a dumb country and a dumb revolution, because apparently he thinks it’s fine to be invited onto someone else’s server and promptly declare independence. But whatever, it’s fine, and so what if it’s getting a little more intense than the games they usually play? So what if Dream’s starting to get strangely obsessive about the whole thing? Sapnap thinks he might too, in his position, and there’s no need to get too worried about it anyway. There’s no way this war—if it can be called a war at all—will last much longer.

But it’s been weird.

Nights like this, though, remind him that it’ll all be okay in the end. Because tonight started out as a war meeting, all of them hunched around a table in Dream’s base, talking over plans and hypothetical ways to kick the L’Manbergians straight into next week the next time they fight. But over time, conversation shifted to other things, lighter things, and Dream flicked water at George’s face for some reason, and George retaliated by throwing small objects at Dream’s mask, and somehow that’s resulted in them all piling onto each other in front of the TV, watching really terrible horror movies. Dream tosses popcorn at the screen whenever someone makes a horrendous decision, and they’re all cracking stupid jokes and making silly commentary, and Sapnap feels warm and tired and safe. It feels like old times, when it was just the three of them on this server, or maybe even like just a few months ago, before Wilbur got it into his head to create a drug empire and they were all still friends, and the stealing and the griefing was all in good fun and the disc thing was a joke and not something that Dream is still weirdly preoccupied with.

It’s a nice reminder. Things were good before, and they’ll be good again. Everything will go back to normal soon, and right now, with Dream draped across his lap and George half sprawled over both of them, he can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.

And then, Tommy stumbles into the room.

He blinks a few times, because what? But no, Tommy’s still there, even though this is about the last thing he expected to happen. Scratch that, it’s like, the negative third thing he expected to happen tonight, because what is Tommy doing here?

There is a split second in which his instinct is to go for a weapon. But even disregarding how fucked up that is, because this is still Tommy, still the kid he joked around with and hung out with in the early days, and he doesn’t want him hurt or dead no matter how annoying he’s been lately—even disregarding all of that, the urge fades quickly.

Because Tommy looks like shit.

He’s unarmed and unarmored, nothing on his back but his usual t-shirt, and that appears rumpled, like he slept in it and didn’t bother to change before coming here. His hair is mussed, even more than normal, and his eyes are red-rimmed. Sapnap would chalk it up to sleep deprivation if there weren’t obvious tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

Which, holy shit. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tommy cry before. So what the hell could have happened that he would show up in Dream’s base of all places, alone and looking like this?

“Uh,” he says, very eloquently. “We’re having a war meeting? What are you doing?”

Tommy’s gaze drifts from them to the TV and back to them again.

“Oh, good,” Tommy says, and he sounds… off. Like he’s trying too hard to sound casual. Sapnap’s not quite sure how he knows that, except that there’s an odd strain in his voice, and the words don’t seem to come easily, like he has to search for them, and that’s wrong. Tommy delivers insults as easily as breathing, even when they’re not particularly clever ones. “Here I was worried you were having a sleepover. Like middle school girls.”

“We can have a sleepover if we want,” George mutters, sounding slightly offended and also like he’s too tired for this. Which, honestly, Sapnap completely agrees with.

“If this is supposed to be a sneak attack or something, it’s a really bad one,” Dream says, and finally puts in the effort of rolling to his feet in one smooth motion and taking a few steps in Tommy’s direction. “Why are you here, Tommy, and how soon can you leave? Or do we need to make you?”

It’s definitely too late at night to sound threatening. Even Dream can’t manage it very well, too much sleep creeping into his voice.

Except it seems to work. Tommy flinches, and takes a step back. Alarm bells start clamoring in Sapnap’s head, because the one thing Tommy has never been is scared of Dream.

Dream catches it too. His head tilts, and he stops his advance. Sapnap exchanges glances with George, and they both get to their feet as well, the earlier warmth and comfort almost forgotten. The movie continues to play in the background, disregarded.

“I’m not here for a fight,” Tommy says, and Sapnap can’t stop his snort.

“You’re always here for a fight,” he says, and Tommy—

Tommy looks at him. Just looks at him, and it’s only for a second, but he could swear that there is something dark in Tommy’s eyes, something dangerous, something that Sapnap has seen before but never in the face of someone so young, something that speaks of loss and bloodshed and an unshakable determination to do whatever it takes. To accomplish what, he doesn’t know, and he can’t find out, because Tommy blinks, looks away, and the moment is gone.

“Not tonight,” Tommy says, and turns his gaze on Dream. And keeps it there. “I want to propose a deal.”

“You want to propose a deal,” Dream repeats. “You want—you came here at three in the morning to try to make a deal with us? I—okay, why? What do you want, and why do you think we’ll give it to you?” Dream’s voice is increasing in both volume and snappiness, and Sapnap can’t blame him; deals, when coming from Tommy, inevitably end in some sort of scam, in his experience, and if Tommy’s really trekked all the way over to their base to try to pull one over them, he’s got another thing coming to him.

But at the same time, Tommy has actually trekked all the way over to their base, looking like he’s halfway to death via exhaustion. His voice is flat, and he’s watching Dream like he’s some sort of predator, like he’s going to attack at the slightest provocation. Which might just be the case, but the point is that Tommy has never seemed this aware of it. Never been careful, never given Dream the respect and caution that his skills deserve, despite Dream besting him in combat time and time again. So somehow, Sapnap doesn’t think that a simple scam is the end goal here.

“You’re going to give it to me because I know you, Dream,” Tommy says, lifting his chin defiantly, and there, there is some of his usual spark, his usual confidence. Odd, though, that it seems to be just that: confidence, not false bravado, not a child playing in shoes several sizes too big, not Tommy trailing after Wilbur like a puppy trying to learn to be a wolf. Just surety. “I know what you want.”

“Oh?” Dream crosses his arms. “And what do I want?”

“The discs,” Tommy says, and Sapnap feels his jaw hit the floor. “And I’ll give them to you. No scams.”

Dream has gone still. Shocked, Sapnap thinks. “You’ll give me the discs?” he says. “Just like that, you’ll give them to me?” He’s disbelieving—but he’s interested. That much is plain as day. And Sapnap still doesn’t understand why Dream cares about those things so much, because sure, Tommy was being really annoying about them, but at the end of the day, discs are all they are. Music discs like any other music discs.

“I mean, no, not—not just like that,” Tommy says. “This is a deal, man, I want something from you. But that’s what I’m offering. The discs. Both of them.”

Sapnap scans his face, his posture, searching for any sign of a lie. There is none. Tommy’s lips are drawn in a thin line, his expression more serious than any Sapnap has ever seen from him.

“Okay, what is it?” he asks.

“L’Manberg’s independence,” Tommy says. “Independence for the discs.”

And that’s—that’s laughable. This revolution of theirs has barely been going on for a month, and it’s already painfully obvious that they’re going to lose, and badly, that they don’t have the resources or the manpower to defeat Dream. They’re going to crush them; they’re not about to let them form their own country right in the middle of the Greater SMP just because of a couple of music discs. That would be stupid.

Except Dream’s still interested.

“You’d be willing to give up the discs?” he asks, an odd note in his voice, and—he’s considering it. He’s actually considering it.

“Oh, come on, Dream,” George says, apparently thinking along the exact same lines. “You can’t just—”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and shifts his weight between his feet. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off Dream. His whole body is tense as a bowstring. “I mean, you know. Sometimes you’ve got to think about what’s important.”

“Did Wilbur ask you to do this?” Dream says.

Tommy stays silent. For a moment, Sapnap takes that as a yes, as agreement, and a burst of anger flares, surprising him. But the core of it is this: sure, Tommy’s irritating, but the discs are important to him. That much has been made extremely clear. So for Wilbur to force the kid to give them up for the sake of his grand country would be messed up.

But Dream laughs, soft and low. “He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?” he says, and Sapnap starts, looking back to Tommy for his reaction.

Tommy winces.

Did the child really waltz into enemy territory without telling anyone where he was going? That’s stupid, even for him.

“What Wilbur doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Tommy snaps, and then scowls. “Well, usually. I take that back, actually. But I’m not here because he told me to. I’m here because this—this is the best choice. It’s the best outcome. So how about you just take the fucking things, and then you go away and leave us alone forever, eh? How about that?”

Dream hums. “And how do you know I won’t take the discs and then raze your little country to the ground anyway?” he asks. “What would stop me?”

Tommy levels a flat stare, and for a second, it’s like there’s someone else peering out of his face.

“I’d fucking stop you, you bitch,” he says. “I’m not—I’ve got news for you, buddy. You think you’re some kind of god. Well, you’re not. You’re just some guy, just like the rest of us, and so what if you’re all strong and shit? There’s always someone stronger.” He pauses for a moment. “There are worse monsters out there than you, Dream. More powerful things. And if you start trying to play your games with me, I’ll take you the fuck out. Don’t even try me. I don’t—I don’t have time for this.” His voice cracks suddenly, and Sapnap looks on in horrified fascination, trying to make sense of anything he’s saying. “Look, you still want the discs, yeah? You can have them. Just give L’Manberg its independence. I won’t try anything. They’re yours to keep, forever. I won’t fight you. So c’mon, you green bastard, do we have a deal?”

Throughout this speech, Dream has gone very, very still.

“More powerful things than me?” he asks. “Tommy, this is literally my server. I think you’re underestimating me here.”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I’m really not.”

Dream stays silent for a moment. Sapnap would bet anything that underneath his mask, he’s frowning.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Show me that you have them here, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Sapnap would protest. He feels like he should. A couple of discs aren’t worth allowing a whole new country to form in their server. But Dream’s tone brooks no argument, and more than that, there’s definitely something wrong with Tommy, something that grabs his attention and keeps it, even though he can’t put a finger on what it is. So he just watches as Tommy brings his enderchest out of his inventory, and pulls out two music discs, staring at them both for a long second.

And then, he holds them out toward Dream.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” he repeats, and his voice is colorless.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” Dream replies, and takes the discs from Tommy’s hand. Tommy jerks his arm back quickly, face going pale as a sheet as he stumbles a bit.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s shaking, shaking hard, “don’t you fucking, don’t fucking touch—”

Sapnap’s not sure what the issue is. Dream’s fingers might have brushed Tommy’s when he accepted the discs, maybe, but he doesn’t know why that would cause such a reaction. Dream freezes in place, startled, and it’s impossible to tell where he’s looking, so Sapnap exchanges another glance with George and steps forward, intending to calm Tommy down, perhaps, to guide him out of the base so he can get back home. Maybe he’ll walk him himself; he’s not sure he trusts the kid not to get eaten by a zombie on the way, in the state he’s in.

But Tommy wheels on him, stabbing a shaking finger at him, and he stops in his tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s near tears, barely getting the words out, and Sapnap feels so lost. “Don’t get near me, just, just fuck off, why don’t you?”

“You’re in our base!” he says incredulously. “Tommy, what is up with you?”

Tommy just shakes his head. His eyes drift back over to Dream, and the discs in his hand. His face contorts, and Sapnap can’t even begin to interpret the expression he’s making, something sad and angry and desperate all at once, but with something else, something… weird. Everything about this is weird, though, and he doesn’t particularly want to admit that he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit, but frankly, he’s not sure he has a choice.

Because he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit.

“It’s for the best,” Tommy says, quietly, as if to himself, but his voice sounds so wrecked that Sapnap’s first instinct is actually to give him a hug. It’s easy enough to refrain, but still. “It’s for the, it’s for the best. For L’Manberg. It’s, um—” He glances up, right at Dream’s mask, and flinches again. “Right. I’d say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it never is. Bye, Dream.”

And then he’s backing out the entrance, and he’s gone.

“Bye, Tommy,” Dream says, somewhat belatedly, and then they all stand there in silence for a good two minutes. Dream turns the discs over and over in his hands, a repetitive motion. Sapnap recognizes it for what it is—a self-soothing mechanism, something to calm himself with. He’s rattled.

“So, that was really weird, right?” George says, and Sapnap lets out a long breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d say that was weird, George.” And then he whirls on Dream. “And you! Are you serious right now? You’re just going to, what, let them make their country, just like that? Over a couple of discs? Seriously?”

Dream takes a moment before replying, and when he does, his voice is low, considering.

“I want to see where this goes,” he says. “I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t think that Tommy would be willing to give up these discs for—well, for anything. And the fact that he did this on his own? Without even telling anyone? You’re right, it’s weird. I want to figure it out.” He shrugs, posture untensing. The discs vanish into his inventory. “Besides, I have the discs now, which means I have power over him. And we can always declare war again later if we want. I promised him L’Manberg’s freedom, not that they would get to keep it.”

He frowns. “I guess.”

Power over Tommy. Normally, he’d agree. Holding the discs over his head in the past has worked wonders. But the way Tommy looked, the way he came to them of his own volition, suggested giving up the discs himself—something about him has changed, and Sapnap’s no longer sure that it will be that simple. Because sure, his face when he gave them up was agonized, but then there was everything else, too, everything he said, the way he was acting, like he thought there was some bigger threat on the horizon, and that it wasn’t Dream.

Weird. Just, so weird.

“Alright, I guess we see how this goes, then,” George says.

“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes,” he echoes, and wonders why the words inspire such dread in him.

They go back to their movie. But though they sit together again, pressed into each other’s sides, none of them relax. The tension in the room does not leave, and he knows that none of them are paying attention to the movie at all, that all of them are lost in their own thoughts, and he resents it, a bit. He wants that easy camaraderie back. Wants his friends, his friends and simpler times, before war, before discs, before Tommy-fucking-Innit and all the rest of them. Just him and Dream and George, messing around, doing what they want, making a server into a home.

Simpler times seem like a long way away. Sapnap thinks about it long into the early morning, long after the credits stop rolling, and can’t come to a conclusion that satisfies him. Can’t find peace. He doesn’t think the other two can, either.

But then, he’s not sure what else he expected. Sometimes, he thinks he’s forgotten what peace means.

[jouretnuit-nightandday]

New York au is so 🥺🥺 any thoughts on how leatin tells the other girls they got together??

Hello Anon! Thanks for your message <3

I’m spending way too much time thinking about this new york au but it IS fun, and that’s what writing fics is all about, ultimately. 

So the thing is, the island never happened in new york au. Which means the girls don’t all know each other, because I can’t really think of a satisfactory explanation as to why Dot, Shelby, Martha and Toni would move to NYC after high school. At least not yet! BUT you know who’s already in NYC? Nora and Rachel. So here: have Leah and Nora, the morning after the infamous party.

When Leah opens the door to her dorm room at 7AM, bleary-eyed, hair disheveled, still in her dress from the night before, Nora is already up and sitting at her desk, drinking coffee, wearing the kind of loose, colorful, comfy clothes she favors for studying.

“Morning, Leah,” she says without raising her head from the textbook she’s reading. Leah closes the door behind her, quietly, and hangs her purse on the hook. The blinds are open, and early sunlight is pouring through their window, minuscule particles of dust dancing in the light,

“Hey,” Leah says. Her voice is hoarse, and that makes Nora turn her head towards her at last, lips twitching into one of her half-smiles, knowing but devoid of judgment. 

“How was your night?”

“Oh, hm, y’know, fine,” Leah says, eloquently. She clears her throat, and leans her back against the closed door, facing her roommate. Nora swivels her chair around, looks her up and down. 

“You should carry a stake next time” she says, very seriously. 

Leah, befuddled, and way too sleep-deprived for Nora’s cryptic shit, only blinks tiredly. “A what?”

“You know, for vampires.”

“I don’t follow.”

Nora grins, and touches her own neck. “You’re covered in hickeys, Leah.”

“Fuck off,” Leah mumbles, but she feels herself blush, cheeks and neck burning, and Nora chuckles. Since the battle to keep her dignity intact is already clearly lost, Leah chucks off her shoes by the door, and lets herself fall gracelessly onto her bed, face first. “Nora, my legs are so sore,” she whines into her pillow. 

“So you had a really good time, is what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Hm hm.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

Leah rolls onto her back, and yawns. “A couple hours.” She turns her head aside, so she can send Nora a pitiful look. “Can I have some of your coffee?”

“I’ll trade you caffeine for information,” Nora replies, ruthlessly.

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine,” Leah says, rubbing her eyes. She sits up against her pillow as Nora rolls her chair closer to the bed to hand her the cup.

“Please,” Nora says, with a little shake of the head, “I know you’re dying to tell me.”

Which is not untrue. Leah has been dying to talk to someone, anyone, ever since she left Fatin’s dorm room, a good thirty minutes ago. Part of her can’t quite believe any of it actually happened. Another part of her wants to relive every second of the night, every moment that led to her waking up, naked, in Fatin’s bed, with an equally naked Fatin pressed against her back, and the taste of Fatin still on her lips. And a third part of her is absolutely terrified, unsure of what will happen next. Because here’s the thing: about six months ago, Fatin and her agreed to move in together for the summer, instead of going back to the Bay. And now, it’s April, and they’ve already signed the lease for a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, and she just fucked Fatin Jadmani.  

So, yes, she wants to tell Nora about it. She needs to talk to a friend, period. But also, she’s glad it’s Nora, specifically, because ever since she’s met her, in freshman year, Nora has proven herself to be both a great listener, and someone whose opinion Leah should trust.

So Leah swallows a mouthful of coffee - hot, dark, wonderfully invigorating - and, cradling the cup in her hands, she says, “I had sex with Fatin.”

“Oh,” Nora says. Her eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Leah says. “She invited me to this party, and then we… it just happened. It felt right.” She takes another sip of coffee, and sighs. “Fuck. Nora, what did I do?”

“Well, you haven’t shared any details yet, but I can make a few educated guesses, involving various body parts...”

“I’m serious! Fatin is a friend - one of my best friends - and this -- fuck, what if this ruins us? We’re supposed to be living together in less than a month! I don’t even know what she wants, or how she feels about it. She had an early rehearsal this morning, so I had to leave before we could talk. What if it’s super awkward between us, now? What if she doesn’t want to see me, and we have to avoid each other all summer? What if --”

“Leah,” Nora cuts her off, firm but gentle. “Take a breath.” 

She does, and then she drinks a bit more coffee, and lets the warmth of it calm her down. “What if she regrets it?” she asks, quietly.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” Leah says. She meets Nora’s eyes. “Not at all. It was great.”

“So you want it to happen again?”

“Yeah,” she admits. She drops her eyes to the cup, and swallows. “Nora, I think I’m.. I have…”

“You want more than sex,” Nora states, calmly. She’s smiling when Leah looks up in surprise. “You’ve had a little bit of a crush on her for a while, now.” She shrugs. “I’m very perceptive, I’ve been told. By you, among others.”

“Pretty sure I used the word annoying, but okay,” Leah grumbles. 

Nora, in retaliation, steals back her cup of coffee, unmoved by Leah’s sad little whimper at the loss of hot beverage. She shifts in her chair, both feet on the seat, knees bent. “You should probably tell her how you feel.”

“I know.”

“In fact, I think you should probably text her, right now, and ask if you can see her after rehearsal, because you two should talk.”

Leah flops back onto the bed, and closes her eyes. “I don’t know, Nora. Isn’t it, like, too much, or whatever? I don’t wanna seem too desperate. Or too clingy. Or any of those other things people think about girls who text immediately after sex.” 

“That’s dumb, and a terrible excuse,” Nora retorts, serenely. “And you know it. Text her.”

Leah opens one eye for the single purpose of glaring at Nora. “Okay, who died and made you the expert in like, handling the delicate and potentially very bad consequences of fucking your friend and soon-to-be roommate?”

“No one. But I do have significantly more experience than you in the romance department. No offense,” Nora adds, with, honestly, just a smidge of offense. “I have, after all, had a boyfriend for more than two years now.”

Leah, defeated, sits up. “Can I at least take a shower before I have to be humiliatingly vulnerable over texts?”

“Shower, then text, then you should probably take a nap. And try not to snore too much, I’m working on my physics paper, and I have to focus.”

“I don’t snore!” Leah says, indignant, as she grabs a towel from her side of the dorm room.

“Hmmm.”

Rolling her eyes, Leah heads for the showers, but not before dropping a grateful kiss on Nora’s cheek. 

[16woodsequ]

Do you like writing from prompts/headcanons? If so, could u consider writing ur thoughts about Steve and tony just having a chill night in with no super villain attacks and lots of cuddles pls 💕 btw I absolutely adore your ao3 writing and just found ur tumblr!

Hi! Thank you! I haven’t written a lot from prompts but I’m open to the idea.

If anyone wants to ever send me prompts, I don’t mind, although I am most comfortable writing platonic stories, so that is what I will write (although feel free to read it any way you want), and I’d appreciate those kinds of prompts the most!

Anyways, this was such a cute idea! I wrote a little oneshot under the cut line. Prepare for cuddles and touch-starved Steve.  

The first time Tony falls asleep on Steve, it is an accident.

It had just been the two of them, since Steve is the most regular member of the Tower, and they had been watching a movie in Tony’s on-going attempt to properly educate Steve on the culture he had missed. Tony hadn't even realised he was that tired. He had been sleeping, but he had been working in the lab a lot recently and would consequently get carried away long into the night. He had tried catching up a few hours here and there on the couch down there, but the result had been less than restful.

So it probably isn’t that much of a surprise when he wakes up to find the movie finished, and his cheek smushed up against Steve’s shoulder.

Warm, is the first thing he thinks, because he is still in the post-nap haze, wherein everything is a little vague and fuzzy. His face is pressed against something warm. Not exactly soft, but not exactly hard either. It also moves gently, as though…something…is…breathing.

His head pops up with a sudden urgency, and it is only pure luck that he doesn’t clock Steve in the chin as he sits up. “Whut?” he blurts out eloquently, his mind reeling. His tongue feels like it is made of cotton balls, and he wipes his mouth, some corner of his mind desperately hoping that he had managed to keep from drooling on Steve.

The rest of his mind is focused on the man himself. It is near evening now, so the living room is a dusky grey, but he can still make out Steve’s face as he watches him. As friendly as they have become these last few months in the Tower, Tony is well aware that this has never happened before, and he doesn’t have any predictions for how Steve will react.

Steve doesn’t look upset about it though. And he had apparently been content to let him sleep through the movie on his shoulder. “You fell asleep,” Steve tells him needlessly, a mix of concern and cautiousness on his face. He pulls away from him, but not far, his shoulders hunching a little as he flicks his eyes over him searchingly.

Tony blinks at him. He almost looks defensive, sitting there, like he had been the one to overstep a faux pas, instead of Tony. “Uh,” he manages, not sure what to make of that. “Sorry about that. You could’ve, um, next time you can just shake me awake.”

Steve shakes his head jerkily. “No,” the word is stilted, and Steve’s eyes don’t quite meet his. “I didn’t mind.” He looks away, his shoulders still stiff. He hasn’t looked this tense since he had first come to the Tower, and Tony wonders if he is lying about how much he had minded his little nap.

His lips press together. “You really could’ve woken me up.”

Steve seems to pull away ever further. “Sorry,” he says.

.

And that is the word that sticks with him. ‘Sorry’. As though Steve had been doing something wrong. That baffles Tony, and he can’t stop thinking about it, even days later, in his lab. Is it possible that Steve really hadn't minded being used as a pillow?

“JARVIS,” he calls finally, dragging in a frustrated breath. “The other day, did Steve seem upset at all, when I fell asleep on him?”

JARVIS takes a moment before responding. “He did not, Sir,” he says. “In fact, the Captain displayed signs of lowered heartrate and stress while you slept.”

…huh.

So Steve really hadn't minded getting slept on. He is going to have to look into this.

.

Of course, since Steve now thinks that he is annoyed at not having been woken up or something, he finds that he is tenser around him than usual. That is pretty much the opposite of what he wants, and Tony is more than a little relieved when their next movie day comes around so that he can try to rectify the situation.

They sit down on the common room couch as JARVIS sets up the movie, and he can’t help but notice that Steve makes a point of putting more space than usual between them.

Well. They can’t be having that.

As soon as Steve settles, Tony scoops himself up and plops down right next to him. Steve startles a little at his movement, but he doesn’t pull away, and Tony takes that as a sign to press his shoulder against Steve’s. He keeps his eyes focused on the opening credits of the movie, his entire being exuding casualness, as if he does this sort of thing every day.

He can feel Steve stare at him in bemusement for a moment longer, before he too turns to face the TV. Slowly, as the movie progresses, Tony can feel Steve start to relax under him. He bites down a grin and moves on to the second stage of his plan, remembering what he had noticed earlier.

“Hey, you’re warm,” he comments, pressing into Steve’s shoulder. “You’re practically your own mini-heater.”

Steve laughs softly, his whole frame much more relaxed than before. “You’re not the first one to say so,” he says, his gaze still mostly focused on the movie. “The Commandos used to fight over who got to sit next to me in camp. Most of the time I’d find one or more of them trynna steal body-heat, especially in the wintertime.”

He shrugs, although Tony notices he does it with his other shoulder, so as not to dislodge him. “I think the serum makes me run hotter. I didn’t mind.”

Ah.

He thinks he gets it now.

.

After that, JARVIS casually displays several articles about why hugs are important for human health on the lab wall. Tony wouldn’t need those to get the hint though. If he were a doctor, he would give Steve a prescription for cuddles. It is clearly something he wants and/or needs, but judging from his little ‘sorry’ from earlier, he doesn’t feel confident asking for it.

Luckily for him, Tony is good at ignoring social protocols when it suits him.

That night, he falls asleep again on Steve’s shoulder. Except this time, he isn’t actually asleep. He keeps his eyes closed, and his breath even, and he waits. Beside him, he feels Steve still at the contact, before he slowly relaxes into it. He lets out a slow breath, and Tony can practically feel the tension draining out of him as he does so.

A ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth. He thinks next time, he might bring a blanket.  

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Prompt, Angst, The titan gets badly damaged and a lot of the crew are dead or injured, mariner goes AWOL from the cerritos to find out if boimler is okay and there's a scene with boimler unconscious on a biobed and Mariner is like "you have to live so I can feed you to an armus for leaving the cerritos!"

A/N: you sent this prompt ages ago, but the words just wouldn't happen lmao. So six months late and a few thousand words short, here you go:

ao3

Okay, so here’s the thing.

Beckett keeps files on everyone. Not physical files of course--too insecure and hackable (she should know). But a mental file. Still hackable if she runs into a telepath, but still slightly more secure from the rest of her coworkers.

It’s not as if they’re particularly like. Creepy files. She isn’t snooping into anyone’s actual physical file onboard or obtaining any info illegally. She just observes things and passively marks them for later. Tendi likes peanut-butter sandwiches. Janice gets her neck tattoos re-inked every few months. Captain Mom has a stick up her ass. That kind of thing.

It’s a fine tuned compartmentalization that’s useful in a variety of situations, whether it’s knowing what to say in a social situation or who to trust during a red alert (tip: always go with Rutherford, he’s anxious but the least likely to betray you and throw you out of an airlock. Bonus: he’s the most likely crew member on this trashcan to actually have a working idea).

Some mental files are incredibly detailed. For instance, the one on her mom is about as thick as a handbound copy of War & Peace and just as boring. Everything from her favorite flavor of ice cream to her first response to an emergency situation is in there-incredibly accurate and incredibly detailed. She’s sure her mom has a similar mental file on her as well, but resolutely does Not think about it.

Some mental files are almost empty. Ensign Gent’s toothbrush is pink. First Officer Ransom has nice abs I guess. That dude who’s name I can’t remember opened his third eye and ascended into the afterlife or something I wasn’t actually there Tendi told me and I was on my fourth drink.

And then some are medium sized but entirely unremarkable.

Like Bradward Boimler’s, for instance.

Loves classic rock. Dyes his hair purple. Stickler for rules. Needs to loosen up a bit. A lot. Probably needs to get laid. Definitely needs to get laid.

That’s it, that’s the entire file. Beckett doesn’t really concern herself with whatever’s going on with Boimler beyond the occasional ribbing or co-assignment. It’s not because she doesn’t like the dork. She would tentatively (but never to his face) call him her friend if cornered. And she enjoyed riling him up.

She updates the file about a year (almost two) into her acquaintance with him. FUCKING BACKSTABBING TRAITOR. (That’s it now, that's the entire file.) She doesn’t revisit it again, not for almost eight months, despite Tendi’s cheerful updates on how he’s doing--they’re still in constant contact, despite his ghosting Beckett--and Rutherford’s worried comments on his well-being.

“It’s not our job to babysit him,” she snapped one day. “Hell, it wasn’t our job when he was here. Just let it go.”

And that was the end of that.

______

Okay, that was very much not the end of that.

It starts like this:

“Something’s going on, on the Titan,” Tendi hisses, dropping down into Beckett’s bunk at like 2am. Time doesn’t work the same out here as it does on Beckett’s home planet, but it feels like 2am so she’s calling it 2am. Everyone who’d been on the Alpha shift were pretty much dead to the world anyway, so it might as well have been. The point was, Beckett was sleeping, Tendi should have been sleeping, but instead the two of them are having an anxious stare off in the dark.

And Beckett’s currently having cardiac arrest from being startled so soundly. After her heart starts working again like a human heart is supposed to, the words begin to register. Sort of. “What?”

Tendi flips her padd around. Beckett blinks at the bright light from the screen, squinting to see what’s there.

“Is that morse code? Why the fuck is the Titian using morse code.”

Tendi stares at her unblinkingly, face flat.

Then,

“Oh. Oh shit. Shit!” Beckett sits straight up, throwing the covers off. There’s a few protesting noises and shushes that ensue around the room, but Beckett is already making a blind grab for her pants and shoes. “The fuck didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because people are sleeping,” Tendi whispers. Loudly. She rolls off the bunk and onto the floor, shoes already on. “So we’re going, right?”

“Of course we’re fucking going,” Beckett hisses. “Why wouldn’t-”

“Because you’ve been all hung up over him for the past eight months.”

“He ghosted me!”

“Okay yeah-”

“After accepting a promotion that he promised he wouldn’t-”

“Mariner-”

“He’s a backstabbing, little weasel who climbs over his friends-”

“Is this about that or the fact that you miss him?”

Beckett finishes pulling her shoes on and stands up, scowling. “I don’t miss him. Why are you defending him?”

“I’m pissed too. Don’t get me wrong, when we see him I’m gonna kill him. But I think this is more than that.”

“Whatever.” Beckett turns on her heel. “Are we stealing a shuttle or what?”

“Rutherford’s already on it.” Tendi taps rapidly on her data padd, keeping pace with Beckett’s light job easily. “We were hoping you could like. Let your mom know-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Beckett pulls out her comm, quickly typing out a quick message to her mother. “This is gonna be a shitshow.” The two of them enter the shuttle bay, which is pretty much deserted due to it being beta-shift.

“I have no idea how we’re even going to sneak onto the planet. It’s been on lockdown since the Titian crashed there.” Tendi’s shoulders slump.

“Leave it to me, I know a guy.”

“Of course you do,” Rutherford says, popping head out the shuttle door. “Good to go?”

Tendi gives him a thumbs up.

Beckett straps herself into a chair, stomach churning. “He’s fine though, right? Like, we would have gotten a call. Who’s his emergency contact anyway?”

Tendi worries her lip between her teeth. “His mom? I don’t know, it never came up and I don’t have access to his file.”

“He wasn’t on the list of deceased. Just the missing persons list,” Rutherford offers helpfully, punching in some coordinates.

“Well that’s reassuring,” Beckett mutters under her breath. She stares down at her comm, stomach churning.

_______

“Seriously, what are the odds of this even happening?” Tendi asks, dragging Rutherford by the arm behind them. A severely concussed, disgruntled Rutherford makes a grunt of what Beckett assumes is agreement.

“Do you really want to be arguing about the odds right now?” Boimler shrieks, sliding to an uncoordinated stop as the four of them run directly into the maze wall.

“Fuck,” Beckett says, eloquently.

“I thought you said you knew which way we were going!” Boimler runs a hand through his wet hair, face going through a series of complicated expressions before settling on frustration.

Beckett crosses her arms. “I did know where we were going. When I had the fucking map!”

“Why are you yelling at me about that? I didn’t even have it!”

“I don’t see anyone else here dumb enough to have lost it.”

“Guys-”

“You were the last person with the map, Mariner.”

“Unless some idiot took it out of my pack when I wasn’t looking.”

“Guys.”

“I didn’t touch your stupid map! Why are you so fixated on this!”

“Because if we had the map, maybe we wouldn’t be about to die via giant space spider!”

“Guys!” Rutherford shouts.

Beckett jumps at the unexpected shout from the usually quiet ensign. She turns on her heel, meeting Tendi and Rutherford’s unimpressed stares.

“Lookie, secret passage.” Rutherford waves a hand to a hole in the wall that hadn’t been there like two seconds ago. “You two good? Can we go?”

Beckett pushes past Boimler, lightly shoulder checking him and jumps through the doorway after her two annoyed friends. She doesn’t listen worriedly to see if Boimler follows her (she doesn’t) and she doesn’t resist the urge to turn around and make sure he’s close.

She balls her hands into tight fists and stomps past Tendi and Rutherford, ignoring the exchanged glances. “Please tell me this is a way out.” Her flat voice has the barest hint of a tremble in it.

You’re losing your touch, Mariner, get it together, she tells herself.

Tendi pulls a lighter out of her back pocket. (Because of course D’Vana Tendi has an old timey lighter on hand. There was a reason Beckett liked her after all.) It takes a couple of flicks, but she manages to get it to catch. The small source of light barely lights up their passageway, but it’s enough to see that it leads deeper into the planet.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Tendi sighs. “I’ll take the lead, I guess. You good, Sam?”

Rutherford grimaces, but nods. “Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s just get out of here.”

_______

It would be Beckett’s luck that she and Bomlier get separated from the other two. And it would just be their luck that there’s a cave in just before they reach the end of the catacombs. And of course, of fucking course, the Cerritos’ ETA on getting them out is anywhere from 2-6 hours, depending on how fast they can get the ship up and running again.

If anyone is using buffer time, Beckett is going to put spiders in their pillowcase.

“This is bullshit,” she mutters, dropping into a seated lotus position. She plays with Tendi’s lighter, flickering it on and off again.

Boimler grimaces from across her. “Can you stop that? It’s giving me a headache.”

Beckett makes steady eye contact again and flicks it off again.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck yourself. Or whatever,” Beckett mutters. She flicks the lighter back on.

Boimler makes a face like he’s swallowing back a retort. Instead of snapping back, he jams his hands into his pockets. “Can we- can we just talk about it? Like actually talk about it, not passive aggressively pretend like-”

“Like passive aggressively avoiding your best friend’s calls is okay?” Lighter flicks off again. “Yeah, that seems like bitch move, for sure. Glad I don’t know anyone who does that.”

“I’m sorry,” Boimler says into the dark, voice cracking.

“Fuck you.” Beckett flicks the lighter back on. Boimler’s eyes follow it, eyes dilating slightly as the light hits them. She flicks it off again, plunging the cave into darkness again. She flicks it back on. Boimler leans heavily against the cave wall, not looking at her or the light. He starting to look very pale. Paler than usual.

Beckett wonders about that headache.

“How long were you out here before we got your distress signal?” she asks, keeping her eyes glued to the lighter. She sees him shrug in her peripheral.

“Dunno. A while.”

Her stomach tightens. “You didn’t like. See anything weird?”

“You mean besides you and Tendi hauling ass? Not really.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“What about strange smells-”

“Mariner.”

“You look pale,” she snaps. “And like super clammy. And I’m not talking about your stressed out will Mariner stop talking clammy, I’m talking like I think you inhaled a deadly neurotoxin kind of clammy.”

“I feel fine! Just the headache. Aaand maybe a slight stomach ache,” he adds at her flat expression. “I always have a stomach ache though-”

“-yeah, yeah, it’s the ulcer you’ve had since you were, like, two, you’re a goddamn medical marvel Boims. Budge over.” She shoves the lighter into his hands and grabs his face. “Are you dizzy,” she asks, peering in closely at his pupils.

Boimler tries to shove her away, but she’s stronger and more stubborn. “A little. Look, it’s just the headache and str-”

“Yeah, do you usually get pink eye from stress?” she asks dryly, pulling back to giving him some breathing room.

“I-what.”

“Your white are like. Super inflamed or whatever. Boimler, I think something’s wrong.”

“Shit.” He rubs his temples. “What’s that ETA again?”

“Six hours. Give or take some buffer time.” Mariner stands up. She’s not worried, she’s not. “Maybe you should lie down.”

Boimler glowers at her in the dim light, hands tightly wrapped around her lighter. “I’m fine.”

______

“Good thing you pulled him out when you did,” Dr T’Ana tells Ransom. “Any longer-” she pauses, seeing Beckett’s expression. “Do you want to know what it was?” she asks her.

Beckett, who’s currently white knuckling the back of the plastic chair by the biobed, shakes her head. “Not really,” she replies, stiffly. “Long-term effects?”

“None,” T’Ana replies, scratchy voice almost gentle. Almost. “So feel free to be as hard on him as you want when he wakes up.”

Ransom barks a laugh, clapping Beckett’s shoulder. “Oh, Mariner knows how to be-”

“If you make a single hard joke in my presence, I’m tossing you back onto that planet,” Beckett replies flatly.

Ransom removes his hand. “Right! Right, I’ll just be on my-”

“Out,” T’Ana and Beckett snap.

There’s a pause after the turbolift doors close after Ransom. Dr. T’Ana eyes Beckett warily for a moment. Then, “Call me if he wakes up with any symptoms.”

“You said-”

“Yeah, well. He has a lot of surprises in him, doesn’t he?” She gives Beckett a pointed look before leaving, grumbling down at her clipboard.

Beckett glares down at the unconscious Boimler. “The shit I go through for your dumb ass.” She flops into the uncomfortable chair. “Wake up already. It’s no fun yelling at you like this.”

____

Surprisingly, Beckett does not yell at Boimler when he wakes up. It’s a near thing, though.

“Well, thanks for not letting me die, I guess,” he says, watching her warily after she’s done ranting. Not yelling, ranting.

“I wouldn’t have let you die,” she scoffs. “You’re still my friend, dumbass.”

Boimler perks up in surprise. “What?”

“Look, just because you pulled the ultimate shitty move, doesn’t stop us from being friends. You’re still on notice, though.”

“Right! Right.” He pauses, blinking up at her. “Does it help that I submitted a transfer back to the Cerritos before any of this went down?”

Beckett freezes. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong that was my actual dream job, buuuut-”

“Riker is crazy?” Beckett dryly supplies.

“I thought you were crazy,” Boimler lets out a whooshing breath. “Like I seriously thought you were the most batshit, insane person I’d ever met, hands down. But Riker is certifiable.”

Beckett grins. She can’t suppress it and she’s too tired to try. “So you’re saying I’m preferable.”

“I will take you any day of the week over that.”

“Sounds like a compliment.”

“It is.”

“Hmm.” She eyes him critically.

“Soooo,” he draws out the word. “Am I forgiven?”

Beckett picks his shirt up off the end of the biobed and throws it at his face. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He pulls it over his head, causing his hair to stick up in the back. Beckett suppresses the urge to smooth it down.

“I like watching you squirm,” she replies. “It soothes my massively inflated ego.”

Boimler barks out a laugh, easing himself out of the biobed carefully. Beckett turns to go--he still has to talk with Dr. T’Ana and possibly her mom over the transfer, and give his full report to Riker--but stops as he catches her wrist in one hand.

“Hey. Thanks.”

Beckett’s heartbeat rackets up a few notches. Stop that, she thinks at it and then stops because thinking at your own organs is weird. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, voice even. “You would have done the same for me.”

It’s true. Boimler may be a bit of a bastard and sometimes a shitty friend, but she has no doubt he’d have come running if it’d been the Cerritos accosted.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Sometimes I feel like that’s all I do with you.”

“What?”

He drops his gentle grip on her wrist. “Nothing. Just.” He shrugs, looking cagey. “I know I’ve been a bit of a-”

“Bitch?”

“--yeah, that lately. But. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you. And that’s why I’m coming back. Because-because you deserve to know that. That you're my best friend, too.”

Her face heats up. “Yeah, well,” she mumbles. “Whatever.” Jams her hands into her pockets. “Don’t think I’m just gonna forget everything because you-”

“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.” He gives her a lopsided smile. “I just thought you should know.”

____

Beckett can feel the blush on her cheekbones until she reaches her bunk. Fuck, she thinks. Fuuuuuck.

She opens up her mental file on Boimler, crossing out whatever she had in there before. Best friend, she replaces it with. Stares at it for a long moment. Erases it. Puts it back.

Bradward “Brad” Boimler. Best friend. Loves classic rock. Dyes his hair purple. Has made some improvements, but still needs to loosen up a bit. Probably needs to get laid. Definitely needs to get laid.

You could help with that.

Best friend. She underlines in the file. You don’t have feelings like that for your friends.

Beckett throws herself into her bunk. She had the horrible, sneaking suspicion that Brad Boimler’s file was about to get a lot longer.

_______

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter Five- Santa Baby

Hello, I took a couple weeks, because life can be busy, and mine is changing, but here is a little 🎁!

Thanks to @dirtystyles, she’s the real gift!

"What are you wearing?"

"I'm sorry, but what?"

 It was all she could think to say. Emma hadn't heard from Harry in months. In August he had sent her a random picture of him in a collar with long hair. She knew he had chopped his hair months ago, it had caused an internet flurry and was one of the few times he'd emerged from hibernation. She might be miffed that his year-off apparently didn't include visiting her. Not that she had asked him to.

She'd never ask.

Emma might also be incredibly miffed that he had cut off his glorious hair. She'd rocked herself to sleep many a night thinking of the way it felt trailing ver her chest, then stomach, in the crevice of her thigh. The crunch and silk of it between her fingers when she got it between her fingers at the end of that path or when he was rocking her to sleep.

Thinking about his hair usually made her hot for him, and thinking of it gone made her nostalgic, and a little mad. And that was when the memory was fresh and jot months old.

In any case, she wasn't feeling very soft for him, and that was a sexy question. She definitely wasn't feeling wet for him.

She had just walked out of class on a freezing cold day before she was ready for it to be this chilly, and she had to ride her bike. Her class was on individual contribution to global crises. Emma was the first to point out that individuals were not the true climate change culprits, but every bit helped. She just wished she'd ridden one of the clean energy buses today. Today sucked.

"Your teeth are chattering Emma, you outside?" she made an affirmative sound and he wisely knew better than to wait for an answer after that. He'd set up this mood, after all. "Sorry, came out wrong, it was meant to be funny." Harry had an apology in his voice. It was like the first knead of a dough, but he had a long way to go. "Anyway, what I meant is, I'm Christmas shopping, and I was thinking about what you might like, was gonna get you a jumper, and I think I have an idea of your style, but wanted a little guidance, I'd hate to buy you something and have you hate it—"

"Harry, take a breath!" She could feel that smile he had a way of bringing to her lips, despite herself. She really wanted to be upset with him, but seemed he'd proved himself, or distracted her at least.

Emma can't quite get a full grasp on why she's irritated with the phone call with him.  She's not sure what she expected. They never had a conversation about it, about how they are just a little holiday fling. She's never even had a summer fling, so she doesn't know the rules but she assumes that they are not supposed to repeat year on year. Least not without some progress or a defining conversation where they decided on not a relationship. He was confusing. He'd been so happy to have a bit of extra time with her, she'd thought he might be in touch more, with his seemingly abundant free time. She's wanted him to be in touch more. But he hadn't.

She'd heard from him less than ever.

And now he was buying her gifts and making her smile. Damn him.

"I'm breathing, promise." He sighed. "I just could tell I'd pissed you off, and I don't want to. I've been thinking about Christmas, and well, I'm excited."

"I'm excited too. Holidays are exciting." Emma is not going to read into that. He's excited to be with his family. He's Christmas shopping for everyone. This is not about her, them.

There is no them.

There is no them, except between Christmas Eve and New Years. And that is purely physical.

These are the things she repeated to herself when she was sad, waiting for him to call or text. Sad from how he dragged himself from their pub bed saying he'd miss her and be in touch and then wasn't. His sweet nothings were like when people signed your yearbook K.I.T. She knew you weren't supposed to take those yearbook signings seriously, but he'd said it, not written it below some picture of him. That counted more, right? Than a picture? Those were cheap, especially of him; there were pictures of him everywhere, Emma was also upset that none of them looked like the real life him. Just a shade of his actual beauty.

She wanted to see him now. She missed him though she shouldn't.

Just over a month now until Christmas. And a busy one at that. She had so much data to sift through from the summer and a presentation she was basing on it was her culminating project. It would also make an early start on her field work come summer. Those things, academic, important things were her focused her life's work. Not delicious Harry Styles and his sweet holiday nothings.

"Yes, especially when I get my favorite for Christmas." Harry said bringing her back to the call they were on.

The meaning behind those words were a bit harder to ignore. All she could get out was "Oh?" Then she rolled her eyes at herself and cleared her throat and said, "Your mum's Christmas cake?"

He chuckled. "I am fond of that cake, I think I put on two stone last year from how much I ate. And she sent me home with one!"

Emma almost called bullshit on that. He'd expended all those calories, she'd been the apparatus.

She took a breath to speak, and he cut her off. "I don't mean the cake, anyway, I mean you: you're my favorite thing to have at Christmas. The best gift."

What was she supposed to say to that? Another eloquent oh? Instead she said, "Your favorite thing?" Playful offense on the word thing.

"Oh hush." He laughed. "You're my favorite, Emma. In case you want to be obtuse and miss my point. I'm very excited to see you."

She breathed in. All she could manage to reply with was "Me too."

She meant it, but as they got off the phone after setting up their usual tryst and a special meeting before the party to exchange gifts, she couldn't help but wonder if he did. If what he said was true, why the radio silence?

The gift on her lap on the train was large and ostentatious. She didn't have a ton of money for the it, student life, but her recipient was a millionaire, so she'd gone all out on the wrapping paper.

It was a frog in a Christmas hat, the motif on the paper. Emma remembered when she and Gemma had called Harry "frog boy" and he'd been mortified. But it had also found its way into their private rooms. Not when he was inside her, that would be weird, but when he looked up at her and grinned, all dimples and no teeth from where he likes to make her stomach a pillow.

How "Froggy" had become a term of endearment, she didn't know. The moment she'd seen the cute froggy in his holiday rig on the overpriced paper, she had stopped what she was doing, parked her bike with no lock, and popped in the shop.

She then had to find something to put in the paper. He'd been shopping for her this year, in October, and he'd said he was at the shop and she'd seen pictures of him hauling bags out of Gucci. That was not intimidating at all.

They had exchanged small things in years past. Harry had started it, he'd given a cookbook a friend recommended the year she went vegan. Then the next year he'd donated in her name to a clean air initiative. She'd just picked up odds and ends she thought he'd like, like a 100% recycled journal one year and a glass bottle set for his gym runs the next.

This year, she'd racked her brain, but she'd eventually found the perfect gift to fill her frog paper. She was getting better at this. He was entirely too good at it, and he was a quick learner. She'd been underwhelmed with the flowers he sent the first year and had explained that cut flowers made her sad. It seemed a waste to kill something for its fleeting beauty. Harry had nodded thoughtfully.

The next flower he sent was a gorgeous orchid, it arrived once she was back in Amsterdam and came with instructions. That first orchid had started a trend and between his gifts and her own new interest, her flat was looking very jungle esque.

Emma was always very excited to see him, but this year, after his call, there was more anticipation and preparation. If he was going to be ready for her, she would be ready for him.

She got a fresh haircut and trimmed her bush. The thrift store was kind to her, and her new Christmas jumper was perhaps less ugly than flattering, but that was ok with her. She particularly liked the way it lay over the skirt she'd planned to wear to the Twist's annual todo.

Her flights had been uneventful and her mother was elated and doting. Emma found it much more tolerable this year. Maybe she was just in the spirit, or maybe she'd been away from the village and her family long enough to actually miss them.

She definitely missed Harry.

He, predictably, had texted that his flight was delayed and he was trying to make arrangements, but he might not even make it in time for the party.

"I'm doing everything in my power to get there tonight. If I can't make my mother's party, but arrive tonight, can we meet? I'll call the inn."

"Yes." Was all she texted back. She found she was mourning their kiss beneath the mistletoe, and that he might miss her outfit. But Harry's power was considerable, and she had no doubt he would be at the Boar's Head in time to see what she planned to wear under the sweater.

Those pieces, she felt a twinge guilty about. They were pricey and definitely not second hand. Used pants were where she drew the line.

People, not Emma, bemoaned Harry's absence when those who still lived local or were able to travel home gathered for toast. Emma knew she wasn't the only one who came home partially to see Harry. It was why she was able to fly under Gem's radar, hopefully.

Gemma's only comment was, "He'll be here when he can." When Eloise asked where Harry was. She asked every year, it annoyed Gem, and took some of the heat off Emma. Eloise was so obvious, Gemma could direct some of her protective big sister vibes that way.

The night was winding down and Emma's third glass of champagne could use topping up. She'd just sidled into the kitchen to pop another bottle when a pair of arms came around her from behind.

She'd have dropped the bottle too if Harry had not pulled the most uncharacteristicly smooth and agile catch he'd ever made, whilst dipping her for a swoon worthy kiss.

"Harry!" Emma gasped, "What are you doing?" Her Hand went to find his hair, and she was sad to find it until she found his sharp, bare jaw instead. It cut through her nostalgia and she was able to appreciate his face on a new way. His lips.

"Getting my midnight kiss!"

"It's not New Year's." It was better, like new year's and her birthday combined, that kiss.

"Not yet!" He righted her but stayed wrapped around her while she popped the bottle. She poured him a glass too and had to refrain from holding his hand when she pulled him into the living room after they toasted.

He stole a kiss before they went to join the others.

It looked like his arrival was going to renew the party spirit, but he begged off as tired, and disappeared to his room by 1:30.

Emma wasn't sure what to do, or where to go, so she just slipped out the back at 2:00 when a car nearly gave her heart palpitations by pulling up right in front of her. The door popped open and Harry stuck his head out. "Cmon, it's our getaway car!"

She couldn't help but shake her head. "You disappeared and I didn't know what you wanted to do."

"Well, you obviously!" He giggled, high off the champagne and his conniving. "C'mon! We don't have that long. I wanna do Christmas morning with you!"

"It's still nighttime." Emma pointed out.

"Don't worry, we'll find something to do until the sun comes up." He looked up at her through his lashes and she couldn't help but bite her lips.

"What's the rush, Styles?" Emma asked as she climbed into the car. The driver seemed unconcerned and headed down the familiar lanes of a familiar place.

"No rush, I'm just excited and have to be back so I can sneak in for Christmas brunch."

"Oh." She knew that, it wasn't the first time.

"Not 'oh,' I want to give you your gifts on actual Christmas."

"Are you Santa Claus?" She teased as he pulled her into his chest.

"If that's what you're into? I'll be whoever you want me to be."

"Then just be you." She said with painful earnestness before she could stop herself.

Harry looked down at her in the cradle of his armpit and put his forehead to hers and gave her an Eskimo kiss. "As long as you're you."

Emma melted and if she hadn't been so tired and a little too drunk on bubbly she wouldn't have fallen asleep on the way to the Boar's Head.

"Baby," Harry whispered into her hair. "Wake up, we're here."

"I can't believe I fell asleep that fast."

"It's my voice, I've been told it has a sedative power."

"Sleepy is not usually how your voice makes me feel." What truth serum had she taken tonight?

"Well, I'll have to talk a lot to keep you up then. Hope you're refreshed after your little nap."

She was, and he kept her up but by 5:00, even his deep voice and other powers of persuasion couldn't keep her leaden lids open.

"Baby! Emma." Harry was kissing her awake and holding out a shirt for her slip on while slipping socks up her calves. "Present time."

"Ok, Santa baby." She yawned and let him drag her into the room where she had completely missed the tiny Charlie Brown tree in the corner. "Oh! You went all out." She looked at him in awe when she noticed the multicolored packages under the tree. "I only got you one thing," she was rubbing sleep out of her eyes and too tired to bullshit. "I'm feeling inadequate."

"Nah, I've heard it's better to give than receive."

"That's not what you said a couple hours ago."

"I'll give gifts if you give head." They both scrunched their brows. "Scratch the part where I made it sound like you were my sugar baby."

"Or a prostitute."She raised an arch brow.

"Nah, I couldn't afford you." He didn't even smirk.

So she responded, "I think you think that's a compliment."

He snort laughed and she couldn't help but smile with him. "I mean, you do it well enough to be paid for it, but by the face you're making I better quit talking and get to the spoiling to get myself out of trouble. Go on, open a present."

"Any order you envisioned."

"Um? No, the one where order matters I have a plan for."

"This isn't all?"

"This is most." He nodded and she felt a warm place under her breast that only ignited when he was being domestic.

Back in her old room in her childhood home, or in her flat in Amsterdam, she'd occasionally puzzle over these moments. They felt nothing short of boyfriendy, and she loved it. When she thought back on them, especially in the cold January days, they kept her warm and made her feel special. She hadn't ever felt that warm flush in her chest with anybody but Harry. She'd kind of avoided the feeling, usually.

By July, after long periods of silence where he was running around the world while she endeavored to save it, the glow of those days paled in the midnight sun. When he acted like a boyfriend, like they were more than a hookup and then ignored her, it hurt. When she was well into her yearly drought, and all she had were those shooting stars to wish upon, the sweeter he was, the more rich the ache, the aftertaste saccharine.

Emma could tell, his gifts and the joy he seemed to take in giving them would warm her to the backbone through January, and make her teeth hurt by July.

And still she couldn't convince herself to stop, to ask, to protect herself. She couldn't even detach a little, she was so excited about the little stuffed animal she had for him in return.

"Harry, this is beautiful!" She unfolded a gorgeous sweater dress of a fine wool knit that screamed warm.

"Yeah?" He smiled, pleaded with the praise and himself. "I was at Gucci, and I was gonna get you some stuff there, but they just didn't feel like you, so I started doing some research on sustainable brands and I found this one, and another. This one is good for day to day, it's called Ever Lane, and the next, Bode, it's great for retro pieces. Open the next one."

She'd been staring at him. He was going to buy her Gucci? This was better, but that seemed like a pretty penny to spend on your holiday hook up. She knew money wasn't really an object for him. He always paid for the hotel on their rendezvous and she never brought it up. It was always just taken care of. She wasn't a starving student, but she also wasn't an international pop star. These gifts felt big, bigger than what they were.

He liked to be generous. But, it felt like these gifts, the 5 packages and one coming later were a statement in a language she didn't understand.

"Harry, this is too much." Was all she could say. He didn't respond with words, just gave her a look and shrugged his shoulders like, 'what else am I supposed to do with it'.

Emma knew from Gemma that Harry took care of them, their vehicles and his mum's house and whatever they mentioned they wanted or he thought they'd like.

Gemma had said last year, when she was thrilling over her Christmas gifts, "It's the one time of year I let him get away with it. The rest of the time I've gotten to where I don't mention things I like or want, because they show up on my doorstep, you know?"

Emma had nodded even though she didn't know, but she did now. He was so thoughtful it hurt, but the implications troubled her.

"Open the next one. I'm really excited for it."

It was a beautiful jacket, mustard, her favorite color, and matching mittens.

"For when you want to ride your bike, but it's chilly. They're very warm." He remembered she was cold on her bike that day.

Emma knew he remembered her text after the 'what are you wearing' conversation about being grumpy because she had chosen to ride her bike but it was too cold. His big beating heart could melt snow.

She swallowed down the sentiments clogging her throat along with her worries. Should she ask? She'd have too, eventually. This was feeling more serious than it should be, like he wanted to call her babe for more than a weekend, like he wanted her to stay, with him.

It's what she wanted, in some part of her, but was completely out of the question. He had a big international life, and she had her own global ambition.

The rest was wrapped donation cards to causes she'd worked for or even mentioned. The last gift was a small box, and when she opened it, she cried, then laughed and handed him his box.

"What?" He said, "I can't tell if you're happy or sad about that gift?" He worries his bottom lip.

It was another frog, just like the one she'd picked as the tangible gift when she'd made the donation in his name.

Emma just shrugged and wiped her eyes. "Open it."

His bursting balloon laugh inflated her merry heart. "Did we really do the exact same thing?" His face had an odd look she could only call tender.

"Same wavelength, me and you." He was misty like she had been a moment ago. He leaned forward and kissed her. Then picked up their stuffed frogs and made them kiss like he was a small child playing dolls. "I almost don't want to separate them."

"Are we still talking about the frogs?" She laughed, because she had a feeling they weren't.

He shrugged and his phone began to buzz. "Can I take a rain check on answering that question? If I don't leave right now, they will know I stayed out all night on Christmas Eve, and there will be questions. I don't think we are quite ready to explain what we are." He chose that moment to yawn like a lion in the late afternoon after a long day of lounging and got up to leave.

Emma still had questions.He'd said not quite ready to explain what they were doing. Emma wasn't even sure what they were doing. Were they going to tell people, tell Gemma? Tell them what? That they were together? Wanted to be together? Belonged together. The frogs too, did the frogs belong together?

He was dressed by the time she was done freaking out. He looked tired, but exhilarated, like he'd spent a night getting everything he wanted and a few things he didn't know he needed. "Bye doll," he kissed her, right on the mouth, affectionately and with only a trace of the heat the December air lacked. "I'll see you tomorrow night. Merry Christmas! I wanna see you in the sweater," he was walking through the door. "Oh, and the other thing?"

"Other thing?" She looked at him confused.

He pointed underneath the tree. "Have another look."

Emma blushed when she opened the lingerie. She wondered if he'd had to check her pants and bras for sizes or if he just knew the shape of her well enough that he'd guessed accurately.

They looked really good.

She needed to be getting home as well. There would be no getting out of it, she needed an excuse for rolling in just in time for Christmas brunch, her parents were notorious early risers, as was she. Her plan was to tell them she'd just made too merry the night before and slept on the couch at the Twist's. It was truth adjacent. It was the best she could come up with, her head was full of Harry and she couldn't think.

Her Christmas passed in a blur of food and wine and wrapping paper. Harry had sent her a picture of him with a bow on his head and asked her if she felt spoiled enough or needed him to wear the bow the next day.

She'd told him to wear it. And only it.

She'd not expected him to follow directions both precisely and with some creative license.

"Do you really think your cock is a gift?" She tried to mock him, while he stood proudly, hips first in their room at the Boat's Head.

"Well, I intend to give it to you!" He raised his eyebrows and stalked toward her. "I like the sweater. Looks amazing, but? Probably better here." He swept it over her head and deposited it on the floor.

"That was atrocious!" She giggled, but felt no anxiety unlike the last day or so.

"Yeah, maybe, but I needed to see if you'd worn my other gift."

"I thought it was my gift."

"For both of us, I'd argue." He winked.

"You wink like a drunk pirate." She couldn't help but smile at him. His silly banter had completely removed the nerves she should be feeling, standing in front of him in a Santa red bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. She'd sourced the Santa hat herself and the black heels were hers.

"I'm feeling drunk seeing you in this." His hands were running over the satin on her hips and the lace at her waist, then the bare flesh of her ass. "I think I even lied to myself. This was definitely my present." The last word was said against her lips and his big hands slid down the globes of her backside to between her thighs, hoisting her onto his hips. The trail his thumbs left had her shivering.

The bed rose up to meet her. Harry hovered over her before standing and staring.

"Are we on pause?" She was panting and really hoping they were not stopping let alone slowing.

He opened his hands like a director, "I'm just trying to remember this to keep me warm all year." He ran his hands from her toes to her curled hair, she'd gone all out, then back down. His face was full of anticipation and a hesitation she'd never seen when she was this bare, not even the first time when he was flush on bravado and international acclaim.

"What is it?" She started to sit up.

He groaned. "Wow, that move did great things for your chest."

Emma could only laugh. He was acting like he'd never seen a naked woman, when he'd probably seen more than his fair share, and had definitely seen her before.

"You're acting like you've never seen me before."

"It's always like the first time. You're overwhelming."

"I'm overwhelming?" She wanted to laugh, she saw him as Harry, at first her friend's brother, then the cute boy with the big career she'd hooked up with, then her favorite holiday surprise, and now she couldn't define exactly what he was to her, mostly Harry? Who she missed all year and cherished for a week at a time in person, a deeply in her heart the rest of the time. She remained aware, however, of who he was, at large.

"Absolutely, I can barely take you. Can't believe I get to have you." What did she say to that? She only nodded, it was mutual. "Listen," he continued, "Can I take a picture of you. I'll keep your face out of it."

She thought for a moment, thrilled that he wanted to save this memory, to relive this moment until they met again. She didn't have any pictures of him, and thought there were so many online, none of them were really of him. "Yeah, go on Harry."

Maybe she should take one back. Save the neck down one place and the neck up as her wallpaper, she could get away with it. She saw classmates with him as their Home Screen. Her plans kept the nerves at bay while he got his set up ready.

He posed a leg, had her lay back, and then sit up. He took about 5 pictures on his phone, then three Polaroids, and by then she was getting into it. She was moving in ways that made her feel sexy and he was getting antsy.

"I'll show you, so you can approve, after." He discarded the phone and pulled his jumper over his head before crawling up the bed and over her.

"I trust you Harry. It's fine."

She wasn't sure what it was about those words, but he grew, thicker between her thighs and larger in her presence before he was kissing her bra off and asking if he could leave the stockings and shoes on.

"'Mmmhmmm." Emma moaned from her perch on the pillows looking down watching him pull her panties free and reattaching her stockings. "Damn." He kissed both places and flipped her over to skate his lips up her thighs and ass and back. Her hair was over her face while he kissed her neck and rutted into her with his jeans still on. She grabbed a handful of his glorious hair and kissed him over her shoulder. "Like this?" She asked.

"Mmhmmm." He echoed and she felt him kicking his jeggings free and sliding on the condom. She was flat on the mattress and unsure if he wanted her to push back on her knees. She didn't need to think about it long, he hoisted her up, and pressed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades so her body arched like a slide. His fingers climbed up to cascade down her backbone in an echo of the ride he was about to take down. He was right there, hovering, and Emma pushed back, but the whine in her voice was the more obvious tell.

"Baby, I need you."

"I need you, so much. Miss you when I'm gone."

She missed him when she was gone too. He slid his head in and waited. Emma wasn't really in control of the clenching this caused and it made Harry lose his grip on his. The smack of his hips against her thighs reverberated off the borrowed walls they considered their own.

He stroked her inside out and commented on the grip of her onto his dick. "It's like you don't want to let me go," he whispered into her ear.

Emma turned her head and breathed, "I don't want to." The kiss broke his rhythm and lingered until her clenching started over, again. How was she so close so soon?

"No, no, no." She whined when he pulled out.

"Shhhh, I've got you." He knew she was onto something, they'd become practiced hands at each other's pleasure.

He flipped her over and smoothed her hair back, bracketing her face between his hands like an aside he needed to voice right at that moment. "I just want to see you."

He went back in with ease, and with anybody else she might be ashamed for how embarrassingly wet she was, for the squelch. "God! Harry!" Her thighs came up to his hips and he hitched one over his elbow and open, then lay a good portion of his weight onto her. It was just the right side of too much. Just like all of him.

"Let me find it again, that high you were chasing?"

She was nodding, babbling. He picked up the rhythm from before and added a tiny rut at the end to the swelling of her clit. She was back on the trail to the summit quickly. It had been good, if fumbling, from night one. By this gift season, it was like he had installed all of her buttons personally and could push her to the edge at will. Her eyes were closed and she was concentrating hard on the oasis just beyond her horizon.

"Baby," he whispered, his breath soft and scented like her lip balm. "Open your eyes." He was just over her and he wrapped her open thigh back and around his knee. "Watch me," he made a c with his body so she could watch the goings on and feel them too.

"Oh, fuck."

"I love your filthy mouth. When you get going. Demure driven Emma on the brink has a dirty dirty mouth."

She'd narrow her eyes at him if she could bear to look away from his cock.

"Baby!" She gasped.

"Hold it, stay, just a little longer." He kissed her and then compelled her eyes to his. "I'll come with you."

His nose touched hers at just the tip and he rocked her and watched as she trembled and held off and pleaded. "Now, now, come now." He grit his teeth in preparation, but he needn't have worried, the minute he commanded it, she obeyed and the body roll of sensation ran from the roots of her hair to the bends of her knees.

He seized and his head fell back, but as soon as he was in command of himself again, his eyes were back on hers. "I love...," he gasped and her mind raced over what the hell he might say. What she wanted to gasp back. It was a bit of a comedown as opposed to a denouement when he filled in, "...having you for Christmas."

He buried his face in her neck and breathed into the nooks and crannies she thought she had kept safe from him.

Which was why it hurt so much when she had to tell him no.

His final gift, complete with an aching grin, had been an open ended ticket. "So you can come to me, with me, on tour."

She knew her brow knotted up like a bundle of discarded yarn. That wasn't the agreement. And she couldn't, couldn't even allow herself to want it. She had her PhD program looming. There was no time to go anywhere this fall.

"Harry, you know I can't."

He looked crestfallen, like this was new information and not why they only got these stolen snowbound days once a year. "Can't or won't?" He was verging on angry and it would piss her off if her heart wasn't so close to fissuring.

Honesty was her only policy, "Both." She handed the ticket back to him.

It ruined their night, the movie they tried to distract themselves with, the goodbye sex they didn't have.

He wasn't even there when she woke up the next morning.

But the tickets were on his pillow with a small note, "Change your mind, please. I'll be seeing you. H."