#by the way: if you’re familiar with mark in wing commander picture him like that for the third drabble. you’re welcome

[sonofthedunes]

belatedly in honor of mark’s birthday, a collection of glimpses into luke celebrating the day of his own birth with his favorite girl. featuring my oc andrie (and perhaps some other galactic friends). a little suggestive at points, but still safe for work.

the last of life, for which the first was made

0 ABY. 19 years old.

When Aunt Beru calls Luke to the front entrance of the homestead, he hurries there with trepidation-fully expecting a lecture from Uncle Owen about not cleaning the vaporators thoroughly enough that morning.

Instead, he finds a much more welcome sight: a girl his own age holding a small folded cloth, shrewd blue eyes peering out from the shawl loosely wrapped around her head and shoulders. “Hello, stranger,” she smiles. “Heard it was someone’s birthday around here.”

“Andrie!” Luke grins, clambering up the steps for a brief hug. “I thought I wouldn’t see you today.”

“So did I, but Garit-“ Andrie nods back toward her uncle, waiting by their landspeeder-“managed to persuade Grandmama that I should be able to deliver my best wishes to my friend…” The cloth is pressed into his hands. “And give him this.”

Curious, Luke unfurls the gift, revealing a cotton pocket kerchief. Its starched white surface is decorated only by a sprig of desert sage and funnel flowers in the lower right corner; the plants have been meticulously (if a bit clumsily) hand-stitched. “Oh, how lovely!” exclaims Beru, admiring it over her nephew’s shoulder. “Did you make this yourself, Andrie?”

“I did, ma’am, and hated every minute,” Andrie smiles. She lightly punches Luke on the arm. “It’s a good thing he’s worth it.”

Luke scowls as he refolds the kerchief and tucks it into the hidden pocket inside his tunic. “You really know how to make a guy feel special,” he replies sardonically-then his voice softens into something more sincere. “Thanks, though. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” answers Andrie, regarding Luke with the sort of affection almost no one else does. The grin returns to his own face like sunlight breaking through clouds…and neither teen notices their respective guardians exchange a meaningful glance behind their backs.

Andrie and Garit decline Luke and Beru’s invitation to stay for refreshments. They’re expected back at the Mykarrah homestead as soon as possible; Zaria’s list of duties for her granddaughter won’t complete itself. Just before they set off, Garit shakes Luke’s hand. “Happy birthday, Skywalker,” he says genially. “Hope it’s been a good one.”

“Thank you, sir. It has.” Luke has learned his courtesies well, no matter what the older Mykarrah women believe. He lingers to watch the landspeeder depart, fingers unconsciously resting over his chest-and the hidden pocket containing the kerchief. It will be carried with him to work most days, dabbed over his sweaty face and neck countless times, with each pat reminding him that a wonderful girl cared enough to make it for him. Eventually it will be destroyed when the Imperials storm the farm, burned with everything else…but Luke cherishes its memory for the rest of his days.

~~

2 ABY. 21 years old.

To celebrate the birthdays of both their dashing Rogue Squadron commander and courageous princess (born on exactly the same day! what a coincidence!), several of the X-wing pilots have decided to throw a party. It’s not a high-class affair: the booze is homemade and nearly corrosive, the only food slightly stale ration biscuits, and the venue the base’s makeshift mess hall. But when friends and comrades alike are gathered in good spirits, music blasting, repeatedly toasting the guests of honor with shouts of unabashed joy, none of that seems to matter much.

Seated with his closest companions, Luke absorbs the chatty chaos around him in a happy daze. He hasn’t been this tipsy in a long time-Han’s pushed perhaps a little more jet fuel on him than he should. The smuggler is currently focused on trying to charm Leia into dancing with him, and judging by her eye rolling he isn’t having much success. Those two, Luke thinks fondly, swirling the alcohol in his nearly-empty cup.

“Want a refill, starboy?” Andrie questions over the music, her words slightly slurred. His girlfriend’s high cheekbones are stained with sunfire, a few strands of her coppery hair escaping from their pinned knot. She looks very pretty.

“Nah. Any more, I’ll sleep right through drills tomorrow.”

“They’d probably let you, just this once. You’re an adult now, you know.” Andrie shifts a bit closer to him on the bench, arm slinging around his shoulders. “How does it feel?”

“Wait three weeks and you’ll find out,” Luke shoots back, referencing Andrie’s own upcoming birthday.

Her tongue pokes out at him. “Har har, hotshot.” Across the hall, a shout echoes as Hobbie has apparently won a fierce game of sabacc. Startled by the noise, the pair jump in their seats, which brings on a fit of giggles and apparently reminds Andrie: “Oh! You want your present now?”

Luke’s eyebrows zoom toward his hairline. If she means the kind of gift he received last year...“Right now?”

“Not that one, you dope!” she protests in mock-horror. “That one’s for later. This one!” Digging in her vest pocket, she produces a roughly creased square of brown flimsi. “Here.”

Inside lies a smallish helmet decal, shaped like a cresting ocean wave and colored cobalt blue with a white frothy crown. “So you can take a bit of me into space with you,” his sea-eyed girl explains. “If you want.”

His lips curve upward slowly. “You remember Manaan too.”

“Seeing the ocean for the first time with you…I’ll never forget that.” She kisses his jaw. “Happy birthday, Luke.”

Stowing the decal in his own pocket, the birthday boy pulls her closer. “So…how about my other present?” he murmurs cheekily into her ear.

She chuckles low, sending a delicious shiver up his spine. “You’re unbelievable. Later, I said. Let me enjoy some activities where I don’t have to be on my knees first.”

~~

21 ABY. 40 years old.

A hush has descended over their corner of Ossus as evening darkens. Insects chirrup in the forest surrounding the temple; the moon and stars glitter overhead. Padawans are sleeping, or pretending to be, in their individual huts after a long day of training. And in their hut, Luke and his wife quietly enjoy a glass of Akivan liqueur (a gift from Han and Leia) as he wonders: “Forty. How am I forty? Could’ve sworn that just yesterday I was a kid whining about power converters.”

Andrie sips at the floral purple liquid and shakes her head. “Time comes for all of us, Luke.”

“Not you,” insists Luke, eyes studying her intently in the lamplight. “You’re every bit as beautiful as the day I first came to your farm.”

“Oh, stop! Sometimes you’re worse than Lando,” she smirks. “And it’s your birthday-I should be the one complimenting you.”

He sets down his glass and leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve them much,” he admits, shrugging ruefully. Andrie can sense he means it to some extent-but he’s also playing up his melancholy, indicating that perhaps, if she so wishes, she could persuade him otherwise.

And why wouldn’t she, on today of all days? “Well, I disagree,” she begins, rising to her feet. “I think you should be told that you’re kind, and gentle, and compassionate. You’re powerful, but you never use that power to destroy unless you have no other choice.” As Andrie lists these qualities, she walks around the table to Luke. “You demand so much of our students, but you do it because you see their potential. You are a great Jedi Master. You’re a loyal friend, and a caring brother, and our nephew admires you.” Having reached his chair, she leans over him and his gaze flicks in her direction. “And you’re a wonderful husband…” A slender hand ghosts over his close-cropped beard. “And if I may say so, incredibly fucking sexy.”

Luke exhales a long slow breath, as much from her words as her touch traveling over his neck, his chest, lower still. “Andrie…”

“Hm?” she hums, pausing at his belt buckle.

In one swift motion, he sits upright again and pulls her onto his lap. As she exclaims in delighted surprise, he presses a kiss to the hollow of her throat, a grunt escaping him as he grinds his awakening arousal against her. “You really know how to make a guy feel special,” he manages, voice already rough with desire.

Andrie responds with a choked mewl, hands fisting in his hair and forcing him to make eye contact. “Happy birthday, my love,” she smiles before their lips meet, and part. His tongue slides in, warm and wet and insistent; his flesh hand glides up her ribs to cup her breast, thumb running over the nipple as it hardens even through the layers of her robes. Pelvises stir and stutter, searching for friction. Husband and wife sigh into each other’s mouths, soft as the breeze stirring the leaves outside. Whether they make it to the bed is debatable-but they know for sure that the Solos will be receiving a glowing thank-you note for that Akivan liqueur.

~~

35 ABY. 54 years old.

“Leia’s asking for you,” Andrie informs him, standing at the door to his quarters. (His, not their. Neither of them is ready for that yet.) “Poe’s organizing a little birthday toast for you two and she-“

“No.” Realizing how harsh that must sound, Luke hastily adds, “Thank you. I’d rather not.” The matter thus settled, he returns to the broken radio transmitter he was inspecting. Tinkering with things has always helped keep him calm and focused.

But Andrie doesn’t leave him alone, as he’d prefer. Crossing her arms, she frowns and says, “Don’t want them goggling at you like a zoo animal, huh?”

“…I guess that’s one way of putting it,” he acknowledges, placing the transmitter aside for the moment. Sitting on his bunk, Luke regards his wife as she fixes her eyes right back on him. The floor space between them might as well be a chasm. Six years of separation, of outright abandonment and deep wells of anger and pain, don’t simply vanish because an enemy is defeated. Their Force signatures dance so cautiously around each other, their past sinuous twining only an echo. The love remains, but the rest must be rebuilt…and if Luke could have any birthday wish fulfilled, that would be his choice.

And Andrie wants this too, he can feel it. But now isn’t the time to begin yet another hashing out. They stare in silence for another heartbeat before she relents, “All right, I’ll tell her. But before I go, can I give you something?”

He nods, fairly certain he’d requested no gifts of any kind today. Stepping into the simply furnished room, Andrie removes a cloth pouch from her jacket and places it in his outstretched palm. “I kept this,” she explains, “all the time you were gone. Almost didn’t…thought about burning it a few times. But I just couldn’t. It meant too much.”

Loosening the pouch strings, Luke turns the bag over and shakes out a braided leather cord. It is worn and fraying with age, its rich brown color now faded, but he’d recognize it anywhere. He hasn’t seen it since… “Stars,” he breathes, threading it through his fingers. “You want me to have this?”

“I do.”

“But why? I took everything this cord stands for and disgraced it. I was horrible to you. I-“ He stops himself cold before he truly careens down the shame spiral. “I can’t accept this.”

Andrie lowers herself onto the mattress and rests a comforting hand on his back. “You can keep it, but I want it to belong to both of us again. This is a symbol of what we promised each other on Endor. Our hearts and our lives, bound together in the living Force…”

“And what’s vowed in the Force can’t be undone,” he finishes. “I know. I don’t want to undo it.” He sighs heavily, then turns to face Andrie. “But I don’t think I’m worthy of this yet. I need more time.”

He half expects that famous Mykarrah temper to lash out at him then, for her to bite his head off like a rampaging rancor. But they are not the headstrong desert children that joined the Rebellion so many years ago. They have learned patience. They have endured horrors. And somehow, through everything, they have loved with a fierceness that still shocks him. She takes the cord from him and replaces it in its pouch, tying it tight. “Take all the time you need,” she reassures him. “You know where to find me.”

Leia still needs to be informed that her brother won’t be attending the birthday toast, so Andrie makes her exit. But before she does, she pecks her husband on the forehead and wishes him “happy birthday, Luke” with such tenderness his heart swells. The warmth of her surrounds him long after she leaves.

~~

59 ABY. 78 years old.

“Master Skywalker!”

Turning on the path, Luke meets the bright, nervous face of a young female Togruta, dressed in Padawan robes. Her purple lekku nearly trembling, she holds out to him a scraggly bouquet of wildflowers. “For you,” she clarifies helpfully. “For your birthday.”

He nods graciously at the child and accepts the flowers. “Thank you, Noshaa,” he says (once Luke learns a student’s name he never forgets it). “And how did you know it was my birthday?”

The answer is obvious before Noshaa replies. “Master Mykarrah told us after meditation. She said if we wanted we could give you a present, so Seffi and I picked those.”

“And you both chose well.” Indulgently Luke pats her on the head. “I’ll keep them in my quarters. Now run along or you’ll be late to saber practice. Master Rey doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

After Noshaa skips back along the garden path, Luke continues slowly on his way, leaning against the staff he has increasingly come to rely on these past few years. Had he really felt so old at forty? He’d dive into the sarlaac pit if it meant he could be middle-aged again. Staring down eighty means a motley collection of twilight maladies, including the culmination of a lifetime of chronic injuries. The phantom pain of his cybernetic hand, the stiffening of his bones from the emperor’s Force lightning, the Force projection at Crait which had weakened his heart and nearly cost him his life…and those are just the major occurrences. Some mornings Luke can barely rise from his bed, and every night brings a wave of exhaustion like he’s never experienced.

And yet…even as his body fails him, his mind remains clear and he is strong in the Force. He is loved by his Padawans, by his surviving friends, by the galaxy at large-

And by the woman dearer to him than anyone else.

She sits on a bench overlooking the valley the resurrected Jedi Order calls home, though she immediately stands when she hears his staff tapping against the flagstones. “I was wondering where you were,” Andrie remarks as she guides her husband to his seat. Noticing the flowers, she asks, “From Noshaa and Seffi?”

Glad to be off his feet for a while, Luke passes the bouquet to his wife as he settles into the weathered bench. “Yes,” he groans, wincing as joints crack and pop. “Very sweet girls, but…I don’t like being fussed over much anymore.”

“Our older pupils are already aware it’s your birthday, Luke,” Andrie points out. “They would’ve told the young ones anyway. I just beat them to the punch.”

“…Still,” he mutters, “it’s the principle of the thing.”

“I apologize, then. I should have asked you first.”

“You’re forgiven.”

They don’t speak for a few minutes, soaking in the beauty of this place; after decades of a shared life, silences feel natural and perhaps even needed. Eventually Luke speaks: “Sometimes I think about him.”

“Who, dear heart?” Andrie inquires, slipping her hand into his.

“Him. Me. Who I once was.” Staring at the clouds drifting across the distant mountains, Luke continues as though he’s recounting a half-remembered dream. “I see that farm boy in my mind, yearning to leave that desert and become a great pilot, totally unaware of his destiny…he’s almost a stranger, but I know him far too well.” The lines and furrows of his face deepen in thought; his hair and beard (now with no trace of their former blond) ruffle in the breeze. “Do you ever think about her?”

“Often. More often now then I used to.” Andrie’s own hair contains only a few strands of copper, as always creeping stubbornly from their bindings. “I’m sad for her. She was angry and trapped and felt she could do nothing except snap her teeth at shadows…” Her grip tightens gently around Luke’s hand. “And then she met him.”

“The Force led them to each other, you mean,” he smiles nostalgically.

“And before they even knew what the Force was, they listened when it told them to walk their road together. It was long and painful, and they stumbled plenty of times-but it was worth it.”

Leaning over, Luke nuzzles her cheek, breathing in the scent of her. Andrie purrs a little at the sensation of his beard on her skin. “There are many things I’d do differently if I had the chance,” he confesses. “But not this. Not choosing you.”

“I told you a long time ago, you’re the only man for me,” she asserts. Then she grins wolfishly. “I don’t think any other man would’ve tolerated me this long.”

He barks a short laugh. “You tolerated me, more like.”

“You’re saying Wormie and Little Ghost weren’t made for each other?”

Shaking his head in good-natured exasperation, Luke draws Andrie’s head down to his shoulder. “It’s nice when we can be together like this,” he opines. “Just us.” And the memory of those no longer with us, the unspoken part hangs in the air. Leia, Han, Lando…their three lost children, never born…all who fought and died alongside them to restore peace in the galaxy. Among the beauty there is bloodshed, and among the bloodshed beauty. Such is the way of the Force.

And they have witnessed so much, if not together in body than connected in spirit. He is the wide open sky, she the restless ocean. “I love you, Luke,” Andrie whispers, one of the only truths she has ever counted on. “Happy birthday.”

“And I love you, Andrie,” he murmurs, drawing strength and serenity from her very being. “Always. You’re the only gift I need.”

“You’re such a sap, Skywalker.”

“But I’m your sap.”

“Shut up and come here,” she snickers, and the two share a playful but intimate kiss. Luke finds himself thinking of the kerchief she’d embroidered for him on his nineteenth birthday, the desert sage and funnel flowers in the corner. Her very first present to him, and now this-what he knows in his heart will be one of the last. Both equally as important to him. Both as treasured.

Five months later, Master Luke Skywalker breathes his last and becomes one with the Force. Andrie remains with him to the very end.

[pumpkinpot]

Jealousy turned submissive

A/n: Hi! this is my first post, I am sorry for any grammar errors. Yes, he calls us Little Crow. i thought it was cUTe. enjoy. 

Tag warnings: this is smut. use of vibrator, Y/N dom themes, jealous themes, 

*

*

Y/n," I say, offering my hand.

The man takes it in his with a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Cooper," he announces over booming club music. "you look as bored as I feel," gesturing to my now flat soda and open laptop. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

The setup does give off that feel. As I suppose, was proposed, but his company is appreciated. You can only monotonously skim Pinterest for so long. “I’m waiting for someone to finish their weekly chores.”

“Ah,” he confirms, “Bartender or dancer?” 

“Neither.” 

Over the next hour, I learn my new friend is a recently widowed father who was dragged out by his friends but isn’t quite ready to start dating. He spends my attention showing off pictures of his wife and toddler son. The conversation comes easy, I tell him about my most recent publication, only for him to reveal his wife's affinity for my work. 

Cooper and I shuffle along the outskirts of the crowd to the bar to refill our non-alcoholic drinks. Along the way, he sneaks subtle cheers at his friends to ease their prying excitement while I slip winks at my secret date at the catch of his eye. 

“So, why aren’t you out with your date?” Cooper asks. 

“I’m not the public type. His job forces him to be, I’m here for moral support, but from a

distance.”

“Ah, so he’s a hero?” 

As the question mark finishes drying at the end of his sentence I feel a soft trail draw down the side of my neck. 

Warmth presses against my back, the feather suspended at the crook of my chest. 

“Don’t let me interrupt,” comes a grating voice from behind me. 

One look at Cooper's face says the look on Hawks is not a friendly one. Without a glance back I slip my hand around my boyfriend's waist, pulling him to my side. 

“Cooper,” I greet, “this is Hawks.”

His wing extends possessively around my shoulder, every feather fanned in attention. I work my hand under the seam of Keigo's silk black shirt delicately trailing a finger up the joint of his left-wing. His knees nearly buckle at the touch, his grip of anger forcibly stripped from his body. 

“Nice to meet you, my wife and I were really big fans.”

“Really," Hawks confirms, "Where is your wife?” 

“-Okay,” I interrupt before more can be said. “Hawks, shall we head home?”

I exchange a brief apologetic goodbye with Cooper before leading hawks out the back gate.

I am yet from the club's threshold when Hawks sweeps me into his arms, taking flight. I choke on profanities swallowed down with two AM air.  

Keigo says no words the entire way home, only sparing me a glance to set me properly on our balcony, yet he waits not for my legs to stop shaking before pulling me against the glass of the sliding door. 

“You made me very jealous tonight my little crow.” He whispers, slipping a hand around the curve of my waist.  “Watching you talk and smile with that man all night, drove me crazy. You’re lucky I-” One hand around my wrists. "-had work to do tonight or-" the other he tugs up my dress. "-you'd gotten this punishment much sooner. 

I allow him to take me as he wishes. hiking my legs along the curve of his hips as he pulls me into our bedroom and stripes me. He takes his time to leave small lovebites along my collarbone and inner thigh, marking me as his. 

I allow him to slip his cock between my lips, even gag a few times just to see the power well in his eyes. 

He teases my cunt, drawing circles around my clit a string of possessive promises tumbling from jealous lips.

At the softest whimper, he loses control, slipping inside of me starved by his own punishment.

He pushes further into me hungrily, pulling my arms around him and kissing me with a consuming desire. The familiar shutter of his wings announces he's near climax.

Heaves come in broken commas of release, his wings sweeping behind him, slacking in exhaustion. 

"Keigo," I whisper, through the wave of his orgasm. 

"Hmm," he answers through a kiss. He sets inside of me, pumping slowly through the deflation of his erection. 

"what's our safe word?" 

His body tenses under the question and he pulls back slightly, "what?" 

"Our safe-word, what is it?" I say, slowly moving to straddle his lap.

"Pomegranate, why?"

"Hmm, remember that."

I slip a silicone vibe over my fingertips while distracting him with a drunken kiss. 

I dance my fingers under the curve of his wing joints before turning on the oscillation.

A broken whimper tumbles from his slacked jar. He digs temporary grooves into my back, burying his face into my shoulder.

"Ah, baby-"

"Now that you're reveling in your oversensitivity," I whisper, "you're going to answer some questions for me, understand?"

His deflation comes to a halt, blood rushing back to his groin. "little cr-"

"understand?" I say, upping the vibration. 

He stifles an outcry between his teeth, nodding, "y-yes-"

"yes what?"

"Yes, mistress-"

 He presses his hips up into mine, soaking any relief my clenched thighs allow.

"You embarrassed me tonight." I affirm, "you asked me to be there and paid me no mind all night."

My fingers weave the roots of his feathers not yet to touch the joint itself.

"Fuck.” He moans, “baby I-"

"Stop talking," I command, stiffing another attempt at a thrust. cockwarming inside of me I begin to massage the connection of feathers to the nexus.

His moans fall to feeble whimpers and broken expletives.

 "Keigo, do you think I would allow anyone to come between me, and this?" I ask, giving one full-length, slow thrust. 

I bite back my own moan with a tighter grip on his wing, refusing him any power at that moment. 

He pulls my shoulder between his teeth, suppressing a gasp. 

“No, no, look at me,” I say, using my unoccupied hand to lift his chin level with mine. “What came over you to believe I would entertain the idea of a mere man taking away what I have here.”

“But he-” 

I raise my hips, pulling off him nearly completely, only the head of his cock breaching my insides. He fights against my hips, pleading kisses being left across my chest. 

“I didn’t ask about him, I asked about me." I slip back onto him not forgoing my own pleasure for his mistake. "Answer the question.” I grid just enough to grant to feel his stubble tickle my clit but not enough for him to get any real reprieve.

Nail marks decorate my arms and no doubt my back. his fight to stay in control slipping from his grasp. 

“I should have trusted,” He breathes, “I-I’m sorry” another heave, “please let me-”

I pull up once again, undulating the tip to pull him further from his orgasm and keep him teetering on insanity. 

  “Little crow please I need-"

My nails scrape against his scape as I pull his head back by the roots of his hair. His chin tips to the ceiling and I take my time to lick up his ear before pulling the lobe between my teeth. “You ever act out like that again, I’ll fuck you until you cry.” 

He gives as much of a nod as he can, collapsing into a fit of hungry thrusts as my hips open to him. 

[crewhonk]

I’ve read your cockwarming with poe drabble so many times it’s basically ingrained in my mind and yet it still delights me every time 😩 any chance I can request some semi or just straight up public sex with poe? I love the thrill of possibly getting caught 👀

This isn’t good– I’m sick and tired and also drunk so YEET-- this is just a blurb rather than detailed fic! Smut (fingering, penetrative sex, exhibitionism) under the cut

Since the resistance had settled on Ajan Kloss– a small forest moon, the remaining group of resistance fighters wished to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Which meant that only the higher ranking members of the resistance got private quarters. You, being a lower ranking officer (you’d only joined a few months before you fled D’Qar) were forced to sleep in a bunking tent with two others. And honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad if the guy above you didn’t snore as loud as he does and it wouldn’t be so bad if you had the possibility of sleeping in Poe Dameron private quarters. 

It hadn’t taken long for either of you to get involved with each other. You were both extraordinary flyers, and you had a keen sense for strategy which allowed you to become a consultant to General Organa’s strategist. Both you and Poe had clicked almost instantly, as well as Finn and Rey and found yourself sitting with them and BB-8 at most meals and fire nights. 

Then, one evening, Poe kissed you. You’d been working on your baby x-wing, your flight suit unzipped to your waist and tied around your hips. Your hair had been escaping from its ponytail tied at the nape of your neck and the fly aways were plastered to the sweat on your forehead. Your white tank was damp and clinging, and your tattoos shone in the setting sun and Poe literally walked up to you, handed you the wrench you’d asked for upon his arrival and kissed you full on the mouth (you’d dropped you wrench). 

Since then, you’d survived fleeing the first resistance and the battle following it and it was almost every day that Poe begged your o just cave and sleep with him in his tent– something you would have done if it wasn’t for the side eyed stares you got every time you were seen with him. You knew there were whispers– you sleeping with the Commander to climb ranks or to get closer to the General or the ‘Chosen One’. 

So you slept in your bunk beds and suffered the snoring and gas-passing and all the bad things that came with sharing a small ten not quite made for ten people to live in together. 

One night, when you were just about to close your eyes for the night, you heard the tent flaps opening and closing quickly. Now, you weren’t surprised this was happening- people snuck in places all the time so people could spend nights with their partners but frankly you really weren’t in the mood to listen to two people try to be quiet while they took pleasure in each others company. 

What surprised you was when two very familiar hands found your body and how a familiar weight made the corner of the mattress sink, and how two familiar lips found your cheek and jaw. 

“Can’t believe you’d rather sleep in this place than with me.” Poe grumbled, pulling you to lay on your back and kissing you on the lips. You breathed out a sigh and pulled your blanket back before wrapping it around the both of you. He shifted slightly, settling between your thighs and deepening your kiss, trying his best to pull out any noises from you that he could. His hands coasted down your torso and squeezed, sliding under your short and teasing the skin over your ribs. 

“Poe Dameron, you are not trying to get it on in a room with ten other people.” You breathed out a laugh and he snorted quietly, burying his face in your neck and kissing over your jaw to nip your ear lobe. 

“What if I am.” He whispered into your ear and you could feel your back arch into him and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“Poe– no we can’t.” You breathed and sucked in a breath of air when his mouth found your shoulder and collar bone. 

“We can, actually– even though it’d be easier to do it in my tent if you swallowed your pride and just moved in.” He cooed and let his hand tease the waistband of your sleep pants, dipping under and pressing his fingers to your mound– touching nothing sensitive but making you writhe nevertheless. 

“You know why I can’t–” You cut yourself off as his finger slipped between your lips, gathering your juices and circling back up to press against your clit. 

“Let me convince you.” He replied. You blinked up at him, trying your best to see him in the darkness of the tent. You had both done things like this with each other– touching and foreplay, but you’d never gotten into the full act of sex, yet. There was never enough time or privacy for things like that anymore– but maybe there would never bee enough time or privacy, and with the threat of death and war just on the horizon– nothing was certain. 

“Quietly.” You whispered and you could almost feel Poe’s entire body explode with excitement. He moved immediately, gliding fingers into your core and thumbing your clit as he kissed you soundly, swallowing the threat of any moans of gasps he knew you’d let go. 

His body was hot and heavy against yours and it pressed you into the mattress– both the pressure and pleasure making it impossibly hard to breathe, and just as you though you were a goner, he curled his fingers just the right way and pressed his thumb against you just enough and your hand fisted his hair tightly, making him grunt into your mouth as you came around his fingers. 

He worked you down, slowly, languidly kissing you until your breathing regulated and slowed and he pulled away from you just enough to pull his hand from you and his pants down just enough to let himself out. Your hand wrapped itself around the base of his cock and he grunted at your touch. No matter how much you saw him, or touched him, you would never quite get over just how perfect he was. 

“Quiet, Dameron.” You hushed him and stilled when someone in the tent shifted, starting only again when the movement had stopped. You pulled at him again and his hands gripped your thighs tightly, finding your waistband and pulling your pants off entirely before settling between them again and kissing you. 

“I’ll go slow.” He whispered, and you nodded, curling your hand through his hair and gripping his bicep as he slowly entered you, splitting you I half and filling you in ways you had only ever imagined. He touched all of the right spots, eventually bottoming out and huffing hard against your neck. You were both shaking against each other, and when you wiggled your hips experimentally, he moaned. 

Loudly. 

You slapped a hand across his mouth and hissed a ‘shut up’ at him. Only when you were confident in his silence did you pull your hand away from him, and he immediately dropped his head into the pillow beside your ear. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Princess. Fuckin’ made for me.” He grunted low into your ear and pulling out of you only to slide into your once more. Eventually you both figured out a rhythm that had both of you chocking back moans and grunts, and you were sue neither of you would last long– you due to the pain and pleasure combination and previous orgasm, and him due to the first experience of being inside of you. 

“God, Sweetheart, I’m gonna–” He grunted, rutting his hips harder against yours and bringing a hand down to tease your clit and make you clench dangerously around him. 

“Me too, Poe– oh, Maker.” You whimpered into his neck, words no louder than a breath. 

He worked himself harder above you, thick arms caging you against the bed and teeth sinking into your neck. You could tell how much he wanted to be vocal– hell, he’d always been vocal all the previous times you’d gotten him off. His grip on you and the speed of his thrusts seemed to be compensating for his vocality, however, and his movements against your clit quickened and almost immediately sent you over the edge, arching into him and forcing his head down to yours so you’d have something to cover your mouth with. You squeaked pathetically into his mouth as you clenched down on him, riding out your pleasure as he came shortly after, spilling himself inside of you and warming you up in ways that made your heart flip. He bit down on your bottom lip, and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so tightly against him as his hips pathetically rolled against yours, dragging both of your orgasm out longer and making it just that much harder to keep quiet. 

Finally, both of you seemed to calm down enough, curling yourself around each other. He mouthed at your shoulders and neck lazily, marking you up just like he’d pictured you and you raked your fingers through his hair eyes closed and shivering at every touch he gave you. You were so damn relaxed you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d both just melted into puddles. 

You were incredibly relaxed until you realized that the guy above you wasn’t snoring. Not only him– but nobody else was either. 

“Poe.” You whispered and he grunted, determined to live out this post-sex haze as long as he could. 

“Poe, you gotta go I don’t think we were as quiet as we thought we were.” You whispered and he shrugged. 

“No, no you weren’t. Please, for the love of god move into his tent. I never want to hear those sounds for as long as I live.” Someone from across the tent piped up and there were murmurs of agreement following, and you and Poe froze, before he fell into a string of giggles. 

“Well? Did I convince you?” He asked, and you pressed the backs of your hands to your burning cheeks. He was still settled between your thighs, buried deep inside of you, and staring down at you with what you could only assume was hopeful eyes. 

“Well, I guess I should now, huh?” You groaned, amusement making your voice sound thick. Several satisfied sighed sounded across the room as you both got up from the bed. You both redressed quickly, packing your small amount of belonging and walking slowly out of your old tent and into your new one across camp– the thrill of being as loud or of taking as much time as you damn well pleased with each other making your heart stutter and stomach twist happily. Who needs privacy or time to get where you need to go?

[hopes4gf]

Thievery and Mischief- (a descendants/marvel crossover)

After the tour, I decide to pay a little visit to my friends at Auradon Prep, Tia and Tavian, my favorite twins from Louisiana and drama club captains.

”Yo, Adri! What’s up?” Tavian says.

”Long time no see, how y’all doing?” I ask.

”Good now that there’s some peace and quiet,” Tia says, looking up towards the top of the stage.

”Not my fault you guys are so boring,” A voice says from the rafters.

I look up and see a guy with large wings, almost like a bird’s.

He stares at me, his eyes widening and suddenly he swoops down. 

“Holy crap, you’re Adri Ababwa. I’m a big fan,” The guy says now standing in front of me.

”Nice wings man,” I say.

”Thanks, I grew them myself. Mutant powers y’know?” Angel says.

”Mutants?” I ask.

”My dad is a fairy, my mom is a sorceress. I’m Angel, by the way,” He says.

”Angel...by any chance are you the Bell twins’ cousin?” I ask.

He nods.

”They talk about you all the time, I see why now,” I say.

”It’s rare to see mutants in families. Some have wings, have claws in their hands, can shapeshift, that’s probably why I look up to you,” Angel says.

”Cause I can shapeshift into a tiger?” I ask.

”Exactly,” Angel says.

Tia and Tavian stare at us confusedly.

”Power talk,” I say.

The bell rings and the twins collect their things.

”Ooh, Tia! When’s the next time your mom can make me some of her famous gumbo?” I ask.

”If you come with me now, we can stop by her restaurant,” Tia says.

I turn to Angel.

”Wanna come?” I ask.

”Sure,” Angel says.

————

After meeting Angel, I learned some things about mutants and their abilities. This lesson was pretty enlightening and made me feel like I wasn't alone with my curse.

Later, I get a call from a number I don't recognize while walking through the gardens. I pick up the phone.

"Hello?" I say through the phone.

"Hey, Adri. It's been a while," A familiar voice says through the phone.

I recognize the voice to be Stefani, or Lady Gaga through the phone.

"Oh my gosh, Stefani! It's such an honor to talk to you again," I say happily. 

I sit under the usual gossip tree to take the call.

"I know. Anyways, darling, I have a little project for you. You're someone who I love and hold dear as an artist, so I want to collaborate with you on a couple of songs for a movie I'm producing a soundtrack for," Stefani says.

"You want to collaborate with me for a motion picture soundtrack?" I ask.

"Mark Ronson is also gonna help and a couple of people from my team too. I was also looking in the credits for your album and I saw your boyfriend did the mixing for a couple of songs. I was hoping you and him might want to tag along on this," Stefani adds.

"I'm sure he would e happy to, but for now all I can say is yes to you on my own behalf. I would absolutely love to," I say with a smile.

"Great! I'll text you meeting details on Friday," Stefani says.

"Great!" I say.

I hang up the phone and giggle. I feel like screaming for joy. So many great things are happening! I guess that's what happens when you hit rock-bottom, you only go up from there. And now, everything is looking up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk to the gym where I find Jay with Lonnie and the rest of the fencing team.

”Take a break, boys!” Lonnie says, blowing her new captain’s whistle.

Jay spots me by the doors and walks over with a smile on his face.

”Hey, babe,” He greets.

Before he can kiss me, I put my finger over his lips.

”We have songs to write for Gaga,” I say with a smile.

Jay’s smile drops.

”Gaga? As in, Lady Gaga? Grammy award winner, Gaga?” Jay asks.

”She just called me and she wants us to write her songs for a movie,” I say.

Jay smiles widely and lifts me of the ground, hugging me tightly. 

“Jesus, why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s great! What if we win as Oscar or a Grammy or even a Teen choice award? I’m so proud of you,” Jay rants.

I laugh at his reaction to the news.

”Why is Jay smiling like that?” Lonnie asks, coming up to us.

”We get to write music for Lady Gaga,” Jay says proudly.

Lonnie’s jaw drops.

”Congratulations! You deserve it for making such good songs for her album,” Lonnie says, patting Jay’s shoulder.

”Nah, the real mastermind is Adri. Her lyrics and her voice made the songs much more beautiful,” Jay says.

I blush softly and punch his arm shyly.

”Shut up,” I mutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Jay’s practice, we follow Lonnie to Coach Jenkin’s office.

”There's my favorite captains!” Coach says.

“Oh shush, we know we’re good,” I say with a smirk.

I first bump Lonnie.

”Speaking of Captains, I got word of your schedule changes,” He says, pointing to me and Jay.

”Even though these changes have been made, I still think you’d be able to advise your teams. Especially you, Jay, since Ben is out of action,” Coach explains.

”Are you promoting me?” Jay asks.

”I’m making you Captain of the Tourney team, Jay,” Coach says.

Jay’s jaw drops.

”No way,” Jay says in shock.

“Looks like things are looking up, JJ,” I say with a smile.

Jay’s mouth morphs into a smirk.

”Damn right,” He says.

Coach gives us a soft smile.

”You guys can celebrate or something, but on Monday, I expect you all to adjust,” Coach says.

”Yeah,” We all agree.

Suddenly, the announcements go off.

”Adri Ababwa, please report to Fairy Godmother’s office,” The announcement says.

”Did you get your skateboard taken again?” Jay asks.

”How many times are you gonna get that thing confiscated?” Lonnie asks, rolling her eyes.

”It’s in my locker, chill. I have no idea,” I say, getting up from my seat.

I walk through the door and walk to the office.

I walk into the headmistress’s office and I see Mal and Ben with Fairy Godmother.

”Long time no see,” I say to Ben and Mal.

”Glad you’re here,” Ben says, hugging me.

”We called you here because Mal has a proposal for you,” Fairy Godmother explains.

“Rogers stepped down from his position,” Mal says.

My smile fades. Steve Rogers? Family friend, Avengers, Steve?

”Steve stepped down from Captain? Why?” I ask.

“He and Tony had a dispute after Voltron in Germany. I’ve tried to keep a temporary position since Uma came into the Isle, but we need more troops. I think you’d be the best for it because of your powers and experience. And plus, you're already trusted on the court,” Mal explains.

”Mal, I’d be honored to. But I have to find a way to fit it into my schedule. The only free time I have is around now,” I say.

”So, then you can clock in at 5 and finish at 8,” Ben says.

”It's an intensive training role. You’d pick up recruits, train them, and go to the dungeons,” Ben says.

”Not bad,” I think.

”Fine, I’ll do it,” I say.

”Thank you so much,” Mal says with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk into the base of operations and spot a familiar face. Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend, and newest Avenger.

”Hey, metal arm,” I joke.

”Thank god you’re here,” Bucky says, spotting me.

He gives me a side hug.

”What the hell is wrong with Steve?” I ask him.

”Steve doesn’t agree with the new laws set by Rhodes and the Marshall. Since Sokovia, they wanna add restrictions on our powers because of the explosion and because of that telekinesis girl,” Bucky says.

”I mean they did destroy the city too,” I mention.

”The reason for Tony’s nightmares,” Bucky recalls.

”He has nightmares?” I ask.

”Yeah, if Loki ever comes back, he’ll have a malfunction,” Bucky says.

”Let’s hope that his arc reactor surgery saves him,” I say.

Bucky laughs, remembering he doesn’t have a heart.

”Anyways, let me show you around. So, this is the center of the base, here we have our tanks, our fake grenades, our armory, and training center,” Bucky explains.

”And the troops?” I ask.

”I think that’s your job to cause the first commotion,” Bucky says, handing me a grenade.

”Watch this, grandpa,” I say, taking the grenade from his hands. 

I toss the grenade into a group of guys.

They all huddle near the grenade trying to cover it and push each other away.

”Hey! What the hell are you sons if bitches doing? If you see an enemy grenade, you take cover!” I yell.

”The hell is this bitch?” One of the guys asks.

”Bitch? I’m not anyone’s bitch, and for the record, I’m your new Captain,” I say.

The troops all mutter and scoff at each other.

”Go home, kid! You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re gonna train us,” Another guy says.

”What’re your names?” I ask the guys.

They both look at me like I’m dumb.

”I’m Jack. This is Lio,” Jack says.

”I’m promoting you,” I say.

They both look at each other in shock.

”Both of you are now my Lieutenants. You’re gonna spend the majority of training by my side. Whoever are Lieutenants, you’re demoted. If there’s anything I know about being a soldier, you’d fight any fight or anyone to make it to the top. As I train each of you, you must be following my direct orders only. I will watch you all carefully and see if any of you demonstrate proper soldiers' skills. That will determine if you are my second in command. New recruits will all be promoted in place of older ones. As long as you keep up with your task, you’re safe. Any bullshit, you’re out, understand?” I say.

”Yes ma’am,” The Troops say.

I grab a sword from a barrel and I throw it at Lio.

”Get to work,” I order.

The troops go to their assigned positions and Lio and Jack come towards me.

”Who the hell are y-“ Lío starts.

”Bro, that's Adri Ababwa,” Jack explains.

”The artist?” Lio asks.

“Yeah, I’m a huge fan and I’m so fucking sorry about the way I acted earlier,” Jack apologizes.

”It’s fine, I don’t take shit personally. At least anymore,” I say.

”Bruh, you called her a bitch,” Lio comments.

”Shut up,” Jack mutters.

”Listen, I can already tell you two are friends. So please make this easy for me and shut the fuck up and listen,” I say honestly.

”You know you remind me a lot of Rogers,” Jack says.

”We’re friends,” I say.

”You’re friends with Steve Rogers?” Lio asks.

”Yes, now listen up. We’re gonna do some tactical work. You’re gonna go through the grass here with your rifles, your gonna shoot three birds and bring them to me. Got it?” I order.

”Yes ma’am,” They say.

They then pick up their rifles and crouch through the grass.

They miss every shot when birds pass by. One of them lands on Lio’s head and he coos the bird. I roll my eyes at his action. Then, Jack shoots two birds at once. My eyes widen at his shot. They fall into the grass and he picks them up. Lio shoots a bird and it falls slowly.

”That's one big bird,” Lio comments. 

As it falls to the ground I notice it’s not a bird. 

“Are fucking stupid? That’s a human, not a bird!” Jack shouts. 

I run quickly under the person and they fall in my arms.

”Angel? Jesus, are you okay?” I realize.

The metal winged man winces in pain. I realize his hip is bleeding.

”Lio, what the hell is wrong with you? You shot him in the ribs,” I say.

I place him in the grass and reach for Jack’s medkit. He hands it to me and I open it up. I take a pair of tweezers and some alcohol.

”Sit still,” I advise.

I pry the bullet from his hip slowly and Angel grits his teeth from the pain. The bullet comes out cleanly and I put alcohol on the wound and wrap it up.

”Can you fly?” I ask him.

”Sure,” Angel says.

He uses his wings to fly up straight.

”Now who the fuck mistook me for a hunting duck?” Angel asks.

Jack points to Lio.

”Come on, man,” Lío says exasperatedly to Jack.

”Terrible shot,” Angel comments.

Then he takes the gun from Lio’s hand and shoots a bird. The shot is clean and the bird falls quickly to the grass.

”That's how you shoot,” Angel says, picking up the bird from the grass.

He’s good. And he’s got those wings too. 

“Hey, Angel? You got anything to do after school?” I ask him.

”No,” He scoffs.

”Would you be interested in being a troop?” I ask him.

”What?” Lio and Jack ask.

”Well, I’ve got nothing else to do,” Angel says.

I smirk and pat his shoulder.

Later, I give Angel his new uniform and make him another Lieutenant. We continue tactical shooting until sunset.

I then search the premises of the base and look at the other troops. They whisper and smirk as I pass by. Some troops, practice grenade launching, shooting positions, fencing. I think to myself:

”Maybe this is something Jay would be interested in hearing.”

I smirk to myself as I think about how successful Jay has been so far in his time in Auradon. I walk into the training center and spot Bucky talking to a troop.

”Hey, how was your first day?” Bucky asks.

”Could’ve been better, but it means progress,” I say with a soft smile.

”Good to know you’re a hard hitter instead of a soft princess. Kind of like your mom,” Bucky says.

”Don’t mention me and my mom in the same sentence, you 100-year-old soldier. That’s like putting you and Steve in the same sentence about ice,” I say, rolling my eyes.

”Shut the hell up,” Bucky says punching my arm with his regular fist.

”You ever punch me with your vibranium arm, I will kill you,” I warn.

Bucky laughs and leaves me alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day at school, Angel and I decided to sit together at lunch. We talk about training and new things I could teach the troops. As we talk about ammunition I spot Jay talking to Ruby Fitzherberg, Rapunzel’s daughter. I see her pressing upon him and twirling her blonde hair. Jay uncomfortably tries to walk away.

”Oh god,” I say, rolling my eyes.

”God what?” Angel asks me.

”Jay is with Ruby,” I say.

”Ruby? The girl who slept with five guys at once? You better scoop your man before she gets him,” Angel advises.

”How do you know that?” I ask.

”What? I’m gay. Of course, I know,” Angel explains.

My eyes widen at his words.

”Huh?” I ask dumbfoundedly.

”I said what I said, I’m gay,” Angel says.

I blink in confusion and stand up from the bench. 

I walk over to Jay and Ruby and sling my arm around his shoulder. 

“Hey guys,” I say.

”Adri! Nice to see you after you dealt with Angel in the theatre,” Ruby says.

”You were there? I didn’t see you or hear your annoying voice,” I say with a smirk.

”I was just asking Jay whether or not he likes my new hair,” Ruby says flirtatiously towards Jay, ignoring my words.

”Um, it looks the same,” I say.

”That’s what I said,” Jay agrees.

”Come on, I cut it 4 inches!” Ruby says playfully hitting Jay’s arm.

”Excuse me, can you not put your hands on him?” I ask her.

”Why not?” Ruby asks.

”It’s super clear that he’s uncomfortable,” I say.

”No he’s not,” Ruby replies bitterly.

Ruby turns to Jay.

”Adri, can we go?” Jay asks.

”Gladly,” I say through gritted teeth.

I grab Jay’s arm and we walk back to my table.

”Who’s this?” Jay asks, seeing Angel.

”This is Lieutenant Angel, the guy Ruby was talking about,” I say.

”Jay. Jay Farr, I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Adri,” Jay says.

”I’ve heard a lot about you too,” Angel says.

”Anyways, you saw what I saw right?” I ask Angel.

”Um, obviously. Ruby has absolutely no self-control. Hey, I’m gay by the way and if you ever and I mean EVER dump her, you’re either getting a Louboutin heel to the face or a date with me,” Angel says.

I scoff at his remarks.

”What? He’s hot,” Angel compliments.

”Thanks, man but I have plans with this girl so...no thanks,” Jay says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

”Like I was saying, Ruby thinks she is all preppy and cool when she’s totally out of line for that shit,” I say to Angel.

”What did she do exactly?” Jay asks, peeking in the conversation.

”She was flirting with you- anyways I try to be sane one...”

”And you’re complaining why?” Jay asks in between my words.

Angel snickers to himself. I glare at Jay.

”You. Are. Mine. End of story,” I say through gritted teeth.

Jay laughs to himself after I speak. 

“Jeez, you’re jealous! I didn’t actually think you’d slide into the conversation because of that,” Jay laughs.

”With your tendencies, it was so obvious that you were uncomfortable but when I walked over you played into it! It was so clear,” I say frustratedly.

Jay continues to laugh at my responses. I look over at Angel and rolls his eyes.

”She feels like your toying with her and she doesn’t like it,” Angel blurts out.

Jay stops laughing and his smile drops. He turns to see me.

I play with the underside of my nail, trying not to look at Jay.

”Is that true?” Jay asks.

”I don’t know. Maybe I just feel like at any moment you could be suddenly interested in some other girl who’s better than I am,” I mutter.

Jay puts a hand on my thigh and I turn to face him.

”Baby, why would I make plans with you if I didn’t love you or care about you enough to stay with you?” Jay asks.

I blush lightly and shrug.

”It’s because I think your worth every minute of my life,” Jay says sincerely.

I smile softly and I kiss his cheek.

”That's cute,” Angel says.

”Shut up,” I giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later,

”Tell me something, boy. Aren’t you tired try to- Fuck what rhymes with that?” I sing, stopping mid-way to think.

”Void?” Stefani suggests.

”Damn it, why is it so hard to write a love song without having the word love in it?” I ask exasperatedly.

”Cause it’s impossible?” Jay suggests.

”It is possible. We’ve just got two weeks to figure it out,” Stefani says, sitting back down in her chair.

Jay puts out his hand for me to pass him the guitar.

”How about we just repeat a couple of lines?” Jay says, receiving the guitar.

“Tell me something, boy, aren’t you tired of trying to fill that void?

or do you need more?” He starts.

”Aint it hard keeping it so hardcore?”  Stefani finishes.

”Yes! That’s it,” I say, writing it down.

We’re about to finish the last song of the motion picture and we’re almost done. But the lyrics keep falling apart.

”Maybe Bradley should just come in here and help us,” I suggest.

We call in Stefani’s co-star, Bradley and he sits.

”What’s the dilemma?” He asks.

”We need more ears. So, how about it?” Jay asks.

Jay hands Bradley the guitar.

”Shit, I’ve only been in classes for a month,” Bradley hesitates.

”You can do it,” Stefani says confidently.

youtu.be/MUX4ZWkDS-s

Bradley starts to strum the chords of the song. I hand Stefani our brainstorm journal and they both look at our lyrics.

They sing the parts of the song effortlessly. At one part, Stefani improvises and nails the part.

They finish and Jay and I clap.

”That was movie magic at its finest! Now, let’s record it, mix it, and then off we go,” I say.

We all get up from our seats to start working on our parts.

Jay and I lay down the mixing and Bradley and Stefani record. And just for fun, Stefani plays a piano version and we end up recording that too.

Later that night, we come home absolutely exhausted.

I plop onto my dorm room bed and sigh. I look up at my ceiling and see the moonlight peeking through my curtain. The bed sinks and I turn to see Jay lying there next to me, looking at the curtains.

”Long days at work, huh?” Jay asks me.

”I took off training to do that, so, yes,” I say.

We both paused in silence for a minute.

”Hey,” Jay speaks up.

”Yeah?”

”Do you think we’ll get nominated for anything?” Jay asks.

”Probably,” I say, thinking out loud.

”You know. I’m glad you asked me to start making music with you. It’s like something I can remember about you...like our own special thing, you know?” Jay says.

”Yeah. By the way, Stefani was the one who asked for you. Not me,” I say.

”Really? I didn’t think that would ever happen,” Jay says in surprise.

I chuckle at his reaction. I turn to my side and wrap my arm around his body. He does the same, pulling me closer to his chest by gripping my waist.

”Baby, where do you see us in the next year?” Jay asks.

I furrow my brows in confusion.

”I mean. Do you think we’ll be together after senior year next year?” Jay asks.

”I mean, we’ve had no problems with our career schedules so far. Sure we had the situation with Lonnie but luckily I’m that wasn’t real,” I say.

Jay laughs at my recollection.

”I’m sorry for that,” Jay chuckles.

”I know. Anyways, I actually believe we could be traveling, making songs, doing couples interviews and photoshoots, and maybe I can have you come to Agrabah and convince my parents to help us get married?” I suggest.

”Married? You wanna marry me?” Jay asks.

”I mean, we need a new heir in the bloodline. And I don’t think Aziz wants to settle down or rule the kingdom yet,” I say.

Jay chuckles to himself for a minute. He scoops down and places a kiss on my forehead.

”Why can’t we do that now then?” Jay asks.

My eyes widen at his words. I blink twice adjusting to his reaction.

”You wanna do all that now?” I ask him.

”Why not? If that means I get to spend the rest of my life with your crazy ass? Definitely,” Jay agrees.

A smile morphs on my face and I jump up to get my phone.

I dial my mom’s number.

”Ma, it’s Adri. We’ve gotta make some plans...”

3,858 words

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (ii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt 1: x

Word Count: 1,874

Warnings: Swearing, but that’s it.

June - three days earlier

"We need to have any photos before the start of the run, so you have until next week to finish them. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Miss Gerhard."

"Oh, please, call me Abby. Dannie did say you were too polite for your own good. I don't bite, you know."

Therese blushed and glanced down, fiddling with the buttons on her camera as Abby led her backstage. The stage manager gave her a quick tour, and Therese scanned the premises, looking for the best angles to see the stage from the wings. The seats were empty and the lights were dim, focusing on the minimalistic set of a living room as the backdrop of the show.

"Anyways, it's an early preview so there'll probably be loads of kinks to work through as the show progresses tonight, and knowing our director, she'll probably pause the show a lot. You have free range of backstage and the seats to do as you please. The last photographer we worked with during rehearsal only showed up with blurry photos, which sent the PR team into a fit."

Therese was testing out her camera on stage, moving from the wings to the front seats as Abby gestured around. There were few workers around, cleaning and preparing for the preview of the theatre's production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

"So! All we're asking for is some good photos of our lovely actors, the stage, and whatever tickles your fancy. It's a small show and we need all the promotion we can get," Abby continued. Therese nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek as she glanced around the theatre, taking note of the lights and seats.

After agreeing on her deadline and payment, Abby was typing in her theatre contact in Therese's phone in case anything came up, and the young photographer was quick to hurry out of the theatre, bustling with excitement for her job later that day.

-

August

"Cheers to finally being done!" Dannie exclaimed dramatically, popping open the bottle of champagne.

"Oh, stop it Dannie! I've been crying since the curtain call," Gen scolded him, whacking his arm with her purse. The actress was dressed impeccably, a silk silver dress draped around her voluptuous frame like she came straight from the silver screen. Therese felt inadequate with her simple green turtleneck and black dress pants.

"Seriously though folks. Congratulations on an incredible run," Dannie said. "I almost cried this time around. Almost."

"You sound just like old bat Gerhard, y'know," Richard stepped in, who was sitting across from Therese with a wide, arrogant posture and his arm slung over Gen's shoulders possessively. "I swear that lady has a stick the size of a tree trunk up her fuckin ass."

"Maybe she wouldn't be so uptight if someone just hit his marks," Gen said coldly. Richard's gaze darkened considerably, but all Gen did was sip her champagne, flicking auburn hair over her shoulder in that celebrity-style manner that Therese couldn't help but admire.

From what Dannie had told her, Gen and Richard had been on and off during the show, creating tension left and right. A classic backstage romance filled with just as much drama as the show they were in. Apparently it helped the actual tension needed during the performance, though that was really the only thing it was good for.

Closing night had been a huge success either way. Critics had raved about their electric performances, tiny hiccups going unnoticed by the audience. Therese was overjoyed to see her images in papers, on posters and on the theatre's website, her name printed in the corners of the photos. Gen had asked Dannie to bring Therese to their small celebration at the restaurant they were sitting in. She desperately wanted more female companionship after being surrounded by the likes of Dannie and Richard.

"Speaking of the fucking devil," Dannie commented, nodding his head to the front door of the small restaurant. Therese turned and caught the sight of Ms. Gerhard -no, Abby, she corrected herself- wearing a stunning jumpsuit. On her arm was a tall, familiar blonde beauty and Therese sucked in a breath as time slowed down for her while watching the two walk in.

Director Ross was dressed in a timeless black suit, bowtie and high heels, hair swept up in a sleek hairdo. The way they walked together was like watching power and confidence personified in the two women.

Therese took a sip of her water to help the blush that she felt creeping up her neck.

"Ah, shit, no way, why they gotta go out for dinner the same place we are?" Richard grumbled. "I really don't want to talk to them."

"Nonsense! They deserve just as much praise as we do," Gen snapped. She stood up from her seat and waved at Abby, who caught sight of the actress easily. Gen always had a way of commanding the room whenever she felt like it.

Therese felt her excitement plummet as she noted that only Abby was approaching their table. The blonde stayed back in their booth, shrugging off her blazer, revealing a crisp white button down that made Therese squirm.

"Fancy seeing you lot here," Abby said, leaning on their table. "Celebrating, I assume?"

Dannie held up the champagne and grinned. "You got that right, boss."

Therese kept her eyes fixed on her glass, afraid that by looking at Abby her gaze would give her away. Were the two a couple? No, of course not. They  were coworkers. Nothing more, right?

"Well I saw Gen and just wanted to come over and congratulate you guys. It was a terrific run, despite everything," with a pointed look at Richard, "so you deserve a well-earned night out."

The other three all responded to Abby with some sort of thanks and Therese forced herself to look up at her and smile. Her eyes were met steadily by the brunette, and though the gaze was firm, Abby smiled nonetheless.

"Good to see you again, Therese. A wonderful job on those photos, by the way."

Therese smiled, beaming proudly. "It was an honour, Abby."

What the fuck? An honour? Am I even saying coherent things? Therese tried to keep herself nonchalant and cool, though a prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her flustered. She looked around and found a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her from the booth across the restaurant. Ross was looking at her intently, fingers grasping a martini glass. Therese felt her mouth go dry.

"I best get back, enjoy your night," Abby said and with that walked away. Therese lost contact with the blonde's eyes as Abby got back to their booth, their sudden and immediate chemistry forgotten.

Reminding herself to breathe, she tried tuning into Dannie arguing with Richard over some theatre related technicality, and she was filled with the sudden and desperate urge to abandon the three and run over to Abby and the director to hide away, just to get to know this Ross lady better.

"But hey, Terry, you're gonna come back to the theatre soon right? With your pictures and all that?" Richard's annoying voice brought her back to reality.

"Oh, I don't know," she shifted uncomfortably. "I've got a different job starting next week, so photography might be on hold for me for a while."

She chewed her lip, not wanting to say anything else. She had nothing against Dannie or Gen, but after her and Richard had broken up she tried to avoid talking to him as much as possible. In group settings, she was fine, and with their intimate circle of friends it was hard to avoid him so she didn't mind putting up with him.

But no, this job was hers. Not Richard's, Dannie's, Gen's. It was a step into a different direction for herself. And even though she told herself it was more for the pay, she couldn't help but be excited about the kids she was going to meet.

Dannie shifted the conversation to some lewd story from a theatre when he had been just starting out and Therese felt she could breathe again.

-

"Who is that girl sitting next to Dannie?"

"Therese? Oh, she was the photographer we had in just before the run, don't you remember?"

"Hmm right. I thought she seemed familiar," Carol sipped her martini slowly, eyes darting over to the petite brunette again.

"Stop it," Abby scolded.

"Stop what? I'm just getting a good look. It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"Whatever you're thinking of, Ross, you better cap it. I'll have you know she's a terrific photographer and I want to hire her again, though I won't be able to do that if my artistic director decides to... involve herself."

Carol smirked but backed down, leaning back against the seat and glancing out at the dark street, illuminated by hazy lights dancing in the fog that had spread over the city.

"You all set for September?" Abby asked. Carol's smile disappeared, her fantasies of the brunette forgotten as she looked at the year ahead.

"I have no idea, Abby. I haven't had Rindy for a full month since, well, since this whole mess started. Plus it's the beginning of the school year for her, you know how anxious that can make her."

"And you. You're always a mess when those things start up."

"Hush. At least the first week is cleared up for me, I can relax and take Rindy to school, pick her up, make her meals..."

Carol drifted off again in her non-working, stay at home mom dream that was finally happening in just over a week. Her and her daughter together without a show, without court, without fights... Bliss, she thought.

"You haven't forgotten our meeting with Jeanette though, right?" Abby asked cautiously, brows furrowing. Carol's head snapped up.

"What?"

"The meeting to finalize that you're stepping away from the theatre? C'mon, Carol."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry Abs. I genuinely forgot." Carol whipped out her phone and hastily looked up the email Jeanette sent them. Wednesday. 3pm. At the exact time she was meant to pick up Rindy, she'd be on the other side of the city.

"Fuck," Carol groaned. "I guess I gotta get a sitter for Rindy then." God, she couldn't wait to be done work.

"Do they not have an after school program at Rindy's school? Just let her hang out there and we'll pick her up once we're done. It won't be more than an hour, Carol, I don't know if it's worth getting a sitter."

"No, you're right. I'll call them tomorrow and see what they can do," Carol sighed, putting her phone away.

Suddenly feeling the urge to check, she glanced over at the party from across the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the photographer again. She was disappointed to see that only Gen and Richard were left, who were at it with their usual banter at their table while eating. Dannie and Therese had disappeared.

"Carol," Abby warned.

"I know, I know. Sorry." Carol forced herself back to the conversation. "I'm hopeless, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are, you nitwit."

A/N: Life is insane, y’all. This story stumped me for a bit, but here I am. Hope you’re all good, let me know your thoughts <3 

[mangled-dreams]

Making Memories: 7

Making Memories: 7. Dangerous Dreaming

They didn’t notice it at first. You’d been hiding it fairly well. Sitting on the couch you stare out the windows. The season seems to be passing by without a second glance. Everything seemed to happen so fast and there had been no chance of hitting the pause button. 

Anti has taken you to the hidden realm a few times, trying to acclimate your changing body. It’s not that there is much difference in ways of atmosphere or looks, but the lack of warmth was something that took you by surprise. He assured you that your body would get used to the change in temperature and you would be able to control your body temperature to match the temperature around you. 

Sighing, your eyes watch droplets of rain run down the glass window. You don’t want to leave this little haven of yours. It’s been your dream to stay in the woods, surrounded by the fairy folk and mystic creatures living there. 

Closing your eyes you rest your forehead against the window. You haven’t been open with Anti or Dark, for that matter, over the past three weeks. The pair seemed to be under a lot of stress dealing with things they don’t want to go into detail over, and you didn’t want to worry them.

Even now Anti and Dark sit at the far end of the cabin talking in hushed tones. You know you could make out their conversation if you really wanted to, but as of lately you’ve just been tired. Sleep has become a thing of discomfort. 

“We should take her back and test out her abilities. It’s clear they are getting stronger. Her abilities are going to be quite amazing, Anti. She will be sought after.” You hear Dark say as if he’s right next to you.

“I understand that, Dark.” Anti responds tight lipped. He hates the idea of forcing you to test out your powers before you’re ready mentally. “I won’t force her to explore her abilities before she is ready. As it is I have forced her into a corner just by staying around her.” Anti adds, his tone breaking your heart. You hate how much self loathing Anti holds over this predicament. 

Attempting to lift yourself from the couch to comfort him, you find yourself held motionless on the couch. No part of your body responds to your commands. Even your eyes refuse to lift. Feeling your heart pound in your chest you realize this feeling. Sleep paralysis. 

Worse than feeling helpless is what happens next. The darkness gives way to light, a field of beautiful flowers of all colors greets you. Everything looks so cheerful and peaceful. It always does when you first arrive.

Off to your left you see Ra bouncing from flower to flower in sprite bliss. Your lips curve into a small at his obvious joy. Ra is bigger than before, almost the size of an adolescent child. His hair is pulled back in a high ponytail as he wanders through the field. 

Calling out to him, you can’t hear your own voice, and yet he turns. His smile is warm and welcoming. Lifting from the ground his wings carry him to you, their colors shimmering brilliantly in the sun. His body shrinks the closer he comes until he’s back to his normal size, a little bigger if you’re thinking correctly. Holding your hands out he lands there, sitting down in your palms positively glowing with happiness.

He talks to you, his voice seeming to be muted by some mystical power. You respond, and again you can’t hear your own voice. He lifts from your palm his body language changing, and you know it’s happening. 

Both your heads look up to the sky as a black cloud rolls across the soft blue, blocking out the sun and casting the field into darkness. You shiver at the feeling of dread run up your spine. In front of you Ra grows to that of Anti’s height, his body paced protectively in front of you.

From the black cloud a man with dark tribal like marking across his face and torso descends from the sky. Dream you recognize him, but to you he’s nothing more than a stranger. Your eyes meet and he smiles.

You shiver again. His smile is hollow and filled with malice. Ra turns to you, shouting something you disagree to. His face is contorted in fear and in need to protect you. He pleads, his eyes trying to convince you to flee, to let him protect you. Again you stay still. 

The man across from you does something you don’t catch, but Ra is bleeding. Your hands wrap around him, pulling him with you, trying to protect him. Blood coats your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision as the ground next to you explodes, pelting you both with debris. 

Looking at the man you shout something, probably pleading him to leave Ra along, that you’ll do anything to save the sprite you love so dearly. The man does not agree. His cold smile widens to show sharp teeth. Before you can say anything more he rushes you, his intent to kill.

Raising your arms instinctually you create a barrier that knocks him back. Tears burn against your cheek as you stand to your feet to protect Ra.

Roaring with anger the man rams your barrier, cracks appearing with each attack he sends your way. Two more hits to the barrier and it breaks. Feeling the blow against your chest you’re knocked backwards, spinning in the air before tumbling head over heels. Everything hurts, you feel dizzy and weak, yet you get to your feet. You can’t leave Ra alone, you won’t let the man hurt Ra without giving him one hell of a fight. 

Closing your eyes, you feel a surge of power engulf your body. Opening your eyes you run forward, your left arm wipping out unleashing a huge wave of black and purple energy at the man. He tries to block, but the wave knocks him back, blood oozing from the area your wave hit. Over and over you send wave after wave against him, forcing him back from Ra’s weakened form. 

Sprinting forward you get in close to him. Barely missing a strong punch, you counter with a right hook of your own. The power behind your blow sends him flying back. Knowing that you can’t let up, you chase after him, jumping high into the sky. Angling yourself to land on top of him, you bring down your left fist into his stomach. 

You can’t follow up with another blow. The man’s hand grabs you by the neck, squeezing your throat tightly as he slowly gets to his feet. You can see he’s straining to maintain his stance, putting all his power into holding you off the ground. 

His teeth are bared as he says something you believe is filled with hate and malice. Using the last of his strength he throws you into the ground, your breath leaving your body and for a moment everything turns black. 

The moment you draw a breath back into your body you’re greeted with a large spear aim directly at your heart. Fear runs through your body as it inches closer to you in slow motion. You can’t move, your body still trying to recover from the slam.

Before it reaches you a familiar body appears above you. At first you can’t comprehend what happened, but as the warm sticky red liquid soaks through your clothing the full picture comes together.

Your mouth opens in horror at the sight of Ra standing over you with a spear pierced through his gut. Above him the man’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Ra’s hand buried in his chest. Heart racing you scramble to your feet. Shoving your attacker away from Ra before wrapping your arms around Ra you easing him to the ground.

Fat droplets of your tears fall against his face. Your heart breaking at the knowledge he is dying in your arms. Looking at the spear, you grab the staff and burn it down to the tip. Pulling Ra towards your stomach you pull the remainder of the spear free. Blood rushes out, pooling around his back, soaking the ground a deep black red.

Laying him down again you brush his hair from his face before pressing your hand against his abdomen. You can’t heal him perfectly, but you can try to repair some of his body to slow the bleeding. Looking to the sky you scream, calling for someone to help you save Ra.

Tears block your vision as his hand cups your cheek, guiding your face back to his. He’s smiling at you, and it hurts even more. Holding his hand against your cheek you feel his warmth slowly fade from his hand. 

Shaking him you call his name. Doubling over you wrap your arms around Ra’s body holding him tightly to your chest. Tears fall without abandon as your heart wails in pain. Rocking back and forth you sob holding Ra’s head to your chest until his body slowly shrinks back to his sprite form. 

Gingerly you hold his tiny body to your heart again, If only you could have protected him. If only he had never met you. If only he’d stayed in the woods, safe and far away from you.

“RA!!!” You scream finally hearing your voice. Opening your eyes you feel lost for a moment. Weren’t you just in a field of flowers? “Ra? Ra!” You shout looking down at your hands. No blood. 

“Emi, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Anti asks wrapping his arms around you, comforting you.

Looking at him you feel…. Empty. Ra died. He was in your hands. It was so real… but how… Turning in Anti’s arm, you cling to him and sob.

It was a dream. Another horrible nightmare of Ra’s death. It’s not always Ra that dies; sometimes it’s Anti or Dark, other times it’s your mother. There is never any pattern, and it’s always the same scenario each time, yet still, when you wake it feels so real you can’t help but cry for sometime afterwards. 

“Emi, what did you dream about?” Dark asks once you’ve calmed down.

Your tried eyes look to Dark, then to Anti. “I want to see Ra first, before I tell you.” You respond standing from the couch. Anti follow you to the door. 

Once outside you call for Ra. He comes almost instantly, his smile bright and filled with life. Fighting against your tears once more, you let him land in your palm. “Ra, this won’t make sense to you; but I’m glad you are alive.” You tell him.

His head tilts to the side, confused by your words before his smile returns again. “I am glad you are alive too.” He says brightly.

Leaning down, you press your cheek gently against his head. “I love you, Ra.” You whisper meaning it.

[commanders-sole-braincell]

The Commander’s eyes fairly shone in the dark, two glittering orbs that drew you in and offered you no escape. Not that you wanted to, in the end, even as they pull you towards their bed. Their hands were calloused from years of battle and more than a little scarred, but their grip was anything but rough as they cupped your face. Their hands were achingly gentle, and it was all for you.

When they leaned in, you surrendered- to the warmth that they offered, the promise of being saved.

—-

“What.”

Trahearne stares at the book he’s holding with something akin to despair lighting up his grooves and settling between his ribs like poison. A THRILLING ADVENTURE OF RESCUE AND ROMANCE: MEET THE COMMANDER. It read. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE- YOUR CHOICE DECIDES THE ENDING! It read.

A deep breath, and another, and he averts his eyes from the risque cover in front of him, orange creeping up his skin and settling around his cheeks. This is- bewildering. Ridiculous. And also very embarrassing, seeing his good friend put in this position. He hopes they won’t find out- they have had enough on their shoulders lately.

(He also hopes no one catches him standing here- the last thing he needs is more teasing from Caithe. He shoves the book back onto the shelves with more force than necessary and beats a hasty retreat, face burning.)

—-

He felt his heart thrum in his ears, a low static whine that drove him to wrap his arms around The Commander without even realizing it. It took him a few beats to realize exactly what he was spooning, in this beat down inn that only had one bed for them.

Instinctively, he drew back, praying the Commander was asleep- but then there was fingers wrapping around his, guiding them to their chest and squeezing tightly. They spoke then, words dripping with the bare bones of both an order and a plea.

“No- It’s okay. Just… stay like this, Canach.”

He knew that he should say no. He should pull out of that grip, both unerringly strong and pitifully hesitant, and turn away. He had reasons he should. The Commander was a beacon of light and hope, all strength and power. He was just their bodyguard, he was a former fugitive, he was as sharp and prickly as they came- he couldn’t possibly make them happy.

But the night was cold and The Commander radiated warmth like they were made of it- surely they could lend him some of that warmth, just for a little while?

—-

He stares at the words blurring together in his field of vision before looking up at Countess Anise, who looks like she’s having too much fun at his expense. “People actually write these? Stories about me and the Commander getting together?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He tries to imagine falling in love with the Commander, and his mind stalls in protest at the idea of being in an intimate relationship with them. He then tries to imagine being in the scenario he just read about and almost retches. They might as well be his younger sibling, some days- he has as much chance of falling in love with them as he has crushing on the Firstborns, which is no chance at all.

“Please, they’ll read everything we do as romantic. It’s the price we have to pay for being in the public eye.” She pats the stack of books she has piled on her mahogany table, and he’s somehow not surprised that she reads about herself and The Commander dating, even if it’s far from the truth. “At least it’s entertaining.”

There’s a small idea beginning to form in the back of his head. It’s a ridiculous idea. A horrible idea. He’s practically inviting grief into his life and telling it to wipe its feet at his door.

“Say we make it more entertaining for us?”

—-

The soulmark on his fur burned whenever he spotted them, curling wings and blazing fire. He loved them, and it burned him- smoke in his breath, coal in his chest. In the future he would stare at a burnt body and wonder if he was responsible, wonder if his mark had been of tragedy after all. But right now he was standing next to The Commander and feeling sparks fly between them, claws flexing, and wondered about nothing at all.

They smiled on him. His mark on them shone- Bright and bold strokes complementing the edge of their smile. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this, honestly. He wasn’t sure he cared.

“Come on Rytlock.” They called out, hand outstretched. He didn’t hesitate to take it, the sun shining overhead painting their soulmarks gold and red.

—-

“Holy shit.”

The words drop from Rytlock’s mouth before he can register it. He’s too busy staring at the familiar face staring up at him from glossy pages, all smooth skin and half lidded gazes and provocative poses. Sometime between the first time he met The Commander and the hundredth time they needed saving from some shenanigans or another they were ruined for him, but damn. 

He flips through the book. It’s mostly a trashy story about The Commander (You know, your boss, some part of his mind whispers accusingly. He throws it aside with a strength he usually only reserves for Logan or Canach.) but there are more than a few pictures. One in particular sears itself in his head: The Commander, emerging from a waterfall, eyes smoldering under the curtain of water, dripping wet and their muscles straining as they tipped their head back with a sigh, exposing the nape of their neck-

Alright Rytlock, time out.

This wasn’t what he had expected to see when he walked into the store today. He should probably stop.

He shelves the book, almost reluctantly, and turns his gaze down the corridor. There is nothing but romance novels about The Commander. He continues down the aisle with trepidation, but curiosity keeps him going. He has to know. He can’t see himself sleeping tonight until he does.

And there it is- It’s him. On a cover. It’s a badly drawn recreation of The Commander wearing his stolen shirt last month as they did with everyone, except this time he’s standing by their side with his arms around them like he has never heard of the concept of personal space. “Wild Heart” The book reads. It’s a hardcover.

He stares and takes this all in for a few seconds. He has to wait to truly grasp the magnitude of what he is seeing. He stands there and then he turns around so quickly Sohothin almost catches the shelves aflame, steps echoing like gunshots as he walks. He has books to hunt down.

(On the other side of the world, Logan whistles through his teeth as he fans himself with the pages he had just been flipping through, trying to will away the blush on his face through sheer determination alone. Damn, he wasn’t even offended about being written as a swooning knight in distress- not when they had a scene that would probably make even Eir reach for iced water.)

—

TODAY YOUR BARTENDER IS: 

HELLA FUCKING GAY

DESPERATELY SINGLE

FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY, I RECOMMEND:

 YOU GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER.

There was a little stick figure doodled on the left hand corner, and the sight of it made Kasmeer smile that adorable smile of hers, her head pillowed on Marjory’s shoulder. It’ was a surprisingly cute message for what looked to be the entrance of a seedy tavern, and from the rapidly forming line the message was well received. Marjory almost found herself intrigued. Almost.

At least, that was what she thought until she pushed open the door and actually saw the bartender, juggling three mugs of ale as if it was nothing. They winked at her and Kasmeer’s direction, their arms coming to a stop as they slid the mugs to the customers and leaned against the counter without missing a beat, showcasing legs that seemed to go on forever.

“Welcome!” They greeted, the crinkles by the corners of their eyes like stars. She suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. Judging by Kasmeer’s own blush, it wasn’t just her.

—

“We should tell them.”

“Mmhm.” She hums, an easy noncommittal sound. She’s thinking a little too hard of pages 305 and 306, paragraphs 150 to 156. Beside her, Kas makes a frustrated noise at the back of her throat as she stubbornly keeps her eyes on the wall instead of looking at the book in her hands. “Of course, you’re right cupcake.”

“Jory.”

“Okay okay, you’re definitely right- But The Commander’s gone for a few days right? What’s the harm in finishing this book waiting for them to come back? It’s pretty good, subject matter aside.” Kasmeer looks redder than an angry hylek. It says something about the two of them that the sight brings not only hilarity but fondness, smooth and sweet like chocolate. “Besides, I heard that we appear in this one.”

“…Fine! Give me some space.”

—

“No, no no- You can’t die on me okay?” He pleaded, keeping his hands on their wound. There was so much blood, painting the ground red. There shouldn’t be this much blood. He didn’t think they had it in them.

The Commander’s eyes was darkening by the second, their lips moving soundlessly. It made a lump build in his throat, and he redoubled his efforts to close the wound, uncaring of the sound of battle happening somewhere in the distance. He didn’t care- not about his grudge, not about the Ice Dragon, not about anything. All he could see was the one person who had tried to always be there for him bleeding out between his fingers.

They were so, so cold.

“Please,” he whispered, bowing his head. A miracle. Anything. “I’m sorry for everything- you were right. I was acting like a Dolyak’s rear, I’m sorry, please.”

“Don’t die.”

—

Taimi feeds the fire she’s making with another book, tamping down the wave of nausea she feels whenever she sees The Commander’s face looking at her from the cover. They’re like a parent to her, and the vast amounts of disgust they feel with each paper they drop into the flames is unsurpassable. 

She takes great vindictive pleasure in burning the one with Braham on the cover, almost retching at the idea of… them, together. In the biological sense. Ew. He’s like her big brother, pretty much is in all the ways that matter. She does not want to see him kissing someone. Especially that specific someone.

She throws another book into the fire.

—

“I killed Balthazar.” They said, keeping Grenth’s gaze. They stood out in the darkness of the mists, a single living soul amidst a thousand lost. “You- owe me for that. All of you do.” They continued, their measured steps stirring up dust.

He had to admit, this was an interesting turn of events. He watched them try to mask their desperation and finally spoke. “And so too did Balthazar kill you,” He reminded them. They didn’t flinch. “You escaped death once. You cannot ask me to extend the same blind eye to another.”

The Commander’s shoulders drew back, and they took a deep breath, uncaring of the frost that claimed the very air. The sight intrigued him more than it should. It had been a long time since he had met a living being that did not flinch at the sight of him. “Then I’ll pay it, any price. I’ll do so willingly.”

“You will not.” He said, and for the first time he stood. “But you will pay it nevertheless.”

—

They wonder why the Dragon’s Watch looks so pale. Rytlock’s face is curled up into a snarl, teeth on full display, Canach lips pursued where he stands. There shouldn’t be anything threatening here in Lion’s Arch, but they put a hand on their weapon and begin to advance all the same.

“Commander!” They hear a familiar voice; It’s Logan, a smile on his face as he comes to a stop before them. “Glad you could come. Would you mind coming with me for a moment?”

They look behind them- Their guild seems to have calmed down. From this angle they can’t see what it is that has had them so upset, but it looks to have been resolved. With that in mind, they give Logan a nod and allow themselves to be pulled along.

(They watch The Commander go, led away by Logan, and sigh in poorly concealed relief. A human passes by, dressed as a very familiar Sylvari, complete with the distinctive markings and orange glow. Another passes by- red hair, tall build, armored. Another: A flaming sword and a menacing look. They’re nothing but costumes, actors and fans honoring those they admire and ridiculing those they hate, but that doesn’t make it any better- to be surrounded by constant reminders of those they had lost.)

(The Commander must never find out.)

—

“I have to save everyone.” They said, and you could see their hands shake. You wondered how long it had been since they rested. “I can’t stop. I can’t rest.”

You thought about how much they’ve done for you, for Tyria- the days you felt like giving up, but knowing someone was out there risking themselves day after day, for you, and you just couldn’t do that to them. You tried to put it into words. You tried to tell them how much they were loved, and beloved, by you and everyone- how much it mattered. How sometimes when the days seemed bleak and life bleaker you could remember what they did, see them helping injured refugees and fighting for the weak, how it gave so many people the strength to carry on.

You weren’t good with words though, you never were. So you hugged them, the way you always wished you could.

(Author’s Note: Commander, if you’re reading this- Thank you so much.)

—

They put their head in their hands, laughing softly- laughter that soon turns to choked sobs, shoulders shaking, an ensnared bird beating its wings in their chest. There’s a mountain of emotions pressing onto their back, the ink on the pages smearing with their tears.

They never expected- they never asked for this. They were The Commander because someone had to do it, and it might as well be them. They’ve saved so many lives it’s blurred together, and somewhere down the line everything else got left behind.

They never asked for anything- They never asked to be sent this parcel, and this trashy book written about them, with that author’s note on the bottom and its sincere words of thanks. The idea that they’ve saved people, just by existing… Just by living- It’s a heavy burden, but something in their chest unwinds as saltwater drips down their cheeks like twin waterfalls.

(They think about showing this book to their friends, laughing about how it made them sound surrounded by those they love most. They think about taking a few days leave, leaving everything to others for a while. They think about going home, and listening to familiar sounds and smells. They think about visiting those that had fallen, flowers and offerings in their arms and no ghosts dogging their footsteps.)

“Thank you.” They whisper, and the pages rustle like laughter in the wind.

—————-

Awakening anon how’d you get me to nearly hurt myself from laughter then have me having to go dry my eyes after crying??? How’d you do that what sorcery??

Also omg the AU’S (they had to share a SINGLE BED, SOULMATE AU and the BARTENDER AU, I’m FERAL) I also never considered the emotional impact of cosplays/remembering the dead in such a way and OOF

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (20)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n not six months this time! but there’s so.... SO much to unpack. so lets jump in. 

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of post partum depression Words: ~8.6k || Rated: M - Royai

CHAPTER 20

Before him, Greta Flores de la Vega stands in all her scarlet-accented glamour.

The sight of her catapults him into the darker corners of his mind and the whispers of the devil on his shoulder rises in volume. The years they’ve been officially separated are eradicated with the unbidden nostalgia of her features. Her almond shaped eyes are still as rich in mischief as they were the first time he came across them. The subtly complex way she carries herself: arms framing her curvaceous torso as one hand holds her elbow to allow the other to slyly touch the corner of her painted lips. She’s made it into an art. And in that curling smile, entire histories are indexed and tucked away, conjuring up memories of a different time. Different skin on skin and -

“Well? Do I at least get a proper greeting?”

He swallows down the thickness in his throat and he moves automatically. It’s the way everyone says hello - a hug and air kisses on each cheek, but she leaves a mark on one of his. Roy knows it’s a deliberate move on her part, because her smell ruins him, like a dog trained to salivate on physiological triggers, on command, and it feels like a wrench purposely thrown into a sentient machine doing its best to work efficiently. It’s been used against him many, many times before and he’d be a fool to ignore the jolt in his gut and mislabel it for fear instead of involuntary lust. What haunts him worst of all is that the subsequent emotions he wants to feel is horror and guilt. Not anticipation.

He hates that it works so stupendously; loves that Greta knows what she’s doing one hundred percent.  

Clearly, old habits die hard.

Before it can do any real damage, before he steps in closer and assume the behavior of his former self… Roy calls her by her given name to break the trance. Something flashes in her chestnut eyes unexpected to her and it pauses for a moment. The literal miracle of speaking her given name.

She hums, amused, and reaches to cup his jaw to give it a little shake. “Jester that you are.”

There’s a beat before he collects himself, becomes aware of the way his jaw is slack. He should have known. He should have known.

“I heard you weren’t coming,” he blurts out inelegantly. Perhaps not the right choice of words, considering the way Greta’s expression flickers, but Roy is too shocked and too confused to care.

She covers her mouth to hide her short laugh. “From whom?”

“Maes.”

Greta doesn’t obstruct the wide smile this time. The laughter spills into her words: “For all his intel experience and information gathering, I can’t imagine how he was ever good at his job. I guess that’s why he plays househusband now.” She pushes her long dark curls behind her ears, cocking her head to the side. “What? At least he knows I’m honest where it matters.”

“And what’s that even meant to mean? He’s made his opinion on you abundantly clear.”

“Last-minute change of plans worked out in my favour. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Or you.” she says softly. “Especially not after I missed Elicita’s birthday party” She looks beyond him for a moment, smiling, and he follows her gaze to where Maes and Gracia are. “What kind of godmother would I be?”

“You’re not her godmother.”

She waves a hand in the air flippantly. “So I wasn’t there for the ceremony. The kid will have padrinos for basically anything in her lifetime.

“And Maes…” She scrunches her face, the roundness almost makes it cute. “He has always been so black-and-white about issues. The man never leaves any chance to consider any side that isn’t his own, something that doesn’t earn him many points on this side of the family.” She shrugs, looking towards Maes and Gracia with a familiar expression. “A falta de pan, buenas son las tortas… so long as Gracia remains happy.”

“And that’s important to you?”

Greta turns back to him and scoffs. “More than to you, leaving family and friends behind. Poor Chris left worrying about you.”

Roy counts to five. The retort is on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be uttered. He wills his reaction to simmer. He knows this game. She knows him well, which buttons to press - their locations, circumference, and how well it gives when pressed. How to tease and touch...  All this he’s memorised from the playbook of their relationship, where he gives and she takes and takes and takes.

Except that’s not entirely true.

“Why are you here?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Greta says; the sweet tone returns to her voice. “For my dear cousin, her family-”

“No. why are you here? Don’t you have other people to say hello to?”

She doesn’t exactly frown, but she’s no longer smiling. Greta takes a calculated step closer, careful of the cobblestone. “I heard you were in Central that weekend.”

He pauses, taking a moment to scope any sign of unwarranted contact that might come about. “As the actual godparent - “

“And you didn’t tell me?” She cuts him off with another step.

This feeling, low in his gut: simmering, roiling - it’s twisting and changing, manifesting in physical ways that have him shifting his weight. On a logical level, Roy knows he shouldn’t be feeling any iota of attraction to the woman before him. But it’s viceral, entirely reactionary, no bearing on -

Roy looks down at her; the aroma now wafting towards him and he could almost see it materialize in his vision -  tendrils trying to curl around him, ensnare him. The only predictable thing about her was that she was unpredictable by nature. For the longest time he was content to sit back and let her act how she liked. Now… well, it was different.

“Wouldn’t you know that I’ve been in Central more times than you’ve been told?” He can feel the defiance surge through his body like electricity.

All the condescending mirth is wiped from her face as she frowns, pouts. Her expression changes as if she’s been offended to the point of exaggeration and she nudges his shoulder back. What he doesn’t anticipate is the person behind him. Roy stumbles to adjust his footing, an apology dying on his lips as he turns.

Riza. She blinks slowly, raising two glasses of sangria.

Before he can respond, Greta brushes her off and tells her in Spanish, “Girl we don’t want sangria, there’s mezcal at the bar. Be a darling and bring us two.” And then she snaps her fingers to gesture it should be done quickly.

He hates this tone, the higher lilt in her voice; the drawn-out syllables, the concentrated power she commands in them, and yet he’s grateful Riza can’t understand them.

To her credit, Riza doesn’t say anything, and merely passes him the glass. She’s waiting for him to introduce them, he realises with a start, and Roy quickly clears his throat.

“Riza, this is Greta.” His arm slips around her waist. “Greta, this is Riza. My girlfriend.”

Greta’s smile freezes momentarily before relaxing. Her eyes are wide as she offers her hand out - the diamonds on her right hand shimmer in the light. “You never told me you got yourself a girlfriend, conejito,” she teases, drawing close to kiss Riza’s cheeks affectionately, bypassing Riza’s outstretched hand entirely. The whole picture in front of him is incredibly surreal - not to mention that particular nickname being brought up.

“I thought you were told,” he says before taking a long sip from the glass.

“Nooo, no one tells me anything.” The elongated pronunciation and melody she adds to her whine gives her more of an accent than the light one she already had; it makes her sound approachable. She lightly taps Riza arms with the back of her hand to get Riza’s attention. “Can you believe the nerve? How rude of you to keep her from the family.”

Riza says something that sounds demure and meek but his attention is beyond the women before him and across the terrace and meets Maes’ eyes, which have narrowed to almost slits. He mouths something to Roy - he can’t read lips at this distance, but he doesn’t need to with the way Maes throws his hands up, all sharp angles and stiff movements. Clearly Greta had done a good job of sneaking onto the island with minimal fanfare - which when he thinks about it, is actually rather impressive for her considering her love of theatrics and the spotlight.

It doesn’t take long for Maes to make his way over to where they are, and the unpleasantness of his countenance subdues as he nears them, replaced with a smile plastered widely across his lips which never quite meets his eyes.

“I wondered where you had gotten to, Roy. Trust you to sequester away the beautiful woman you have and leave the rest of us wanting.” Maes turns to Riza, and his smile becomes marginally more honest, drawing her close to drop kisses on her cheeks. “It’s been too long Riza. Gracia and I are so glad you were able to help us celebrate.” He pulls back and his expression locks into place as he addresses the other member of their company. “And you’re here too Greta. Wonders never cease.”

“What do you expect? The last party you threw, I heard there was only chicken dancing.” She laughs at Maes’s expense. “How does it go?” Greta butchers the tune to the “Chicken Dance” and somehow manages to move her arms like wings with grace, chuckling the entire time and completely comfortable.

Riza makes a strangled noise next to him.

“Is Gracia teaching you nothing? Pobrecito…” Greta addresses Riza, “Hopefully, he’s teaching you some moves.”

“That’s great,” Maes interrupts before Riza can get a word in, voice dripping with disdain. “Gracia and I have some speeches planned for everyone and I think-” he cranes his neck back to his wife who signs the okay symbol over some guests’ heads, “we’re gonna start about now.” His hand claps onto Riza’s shoulder. “I’ll catch you two later.”

His abrupt exit leaves Roy with a sense of unease; he’s not stupid enough to recognise that that entire dismissal of Greta’s prescence wasn’t a warning in of itself but if anything it seemed to bolster the woman’s defiant attitude.

“Come, let’s get some seats - Maes will take a good hour to sob through whatever speech he has planned and I want to save my feet for dancing.” Greta takes hold of Riza’s hand before he can protest and Riza can only turn back to raise her eyebrows in alarm before the two of them disappear into a small crowd of people.

Roy finds them not too long afterwards, just as Gracia stands to speak. Greta is pointing at various people who Roy vaguely recognises as members of the Hughes and Flores clans and Riza nods along politely; though she flashes him a grateful smile when he sits in the chair next to her.

In contrast to the measured speech his wife gave, Maes gets increasingly drunk throughout his own. A shot before. A shot to their first date. And their first anniversary and now their fifth which they celebrate this day. And honestly, it’s the most entertaining thing Roy’s seen in a while -  a buffer to the shitshow this entire day has consisted of. There’s the obligatory powerpoint with star wipes and Elicia cheers every time her face is superimposed on the white stone. By a large margin it’s the sweetest part of the evening.

And yet, there’s a chill that Roy can’t quite shake despite the balmy temperatures with the sun now completely gone and the light illuminating overhead. He contemplates whether another beer will solve that problem when Maes’ words drag him firmly into the present.

“... and that is why this woman, this forking angel of a human being-” Roy takes another swig instinctively at the utterance of the not-swear. It was an old game they used to play in the academy, substituting the litany of swears they usually dealt with in favour of cleaner versions. As it turned out, it was a wonderful way to practice for the three year old in their presence now.

Gracia is frowning at her husband but Roy is intimately familiar with the shit-eating grin on his friend’s face; whatever she wanted to stop had left the station long ago.

“-is being so good and following all that medical training even though we had this planned out years in advance: in honour of your brave sacrifice I will raise two shots in your name.” Maes winks at the crowd and Gracia’s palm covers her face. “Because she can’t drink for a while yet,” he hedges, a grin splitting his mouth wide open. “Because my beautiful and wonderful wife is pregnant again and Elicia gets to be a big sister and I have been literally dying to tell each and every one of you! So… por favor raise your glasses for us and Elicia and for the cutest bun in the oven that has ever been made.”  

Roy processes the information slowly, feeling the smile grow on his face wider and wider. He stops staring off into the distance when he feels the touch of another hand on his own and Riza meets his eyes with an endearing smile - he imagines its the smile he had when he found her reading in the library.

There’s whooping and shouting around them - something started by Maes no doubt - but Riza grips his hands in hers, her thumbs running over his knuckles, focused entirely on his face. “Do you get first dibs again?” she teases, leaning closer. “I don’t really get how this whole ‘godparenting’ thing works but-”

He kisses her then, and maybe now wasn’t the best time to do so, but god if it didn’t feel right. She laughs against his mouth, and Roy takes the opportunity to snake his arm around her waist, coaxing her into his lap with only minimal effort. Her arms curl around his neck, fingers drifting into his hair. It is one, shining moment where all he can focus on is just how unequivocally happy he is. He knows to not look too deeply into her reaction - but it is the nature of it that bubbles over, makes him feel giddy with untempered energy. She’s happy because he’s happy. It’s in stark contrast to how he’s been made to feel before, how any celebration of fatherhood, psuedo or otherwise, was wrong and shameful.

Curiosity also takes the better of him and he catches sight of Greta’s face. She’s eerily still, fingers blanched white against the champagne flute she holds, staring at the middle distance like she’s not trying to stare towards their direction.

All of a sudden Roy realises what’s going to happen before it does. Impossibly, the grip on the flute grows even tighter. Anticipation morphs into trepidation. He sees the transformation of an eerily empty canvas of Greta’s face deepen into a frustration, a rage.

It explodes like the flute she hurls straight down to the ground.

--------

He’s used to her hysterics. The practice he’s had over the years makes him well-versed in it. Her reaction was the piece of the puzzle that he was missing each time, conveniently forgetting that for each good moment they’d share, there would be a dozen bad ones to follow. It eats at him that it took the deliberate shattering of a glass when she thought no one was looking to come to this realization. That even if he responded on the most base levels of her, it couldn’t erase the treatment that followed and would never be justified.

He’s intimately familiar with her opinions on children, childbirth - and yet she couldn’t even restrain herself in a moment that should've been nothing but joyful for his best friend and her fucking family. Riza has shifted off him, but her fingers still drift over the fabric of his shirt, along the lines of his shoulder. She had remained silent throughout the whole scene, wide brown eyes blinking owlishly as Greta apologised and clutched her hand to her heart.

Oh, I was just so shocked. I couldn’t be happier for them, you know. Roy imagines the tears she managed to conjure and mask as happiness came from the anger he saw in her face. She couldn’t argue passionately without crying. And now, there were other surrounding her, coddling her from this “genuine display of joy”. Tan dulce, la Greta. He grimaces.

He scoffs under his breath. Yes, he thinks viciously. And Riza and I started fucking under completely ethical circumstances.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Maes over by the bar. The inebriation- and continued drinking - makes a lot more sense now.

Was he really so blind?

A rhythmic tune begins to play; Roy only notices because its a distinct difference from the slower song before. People from other tables around them stand and walk to the dance floor and their bodies start to sway in beat with song. He shifts towards Riza, a request for a dance dying on his lips as Greta walks into back into his line of sight.

She swivels gracefully through abandoned chairs, taking the one on Riza’s side. In turn, Riza turns to her and away from Roy to face her. “I am so, so sorry about before. I don’t think I could have been more embarrassed unless I purposely tried .” Greta covers her face briefly then sighs, placing folded hands over her knee. He has to hand it to her - she can really put on the act when it suits her. “The last thing I’d want to make anyone feel unwelcome.”

Roy makes some kind of noise but Riza doesn’t seem to pay attention. She smiles courteously to the fabled ex. “I don’t think it merits worrying over it for more than a few minutes. I think the few you spent since then are enough.”

The dry wit takes a moment to sink in for her before Greta grins in understanding. “Thank you, and if there’s anything you need during your stay just let me know.”

“It’s a beautiful island. Honestly, the view of the ocean if a treat in itself.”

“I know right? Daddy had someone kick the reservations set just so Maes and Gracia could have it for the weekend.”

“Is it your family that owns the island?”

She grins widely at this, winking furtively in his direction. “I can see Roy has been talking, but talking about that makes this all the less magical.” She slaps her hands lightly on her knees. “Are you two not dancing?” She addresses them both but only looks at Riza.

Riza releases something in between a guffaw and a chortle. “No, I don’t think so. We didn’t quite get through the last time Roy tried to teach me a dance lesson.”

Not my fault, Roy thinks childishly. There’s guilt though, festering deep down - he hadn’t really given much thought to her unfamiliarity with dancing beyond what he had shown her. Here, it was treated like… it was just something they did, was expected of them in the same way he was expected to know that the sky was blue, and that two and three summed to five. Music would play and he would dance, whether it was with his mother and sisters, or drunkenly with his academy friends on a night out on the town, flirting with girls who fluttered their eyelashes at the mere mention of rank. He certainly liked dancing with Riza, but they had the unfortunate habit of getting distracted with other things partway through.

“Ahh, but it’s not about the steps, but about feeling the music in your body. Non-latin styles like waltzes are so frigid and tight - beautiful, of course - but they allow less...fluidity. Freedom. Passion.” She rests a hand on Riza’s shoulder. “And, if you were invited then you’re amongst family now.”

It’s these kinds of declarations that make Roy pause and recollect himself, lest his shock show openly on his face. Who is this woman, who has replaced the one from his memory? This dazzling display of charisma and warmth is a far cry from the yelling and hysterical demands that he remembers - hell, the woman from ten minutes ago, who most definitely smashed a champagne flute on purpose. And once again, as the only witness, he feels there would be no use to recounting it to anyone but Maes.

“Perhaps later,” Riza answers meekly. He slips his hand under the table, resting it over her thigh, squeezing lightly. Her head turns back a little in response, and the slight quirk of her lips tells him she’s understood his message.

Greta presses on. “I find a drink or two helps loosen up and forget what other people are thinking. There are still some days I trip over my own feet.”

On cue, Riza takes a sip from her drink.

Greta smiles prettily, and Roy distracts himself with his own glass, contemplating the best way to get away from her without attracting a scene. “In the meantime, would you mind if I borrow Roy for a song?”

His fingers grip her thigh again - tighter this time, a silent plea for her to say no, to put her foot down and stop this woman in her tracks: but again, Riza makes no verbal confirmation seemingly nodding her head out of some compelled compliance.

“And if I say no?”

Simultaneously, they both pout - one more exaggerated than the other.

“I thought you wanted to save your feet for dancing?”

Roy tenses at the use of his own words against him. In a lower voice and through grit teeth, he says, “Yes, but I’d like to dance with you.”

She whispers back, “And with that display this afternoon, I don’t think I could do more than walk briskly right now.”

Maybe it’s the tiring trip or the emotional cost of all his interaction thus far, but he leans back a little with a smug look on his face.

“Go, I’m more of a visual learner.”

The smile splits into a wide grin that pulls back over Greta’s canines. “Fabulous, I’ll bring him right back.”

Greta wastes no time. Roy is taken aback as he’s lifted from his chair with surprisingly strong fingers digging into his bicep. He’s walked into the throng of people when the situation finally settles with him. He tries to pull his arm back to no avail and Greta pivots with it, gripping tightly.

Greta faces him, waiting for the current song to end in the middle of other dancers. And out of nowhere, she smiles - chuckles with her head thrown back as the next song starts. “Are you kidding me right now? I’ve been trying to have a moment of your time this entire time and this-”

“I thought you would get the message,” he intones.

“Silence isn’t a message. How was I supposed to know you wanted to play babysitter? I’d have let you get it out of your system. Or what, do you expect me to think you’re serious about a girl like her? That’s like going back in time and dealing emotionally with an early twenties me again. If so, your sense of humour needs work.”

It stings, it really does sting. He’s not wanting any sort of blessing from her - considering the context of their relationship. Already, this conversation alone is more than he anticipated. Any conversation with her today was more than he anticipated. Is it so hard to want to keep the drama to a minimum, to please everyone, at least a little? The guilt gnaws at him as he realises his way of going about this might not go how he intends. He had tried so hard to play diplomatic, to be bland and amiable enough that Greta would lose interest in whatever machinations she had planned. He should have warned Riza. Properly. As they move across the wooden floor in perfect time, Roy thinks he might need to acknowledge his limits in this strange, three-dimensional chess game they’ve found themselves playing.

Others now are caught in the crossfire.

Greta spins out from him, dark hair spiraling out in a perfect arc. She seems smaller than what he remembers, her nails digging into his hands with more pressure than necessary. She isn’t clinging to him, not quite, but he’s certainly given no leeway. Where he pulls back, following the beat and pause of the music, she mirrors him, reacting with ease.

“Roy...” she coos at him, one slender finger sliding along the bone of his jaw. He shivers at the intimate touch, desperately trying to think of a way to extract himself from this position.  “Mirala.” She cajoles, leaning closer. “Es una niña. A fetus.”

Roy clutches her hand and spins her - hard - as a warning and she needs a split second to orient her feet. “Milagros,” he says, low and dangerous. “Don’t.”

Her reaction is instantaneous: what serenity was present on her face from her spite and malice is replaced with displeasure, harsh lines forming around her eyes and lips. “Do not call me that. It’s Greta,” she hisses. “I let you get away with it once already. Today.”

“And her name is Riza, so I suggest you learn it,” Roy replies snidely.

“The night of the last dinner,” she starts, all the ferocity and bite suddenly gone. “Was she the one you were talking to?”

Roy doesn’t answer, but he figures it’s still an answer in itself.

Greta scoffs. “You’re a piece of shit.”

Roy chuckles at the accusation, of all people. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and he resists the urge to loosen his collar. “I’m the piece of shit? You-” he stops himself, tempering himself. “I’m not doing this here.”

“Doing what, amorcito? If there was nothing to talk about then you wouldn’t be so riled up. Months of zero returned calls and left on read, you really do have some balls on you if you think you could come here and think I wouldn’t do this here.”

“Call it wishful thinking.”

She makes him lurch towards her, inches from his face despite the difference in height. “I’m not fucking around.”

“I’m not either.” He backs away. “I said what I said the last time we saw each other.”

“You always said that, how did you expect me to believe you this time?”

He remains as stoic as he can. It’s only when she manages to push his buttons that she gets a good grasp on him before he can realize he’s done for. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me what you call two years of fucking on and off then? Organizing all those motherfucking galas with your department and attending as the gracious benefactor. You drop off the face of the earth but then you text me the address of your hotel when either of us were in town. We might not have been engaged Roy, but we were sure as shit still in a relationship.

“And if we are done, why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you give me a clear answer, Roy Mustang? Is it because you couldn’t? Is it because, deep down you wanted someone to fall back to in case your relationship went south? Don’t think me so stupid that I can’t see right through you.”

“Don’t bullshit me; I know you were fucking other dudes when I wasn’t available.” An acidic laugh escapes him - a freeing, cathartic laugh, to say these thoughts out loud, finally. “Is this grilling meant to make me fall back in love with you? Maybe that would’ve worked a year ago, sure. But you’re deluding yourself if you think you can be comparable to Riza.” It’s a cruel barb, tailored to hurt her feelings perfectly. But it’s the truth - what lingering affection he had for her has vanished as the blatant dichotomy of these two women becomes more and more apparent.

“Si, the barely-legal boba is the girl of your dreams. I’m sure your mother is very proud of you for bringing home a girl who hasn’t even had her quinceañera!”

His silence makes her slow the pace of their dancing. “Oh, Roy, don’t tell me you’re-”

“She is,” he answers quietly, voice barely carrying over the volume of the music. “I don’t care if you don’t like it, or understand it. I honestly wouldn’t expect you to. You push and push and push, Milagros, and you never care about how many people you hurt. You wanna know why we always fought? Because it’s what we do. You never inspired me to become a better person, or to think about how I could be a better partner to you - it was just about the sex, or making you look good in front of whoever or-” Roy cuts himself off, laughing bitterly. “We used each other because it was about ourselves and never each other.”

Roy can count the times on a single hand where he’s seen this woman - once Milagros, now Greta - look truly, properly shocked, and now he can add one more to that small total. He extracts himself from her grip, rubbing at the skin indented by little red crescents.

“Whatever you planned to achieve here, it’s... “ Roy sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. The dancers sway around them while they stand there.

She pulls him back into the rhythm of the dance and he moves to it instinctively and that's just it, he’s programmed to do so. “Do you think… she will settle for you?” She’s mocking him. “That she wants to have your precious little baaabies? That the supposed girl of your dreams will want to immediately settle her life down and put down roots for you?” She whispers in his ear. “Who’s being selfish now?”

Again, he pushes her back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ah, so your bullshit reasoning only applies to me, is that it?[1]  Que funny.”

“There’s no point. I didn’t come here to waste my time on you, and Gracia deserves better from her cousin. They invited Riza here. Please respect that.”

Greta steps once more into his space, her right hand gripping his chin. He tenses his jaw, feels her near - but mercifully her grip weakens and he manages to jerk his head to the side, her lips barely grazing the edge of his own. Even six months ago, he would’ve killed for this kind of reaction from her. Now, skin crawling under the sensation, the need to flee is overwhelming; klaxons blaring in his head.

“This was never about me, amorcito,” she tells him, almost breathlessly. “When are you going to understand that?”

---

The whole scene unfolds before her eyes. They take to each other like flower petals moving effortlessly in the wind.

If it were only that innocent.

At first, Riza doesn’t know what to make of it, of them, the way they sway - to and fro, give and take. She’s hypnotised, captivated by the way their bodies flow with the rhythm of the music instead of the lack of distance between them. It’s quick-paced, almost choreographed, something she’s sure she would not have been able to pick up on the spot.

It’s intimate. More than she would have expected - should have expected. Their eyes never tear away from each other. Their hands use each other to help any growing distance become meager again. Her brow wrinkles because… this is just dancing, and she doesn’t know if it’s instinct or insecurity that’s whispering in her ear and telling it’s more than just than meets the eye. Common sense tells her that if she looks to any other couples dancing, they’ve either made way for them to watch or to give them the floor. The clapping and whooping from the crowd makes her ears burn, heartbeat thumps in her ear as Roy twirls her and Greta smiles brightly in turn.

Riza inhales. Jealousy, she concludes, is a normal human emotion; right now, an irrational reaction won’t help in any way. She’s been dropped into foreign territory without a means to isolate herself that doesn’t insult the celebrations. Later, she can examine the intricacies of the performance in front of her.

Riza exhales slowly. Right now, she needs a drink.

She doesn’t draw any attention as she skirts the gathered crowd, and for that she’s grateful. Leaning against the popup bar, she flags the bartender, who appears equally interested in the dancing pair, to bring her something familiar, rattling off the first wine name to come to mind. The first sip is cool and rest of the glass, and the two more after that, follow in quick succession. Anything to distract her from what’s happening in her periphery.

She’s nervous, it’s normal. There isn’t a familiar face here, she tells herself - thinking too soon.

A loud drop sounds next to her; impressively considering the enormity of the bass. He’s even less put-together than he was for his speech: he’s slouching over the edge of the bar and his glasses appear to be missing, giving Riza clear view of his glazed green eyes.

Maes lifts a beer bottle towards her. “Welcome to the telenovela, Riza!” There’s only the slightest hint of slur in her name. It’s impressive considering the amount of shots taken during his speech alone. She imagines he hasn’t stopped since. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

She smiles down at her drink and takes a sip before mirroring his greeting. “The island is beautiful. Congratulations on your milestone,” she says genuinely. She can’t stop complimenting the island. She doesn’t know what else to say.

But he doesn’t hear her and he leans his ear in closer. “What?”

“It’s great! Thanks! Congrats!” and then the clapping behind them stops. She can hear somewhat normally again.

From here, she realises that Maes Hughes is a lot drunker than at first glance - the way he leans against the bar, the flushing of his face. It occurs to her as strange that he isn’t stuck to the hip of his wife, but she’s rudely roused from her woolgathering.

“So why the fuck are you here? Where’s-” he does a full turn as if he’d step out of some mist form into a physical one “-where’s Roy?”

Riza points to the dismantling wall of people. “He’s dancing.”

“What? Why aren’t you dancing with Roy?” He cranes his neck up as if he wasn’t already tall enough and he groans loudly, the bottle hitting his brow with a thunk when he smacks his own face. “Why in the ever-loving FUCK is he dancing with her? Jesus fucking Christ.” He snaps at the bartender, motioning at some used glasses in front of them. “Oi, mate - tequila por favor. Don’t judge me it's the only word I know  with too many shots” He groans deeply, running a hand roughly over his face. “I should have known this spectacle was because of them. It always fucking is.”

“This happens regularly?”

The bartender goes to pour the shot of tequila, but Maes huffs, waving the man away and grabs the bottle roughly. “It used to. You would think they were preparing to launch their careers as professional dancers.” He offers Riza the other wedge of lime. “Come on, you’re gonna need this - we all fucking will if she gets her way-”

After the charming censorship in his speech, it’s jarring to hear Maes utter the original swears with such venom, but nonetheless she accepts the wedge, licking the side of her hand and offering it out to be salted.

The tequila burns deliciously on her tongue - clearly she was in the big leagues now, not restricted by college budgets and the want for quantity over quality. She watches with interest as Maes finishes a second shot in quick succession. “Do we suffer from the same gene that disables us from dancing as well as they do?” Riza asks, rubbing the remaining salt against the skin of her hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My dancing is top-notch missy. But if you’re talking about salsa, then no; I can’t dance salsa. But neither can Gracia so ha!” He adds, as if it physically hurt him not to: “And she’s still a perfect wife and human being regardless.”

“Of course.” Riza nods. Her tummy feels pleasantly warm.

“You know, I really thought I come up with the perfect plan. That she wasn’t going to show up because Llamapolooza or Bonaroo or...whatever Bitchella she usually attends. Never misses.”

Riza notes the change in his tone. It’s more aggressive, angrier, but not at her. Following his gaze into the crowd, she guesses, “Do you mean Greta?”

“Shh, shh. Don’t say her name. That’s what summoned the witch here in the first place.”

Riza bites her lip to contain the laugh. “I feel like there’s a lot history to unpack there.”

Maes scoffs and it's a whole body jerking affair. “They’re both a piece of work. But she-” he chuckles sardonically, narrowing his eyes “- she’s been forgiven for more than she should have been allowed to, talking about Gracia the way she did.”

“Sorry… I don’t really understand-”

Maes’ index finger is thrust out in front of her face. “Exactly! That is what everyone at this party should be saying because we asked and asked and asked her and it was always ‘oh no, I’m too busy skiing in Drachma, I couldn’t possibly, ex-oh ex-oh-’” he shudders at the nasal tone, picking up the bottle of tequila to pour them shots again.

“Even with all my reservations about you - don’t think I’m over that little stunt he pulled, and as a dad I should be giving my girl the best role models I can, but-” he dissolves into drunken giggles that err too close to hysterical rather than hilarious.

“It’s completely fucked up that the student is a better match for him than that she-devil. Completely. And I’m complicit now!” Maes throws his hands up in the air, stumbling against the wood of the bar as the gesture moves his whole body. Riza carefully moves her filled-to-the-meniscus shot out of his way, trying to figure out the best way to not spill the majority as soon as she tries to lift it.

Maybe it’s the tequila, or the three glasses of chardonnay she sculled before; but Riza in this moment feels emboldened, defiance surging through her at the crowd cheers for some reason.

Well, she knows the reason. It burns like the tequila does when she takes the second shot under Maes’ glassy gaze.

“Why do you hate her?” Riza asks bluntly, running her tongue over her fingers, savouring the drops that spilled onto her hand. “It can’t be because they broke up, because otherwise you’d be like Chris and be trying to get them back together-”

Maes chokes on his chewed wedge of lime. “You’ve met Chris?” he asks weakly.

“This afternoon,” she answers breezily. “She’s not a fan of me being here. For all her airs about having a private talk with her son, she sure as shit can’t tell him off without half the neighbourhood hearing.”

Maes wheezes, thumping his fist down on the dark wood of the bar. It’s entertaining to see him caught off-guard - even if she’s got an edge because he’s clearly sloshed and she’s only a little tipsy. But she’s tired of all these secrets, all these looks and the confusing behaviour of the woman herself compared to the men she’s been around. In her mind it doesn’t make sense - sure, Greta had been friendly, if a little too much, but Riza could easily put that down to her own awkwardness than any machinations of a more nefarious design.

So why the venom, the animosity? Maes strikes her as the kind of man who is reasonable when presented with all the evidence, and he would have had the best of both worlds: Roy’s perspective as well as that of his wife’s - who was cousin to Greta. Truthfully, a part of her trusts his judgement more so than that of her boyfriend’s, and that wasn’t just because when she turns back to the crowd, she can see him and Greta practically glued at the hips.

If Rebecca was here, Riza would feel bold enough to go and interrupt the two of them, snake her arms around Roy’s shoulders and smile bitchily at this blatant display of… whatever this was. But she’s alone here - on the other side of the dancefloor, Riza can spot Gracia, holding a dozing Elicia and talking with one of Roy’s sisters. For all the welcomes and hugs, the only person who is actually bothering to interact with her  is already halfway to smashed and requires something solid to lean against. The odds are not in her favour right now and it hurts to admit it.

She turns back to face Maes properly. “So, what’s the deal? Clearly it had to be horrible to get this kind of reaction.”

His mouth opens and then shuts, the man sighs deeply, pushing away the bottle of tequila. “I promised Gracia I wouldn’t meddle with you two,” he begins, and Riza feels her hackles start to rise, “but then Greta promised she wouldn’t be attending so I frankly don’t give a shit anymore.” Maes runs his hands over his face, roughly through his hair. He looks so tired.

“Okay. Let’s figure out what he’s told you so far. Do you know why they broke up?”

“Roy told me that it was down to her attitude about kids, and not wanting her own-”

Maes snorts loudly. “That man really knows how to play down an issue, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s not wrong - I don’t think that woman has got a single maternal bone in her body, but it wasn’t about kids in general. I…” he falters here, sighing deeply.

Riza frowns, but keeps quiet. Maes fiddles with his empty shot glass for a moment, and then sets it on the table with a little more force than necessary.

“Not many people know about this, and we want to keep it this way. We’re not ashamed - god knows I’m not, I couldn’t be prouder of her - but I know she’s always blamed herself for it, no matter how many times I tell her it’s not. Years of family pressure had a much bigger impact on her than what she understood logically as a doctor.

“After Elicia was born, Gracia really struggled. You’ve heard of postpartum depression before, yeah?”

Riza nods.

“It creeps up on you slowly. We were young, new parents -

Emboldened, tipsy Riza interjects, “It was three years ago…”

Flustered, he stammers out, “And we’re still young!” He breathes out dramatically. “Now can I finish telling this story?”

Riza chuckles to herself and nods.

“All the stresses could be explained away as us just adjusting to her, to our new routine. Gracia’s an only child as well, and there was enormous pressure she put on herself to present this front that we were fine, we were coping, the golden child had succeeded at motherhood. I was still working for the military at the time, but it got to a point where I either had to choose my career or my family. It was a no-brainer. Things got better for a time, but… it was still taking its toll on her.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Honestly, that’s the only reaction from someone that means something. I’ve heard every explanation from ‘she’ll get over it soon’ to ‘oh sometimes I get sad too’. Hell, she studied it as part of her work as a locum and we still weren’t prepared. Everything came to a head about… five months, I think, after Elicia was born.”

The cogs align in her head, and very suddenly, Riza realises just how deep these wounds ran. “Roy is the godfather.”

Maes nods. “He is. We didn’t ask him to do this - the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. But it was the right choice to make. My wife needed help - beyond what I could do while simultaneously juggling a newborn. Giving Elicia to him is still the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Riza stays quiet. Of all the explanations she had been preparing for - this was not one of them.

“Long story short, Roy gave me the best option in the worst scenario. I think maybe five people, all up, knew what was happening. Greta, naturally, had to be keyed in because they were living together at the time.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen Roy with Elicia but it’s just - I know in my heart that that man loves my girl with every fibre of his being. He was the best choice for her - essentially worked from home, negotiated his contract with the military - made easier by his accident - to ensure that he could be around Elicia as much as possible. He sent us videos of her first words, and the first time she stood up on her own. He threw himself into godfatherhood and he did it perfectly.” Maes takes a deep breath here, rubbing at his eyes roughly.

“I don’t know what he’s told you about his aspirations for fatherhood or, at least, how he looks forward to it but it’s… I know it’s something he wants. Greta on the other hand…They couldn't be more different on the matter.

“They were already rocky when all this shit happened - his accident hadn’t been too long before that - and… I don’t know, maybe he came on too strong about this whole thing, but Greta just outright rejected this situation. It wasn’t even in like an uncomfortable kind of way - which I’d get, because you know, not her kid - but she was just so fucking dismissive and shitty about Roy doing the right fucking thing and-” he catches himself here, jaw tensed and jutting out slightly.

“Greta treated Elicia like she was the dirt on her shoe. Always complaining about how Roy never had time for her anymore, how my girl was loud. How my daughter was annoying and then she had the fucking audacity to say that it was Gracia’s fault that she was having relationship issues with Roy. If it wasn’t for Elicia fucking everything up, they’d be happy. But my wife was selfish, a bad mother, and it was her fault that Roy broke up with her.”

The chardonnay and tequila turns over uncomfortably in Riza’s gut.

“I don’t wanna know what she said to him that night: Roy’s never told me and I’ll never ask. But just before Elicia’s first birthday, he came by with her at like four in the morning. Said Greta was becoming impossible to deal with and he wasn’t going to let Elicia be in the middle of that. I just assumed they’d had a spat - not a new development for them - and it was getting calm enough at home that we were almost ready to have her back full time anyway. A few hours later his family was blowing up my phone because according to Greta, he had tendered his resignation from the military, abandoned the lease on his apartment and left her to cancel all the wedding plans. It was three weeks before he answered any of my calls.”

Maes blinks at her. He seems to be waiting for a response, but there’s nothing she can say that would be even remotely appropriate to respond with. This is what brought him out East? This was why she was called Axe?

Perhaps for the first time in a long while, Riza feels her immaturity in this situation. It’s no wonder Roy edited the story so cleanly for her when she pressed him for details - this is beyond messy, or the boundaries of any normal breakup.

“And yet,” Maes continues, picking at his chewed piece of lime, unaware of the maelstrom of emotions he’s conjured within her, “my beautiful, wonderful, unfailingly kind wife forgave her cousin, and gave her a shoulder to cry on when Roy didn’t come back.

“That’s the one thing I’ll never be able to wrap my head around. Forgiving others when they’re toxic or abusive or just plain unpleasant, just because they’re family. I know it’s common in other parts of the world but here, it’s like it’s amplified - expected to be accepted with the simple passage of time. And then they had to go and make everything ten times worse.” He nudges her arm with his shot glass as if her attention wasn’t already his. “I bet you he invited her here himself. He thinks his the sneakiest little fucker, thinking I wouldn’t know when he’d come specifically see her in Central or vice versa... he’s like some kind of junkie. Pah.”

She hears the words but the context doesn’t make sense. “Sorry, who?”

“Roy.”

Riza feels her expression freeze. For all intents and purposes, she never imagined it would round the conversation back to him. Riza looks back up to Maes who is glaring in the general direction of the dancefloor. She thinks herself, does she dare ask? Something inside her hardens and plummets with the weight of a metric tonne. “What do you mean?”

The shot glass slams back on the counter and he stands up properly, easily towering over her. Still, he needs the bar to stand without swaying. “Oh did he- did he not tell you?” He rubs his chin pensively. “Like, I thought fucking his ex-fiancée was bad enough to keep secret but then, our boy, decides to raise the stakes by fucking his student?” He turns to her, his face somber. “No offense, Riza. You’re great but you’re smart enough to understand how stupid it’s all been. I can’t forget that nor can I forgive him for it right now.

“And you wanna know how I know?” He taps his temple. “Because I know things.”

Riza stares at the ground as the gravity of his words hit her all at once, then around, then to the dancing couple. Her automatic denial manifests in an unchecked sentence: “That was before my time.”

Maes snorts. “Are you sure about that?”

Riza opens her mouth to refute him because the insinuation of any infideilty and how it doesnt make sense; the trip, the everything - why would he even be stupid enough to have both of them on the same island? All this she wants to argue back to the drunk Maes.

And then, the picture sharpens; hazy fog in her mind gives way to clarity for the crisp lines and captured images from her memory.

She’s seen Greta before. Not in the picture. Not in magazines. It was in his office at Eastern, in the days leading up to spring break - the well-dressed woman from all those months ago.

That was her.

my soul takes flight (miklós radnóti, rain shower)

You were right to run! The stream is swollen with grief. The wind shudders. The clouds have torn their moorings. The rain pounds the surface of the lake with its fist, The raindrops turn to dust. I watch as you go.

The raindrops turn to dust. My body longs for yours, my muscles, my sinews, that guard the memory of our wild couplings, the crush of our unruly love! Flesh remembering flesh, tortured by sorrow.

I long for you, torn and tormented by grief, my soul takes flight, fluttering after you, and before you; and then nothing matters anymore! for not even rain can wash away this fierce and raging desire.

[breathinginthevapor]

A heart-breaking mess

Summary: You and Luke are former high school sweethearts, but haven’t talked in years. You suddenly run into each other at a bar and might not be completely done with each other.

A/N: Well, no one (literally no one, it got six likes i think) read my last one shot even though the one before that got over 300 so yeah, let’s see how this goes haha. Please please please leave feedback if you like it (and also if you don’t just don’t be too mean im fragile haha) As for warnings, there’s meantions and brief descriptions of sex, and alcohol is also in the picture. Also, if anyone would like a second part, I’d totally be up for that x

T/W: drinking, slight nsfw

Masterlist

I don’t own the picture, it’s from Luke’s instagram

He has changed so much, and he’s not at all the boy you knew all those years ago. But his eyes are the same that once looked at you with admiration and love, and their shade is the same icy blue as the ones who made your teenage heart flutter. His lips are the same as the ones who calmed you down on dark nights, and his hands still the ones that held yours when you walked through the halls of your local high school.

But the confidence radiating from his body is new, as well as the flirting look in his eyes is one you haven’t seen before. It’s a strange coincidence he is frequenting the same bar as you tonight, and even though you’re both different persons than the children who believed their love could last forever, it brings back all those memories you spent so much time on forgetting.  

If you had known he was back in town, you would have stayed indoors watching Netflix instead of visiting the bar you know his friends like, but how could you? It’s not easy when he’s traveling the world; in Asia the first day and then home the next.  

It may seem weird that even now, years after your breakup, you still fear meeting him, but he was your first love, and you’ve learned that first loves always will have a special place in people’s heart, including yours.  

He’s dancing with a girl you don’t know, and she’s just another thing that tells you how different he is. The Luke you knew wouldn’t even have offered her and her short dress a second glance, too caught up in a funny story his friends told and besides never seeing the point in one night stands, but now his hands are around her waist and his lips on her neck.

She turns around and places her hands in his thick curls. You want to puke, perhaps because it isn’t until now you realize that the Luke who’ll always be a part of you is gone from the surface and only lives in your memory. The tiniest bit of hope that has been hidden inside you for the past years shatters. The Luke who promised you forever under a sky full of stars, the Luke who ate McDonald’s with you on prom night in your fancy clothes and the Luke who wrote songs about you and showed them with trembling hands on his guitar doesn’t exist anymore and never will again.  

You swallow down the rest of your drink and get up from the lousy bar chair. You’re not in the mood for neither partying nor drinking anymore, no, you just want to go home and sleep and maybe throw out some old pictures of the boy who had promised to come back to you but never did.  

However, today isn’t your lucky day. When you stand up, you manage to take down the glass with you, and just as it hits the floor, the music stops and everyone turns towards you, including him. You see it in his eyes: the recognition, how he at first wonders why you look so familiar and then how it suddenly hits him who you are.

It’s only about three seconds before another song is played and everybody continues what they were doing before your little accident, but not him. You watch him excuse himself from the girl who’s clearly very disappointed about missing out on a night with the Rockstar, but he doesn’t seem to care, and while he makes his way to you, his eyes are fixated on yours like you’re some song he knew and loved once but now struggle to remember the words of.  

“Y/N.”

“Luke.”

You both greet each other with emotionless voices, and it scares you how comfortable he looks while you’re busy scanning the room for an exit. But even now, the way he says your name sends chill through your body, and you wonder how you have been able to go on so long without hearing him say it.  

It’s weird: he’s still able to give you the sparks, to fill your stomach with butterflies, but at the same time you never want to see him again. Never want to hear his voice again, never want to feel the way that only he can make you.

“It’s been a long time, huh? What, a year, two years?”

It hurts that he doesn’t remember, but you remind yourself that it’s different for him. He doesn’t have to buy groceries at the same place you bought hot wings together when you were hangover, chat with your mom every time he sees her on the street (which is surprisingly often considering how big of a city Sydney is), hear her talk about how good you’re doing or walk past your house every time he’s on his way to work.  

“Almost three,” you correct, fighting to keep the careless expression on your face.

You just hope he can’t read you anymore. You are, after all, not the open book you used to be.  

“Really? Wow, time just flies when you’re living on the road,” he answers, a small smile on his lips, clearly thinking back on some tour memories. “Are you in college now? Almost done or what?”

You’re not really in the mood for small talk, and you just want to run away and never ever think about the boy who broke your heart again, but unfortunately, it feels like your feet are glued to the ground which means you have no choice but to stay.

“Yeah, I’ll be a fully educated teacher in two years. Took a year off to work.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said those words to strangers or acquaintances, but it feels weird that Luke’s one of them now when he used to be the one who knew you better than anyone else.

Sometimes, you’d wonder if he actually knew you better than you knew yourself. It certainly seemed that way when he sent some of your writing to a competition where the first prize was a course with a professional writer. You only found out what he had done when you received an email that said you had won. Needless to say, you were over the moon for having someone so sweet and considerate in your life.

“Teaching? I thought you wanted to be a writer?” He remembers. Remembers the dreams you had when you were younger and believed everything was possible, when you still believed that dreams come true.

News flash, they don’t.

"Well, we can't all live our teenage dreams as grown-ups," you say before thinking, sounding so bitter that you don't even like yourself. Luke has worked hard for everything he's achieved, and he has definitely deserved it.

However, there's still a small part of you that finds it unfair that he's doing everything he's ever wanted while swimming in money and luxury while you're only just able to pay rent because you did nothing but work for a whole year.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just tired, school's really been taking a toll on me the last couple of months.”

"I understand," he affirms, raising his hand to show that you’re forgiven. "I was rooting for you, though."

You flash a smile at him, and then the two of you stand in an awkward silence you’ve never experienced with him before. You used to talk the whole night, and even when the silence took over, it felt nice and calm and comforting.

He scratches his neck, looking down at his feet. Then he takes a deep breath that visibly expands his chest and fixes his blue orbs on yours.

“Do you wanna dance?”

You open your mouth to decline his offer, but then you close it again and just nod. You can’t explain why, but you can’t get yourself to say no. Not when you know this might be the last time you see him.

He grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd, bodies pressing against you from every side but the feeling of Luke’s hand in yours making you feel safe.

He stops when he’s found a spot with a little amount of space for the two of you, and you seriously regret your decision when you stand there facing each other and not knowing what to do.

But then he grabs your other hand and swirls you around while pulling you closer, so your back is pressed against his chest. He places your own hands on your hips, his still covering them.

You immediatly lose yourself in the music and the way his body perfectly melds into yours, and you grow braver for every minute. You press your ass against his crotch and let your fingertips wander up to his neck, pulling at the short curls. He groans and grips your hips even tighter, knuckles turning white. Then you turn around and slowly lean in, barely letting your lips meet before pulling away again.

“Such a tease,” he mutters, hands slipping down to squeeze your ass. You lean in once more and this time, there’s no holding back.

He parts your lips with his tongue and then explores your mouth, grazing your teeth and biting your lip.

When a stranger bumps into you, breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear, “Wanna do this somewhere else, babe?”

You simply nod, feeling your veins boiling with desire.

This time, he leads you to the bathroom for disabled and pushes you up against the door while locking it with the hand that isn’t caressing your hardening nipple through your dress.

“Jump,” he commands, and you secure your legs behind his back while he carries you to the sink, placing you on the brink of it. His lips suck on your neck, collarbone and then, after removing your dress, your breast too, surely leaving marks.

The sex is nothing like when you were together, before he left. He’s much more rough and daring, whispering things in your ear that would make his younger self blush, and he has to cover your mouth to prevent you from making too much noise.

But he’s still considerate enough to make sure to finish you both, and then he stays inside you for a few seconds before pulling out and grabbing your clothing from the floor.

He throws your dress, bra and panties at you and then pulls his boxer shorts on and buttons up his shirt.

You slide down the sink, trying to catch your breath and laughing at his struggle with putting on the tight skinny jeans.

“I can’t believe you still wear those,” you begin, raising your eyebrows, “I remember you said they made you look ‘punk rock’.”

He chuckles, finally succeeding in his attempt at pulling up the black jeans.

“Well, they look good with almost everything and you gotta admit I do look more tough with these on than my old pizza pajamas pants,” he responds and winks at you, making you giggle once more.

“I actually have those in my drawer back home. They may not be trendy or ‘punk rock’, but I swear to God they are the comfiest piece of clothing ever,” you admit and then realize how weird it must sound that an ex has your pajamas laying around after three years of being broken up. “Wow, that sounded creepier than I intended.”

He smiles reassuringly at you, “no worries, Y/N. I still wear that necklace you gave me with the fake shark tooth sometimes as well, so we’re even.” You mirror his grin, remembering when you bought him the necklace. It was when he first went to London, and you wanted to gift him something to remind him of home. You wandered through Sydney all day, not finding anything worth paying for before stumbling upon the fake shark tooth in one of the tourist shops down by the harbor. You knew Luke would find it funny (and perhaps just a little cool too) and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget how thankful he looked when you gave it to him.

You were joining his family visiting him in London, and upon your leave, you had offered him the gift and he immediately got the idea behind, slipping the necklace over his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, whispering “I love you so much,” when you pulled apart.

Luke clears his throat and shakes you from your thoughts. You can’t remove the smile from your lips, feeling better than you have in a long time and looking forward to spending more time with Luke. There’s so much you want to hear about and so many things you want to tell him. And you’re extremely glad you went to the bar tonight.

But then Luke speaks, and every trace of happiness once again leaves your body, “Well, I should probably get going. It was nice catching up with you Y/N, feel free to message me if you’re ever in L.A and up for a round two.”

Your whole body stiffens, but he doesn’t seem to notice or perhaps he just doesn’t care as he presses a short kiss on your cheek before opening the door and leaving you alone.

You’re unable to move, too much in shock to even think comprehendible, but then someone opens the door to the bathroom and asks if you’re finished out there, and you leave, feeling like a zombie like the ones in the movies you watched with your father when you were a kid.

You stop by the bar and look down where the shattered glass still lays right beside your feet, just like the broken remains of your heart. Because he isn’t your Luke anymore, he’s just a heart-breaking mess who used to be the love of your life.

But even now, he still has the ability to shatter your heart into millions of pieces. And you hate him for it.  

[aphroditestummyrolls]

When the Falcon landed in the field outside his house, Kes had been living on the fumes of hope. He counted down every day of every week, waiting for a comm request, a holo-message, any proof of life from Poe. Shara’s tree swayed at the edge of the garden every day, and he chose to see it as a sign—she was keeping their boy safe, he was fine. Surely, if Poe… If something had happened to Poe, The Force Tree – the one he’d grown up watering, playing under, where they’d buried his mother – would’ve done something. 

It was more than he could handle when the Falcon—not Black One -- landed at the edge of his land and Poe didn’t come bounding out. 

Luke hadn’t been the person he expected—everyone with half a head and wasn’t living under a rock knew that Luke hadn’t been around in years. But, no one on that blasted old freighter was his son, and Kes couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the distinct, terrible memory of the last time Luke Skywalker had come to this house with news of Kes’s family. 

“Hello, Kes – I’m sorry it’s been so long.” 

“S-Skywalker,” he ground out, not wanting to know – he’d rather take no news as good news than hear if… “I’ll kill you right here if you’ve come by to deliver me another body.” 

If he’d been in better control of himself, he would’ve been surprised at the vitriol he still felt, so long after he thought he’d forgiven Luke for his part in Shara’s death. But, if this was true, he wouldn’t have a shred of good faith left for the man.

Luke’s hands were up in some cautious show of surrender, when a young voice broke into Kes’s worst fears like sun through a monsoon cloud. 

“Kes Dameron? Are you Poe’s dad?” a slip of a girl came walking down the gangway, casual, a smile on her face. 

“Have you heard from him?” Kes didn’t try to hide his desperation. They were well past that point. 

She looked taken aback, gaping for a moment before sputtering out “I mean, I – yes. I comm’d into base just a few weeks back, he’s been watching out for Finn. He fired the last shots into Starkiller Base! He’s a hero.” 

The relief was unlike anything he’d felt since the Death Star and the Empire fell. It swept over him like a wave, the Force Tree continuing to sway in a silent I told you so, but Kes just gripped the fence to his garden and let out a strangled noise. He let himself finally breathe, a few tears sticking to his lashes. 

“I take it you haven’t heard from Poe.” Luke surmised uselessly. 

“Nearly 2 months of radio silence.” Kes rasped, clearing his throat and finally greeting his guests with a weary smile “It’s good to see you, old friend. I’m sorry about… I’ve been pretty high strung. C’mon in, then – your little friend clearly has a story about my boy, and I was just about to crack open a bottle of Alderaanian wine.” 

The decision to take the position they were offering wasn’t particularly difficult, if only to get a good look at his son for himself – maybe give him a strong smack upside the head for scaring his old man like that. 

Poe was a hero of The Resistance. He’d taken down something that seemed unbeatable. Kes drank more than he meant to, relief, joy, and pride leaving him nearly floating, looking out the window at Shara’s tree and knowing she was proud, too. 

So, they stayed a week. Young Rey got to train with Luke, meditate under one of the only Force Trees in existence. Kes learned about Han, and that nasty business with his and Leia’s son. He showed Rey Shara’s old A Wing, and Poe’s many scrapped speeders in the barn. She was sweet. 

He’d always said that if he and Shara had had more time, they’d have had a daughter. They’d have had to expand their house they’d have had so many kids. 

Rey was very sweet. 

Boarding The Falcon and leaving his home after so long made him feel old. His first thought had been But who’ll tend the garden? And he just had to laugh. Shara would’ve called him an old homebody and told him to get off his ass. 

The galaxy needed him – and so did their boy. 

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

The last blaster shots into the core of Starkiller mingled with his screams, with Yavinic songs, and his dad’s warm voice -- a Force-like pressure squeezed his muscles tight until he felt he might explode, a cry turning into a whimper as he bolted up in bed. His head pounded, the last tendrils of the dream pulsing through his skull behind his eyes. 

BB-8 charged in the corner, the soft blinking light of his sleep mode helping to level out Poe’s desperate breathing. 

He had gotten Starkiller—they had won. They had won. 

But he still felt like he’d failed. Ren had gotten through, leaving the mark of his probe on every fiber of Poe’s being, every memory in his head. 

Poe fumbled his way out of the tangle of sweaty sheets, slipping into his trousers and pulling a shirt over his head with trembling hands. His heart continued its mad hammering in his chest, just like it did every morning. If he managed to sleep at all, that is. 

The mess hall was blissfully empty as he padded through the midnight quiet of Headquarters, just like it was every night. 

Poe’s nights always seemed to go the same way, with little variations here and there. He’d wake up, try not to throw up (he didn’t always succeed), stop by the mess hall for his first cup of caf, and find something to keep him busy. 

He had repainted Black One four times in the two weeks since Starkiller. He had rebuilt her engine even more. He had spent late nights and early mornings recording Holo-messages, notifying the families of his dead pilots. 

One of the only things that stayed the same, though, was walking through the sterile white halls of the medbay to Finn’s room. He always looked so peaceful. He was always sleeping with a heavy, dreamless calm that made Poe feel like his life wasn’t completely falling apart— at least Finn’s vitals were strong. 

That night was no different. The caf was going cold in his hand, but Poe was busy watching his friend’s chest gently rising and falling with the ventilator, listening to that strong, steady heartbeat through the monitor. 

“Poe Dameron, why am I not surprised?” A familiar voice sighed from the doorway. He made a conscious effort not to jump in surprise—he should’ve seen this coming, after all. 

“Hey Doc.” He flashed her a half a grimace—soft and a little pleading, he didn’t have the energy for anything else—before looking down into his caf. He knew what she was going to say, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. He knew he looked like Bantha shit, he didn’t need anyone else to tell him that. 

“You look like Bantha shit.”

Nice, he thought “Still the best-looking guy in the Resistance—how’s Finn doing?” 

She huffed a breath that might have been a laugh in a previous life where she had a sense of humor. “He’s the same as he was when you asked me last night— the spinal damage is nearly healed. He’ll be stiff and weak when he wakes up, but a few weeks of intensive physical therapy should have him back on his feet. I’ve never seen someone take to the bacta so well. Your friend’s lucky.”

He nodded. The unchanged, optimistic words set something at ease in his tightly knotted gut. Finn’s chest rose and fell, his short black lashes curling away from the start of his soft, dark cheek. Poe missed his full lips and his blinding smile. People talked a big talk about Poe’s smile, but he had nothing on Finn. 

“—Commander, are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” he pulled his gritty, tired gaze from his friend to look back at the doctor’s unamused face. 

Her lips were pursed, and her eyebrow was raised. She almost looked like his mom used to, and while that used to be something that would make Poe smile, a spike of shame punched into him instead. The feeling only got worse when her expression softened. She was worried about him—just like Snap, and Jess, and even The General--

“I asked if you were feeling alright. Poe, are you sleeping at all?”

He paused, swallowed, and tried to hide it all in feigned nonchalance “Yeah, Doc—I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” she was, if possible, even less amused than before “You’re here every night—at first, I thought you were on some sort of night shift, but The General said you’re on leave to recuperate after Starkiller. Usually, people go home.”

“There’s too much to do around here—”

“How’s Kes?”

He tried to hide the flinch at his dad’s name, but his level of success was written all over the doctor’s face. He’d failed again. 

The phantom pains of Ren’s presence in his mind curled through his blood like smoke. He couldn’t even picture Kes’s face without the urge to cry. 

“He’s alright. He fought in the first rebellion; he knows where I’m needed.”

There was a long pause, and Poe was just waiting for her to call his bluff—he hadn’t comm’d in to Yavin IV since before Jakku. Dad was probably worried sick, Poe never used to go longer than a week without contact. 

It had been nearly 2 months. 

Dr. Kalonia sighed “Have a good night, Poe. Don’t forget to get some sleep—can’t have a pilot who can’t steer straight.”

From Love Will Help You Heal on AO3

[cherikyassss]

Sins of the Flesh

It would be so easy, of course.

Charles knows he would only have to use his telepathy to implant the suggestion of such and it wouldn’t take long for the idea to become manifest, for long-fingered hands to slide slowly over his body, caressing exposed skin and causing gooseflesh to rise in every intimate place.

It would be easy, but then it wouldn't be a challenge- and Charles likes a challenge if nothing else...

As it is Charles waits, and every shift becomes an exercise in patience. The evening starts and Charles watches as various men and occasionally women filter into the club- young, old, tall, short, mutant, human. But all throughout Charles' excitement is held in repose, waiting for one single person to make his entrance; Charles' favourite customer- the German.

That isn't his real name, of course. Charles only knows that it's 'Erik' as he was able to subtly glean the information from the man's mind, for as much as Erik has been in attendance at the strip club for weeks now and has requested Charles on every single occasion, they have never actually spoken. Charles tries of course. Amiable chitchat is part of the job description and as such every encounter with Erik is interspersed with pleasant inquisitions from Charles, every one of which is met by little more than a small huff or an occasional muttered one-word utterance. But Charles finds that he doesn't mind the fact that Erik doesn't say very much. After all- though his lips may be sealed, Erik's body speaks in all kinds of ways...

Erik's eyes are the most expressive that Charles has ever seen, and so much is said in the depths of those grey-green-blue irises. From the second Erik enters the club the intensity of his gaze is such that it feels to Charles like heat upon his skin, and though Charles arguably belongs to anyone with a big enough wallet, Erik's claim is made with a look alone. Charles always joins Erik in the quietest corner of the room and it's like there is no one in the world but the two of them, as even the continual thrum of the raucous music lessens to a low murmur. Consequently Charles can hear every sharp inhale of breath that comes from Erik, every soft groan that leaves his lips as Charles begins his tease, and each sound makes Charles tense in anticipation as he thinks about all the things he wants but cannot have.

There's a rule, of course. All clients of the Hellfire Club are given a strict directive that they must adhere to: look but don't touch, and the decree extends to the dancers as well with an additional statute, as they are expressly forbidden from dating customers. It's a rule Charles has never once thought about breaking in the past, but increasingly during every night spent intimately with Erik there is cause for reconsideration. With every subtle sign of desire given out by Erik's body Charles only wants him more and more, because even though Erik remains quiet and stoic, even though he vocalises no obvious need or desire, his body continues to say everything.

Charles feels it most significantly during the moments when he will drape himself over Erik's static form, grinding purposefully against Erik's crotch and feeling the length of Erik's hard cock press against him. Erik's hands remain rigidly at his sides, his fists clenched as if he is trying very hard to hold back, and as his breathing slows every hitch is noticeable as Charles moves against Erik's body so intimately. Charles knows he has always been somewhat of a size queen and as such he finds it impossible not to fixate on the considerable length concealed by Erik's trousers, imagining being on his knees in front of Erik, gazing up at him, Erik's cock hot and heavy in Charles' mouth. It feels dirty and wanton to fantasise about Erik so ardently, particularly when it is made more taboo by the fact that Charles knows it is against the rules, but Charles cannot help himself- especially as deep down Charles knows it is more than just sexual attraction.

Though Charles would never violate any of his customers' privacy by using his telepathy to explore their minds, nevertheless he is always granted some kind of overview. From Erik the observation allows Charles to perceive Erik's strength, Erik's compassion, and the general warmth of Erik's psyche, and though it's clear that Erik is someone who is reserved and almost guarded, there's a real depth to him that Charles’ admires. Even without ever having had a proper conversation with Erik, somehow Charles knows that they have so much in common- more than just their respective mutant powers or the fact that they are clearly attracted to each other. For that reason, after several weeks of visits from Erik, one Friday night as Charles waits for Erik's arrival he finds himself contemplating a change from the normal routine- a notion that is spurred on thanks to the ‘encouragement' he receives from one of his colleagues...

“It'll never happen...”

At the disparaging words Charles turns to his side, finding his co-worker Emma regarding him coolly before she lifts one hand and fans out her fingers to regard her impeccably painted nails, the long talons seeming rather like claws that mark her intent to injure Charles' pride. All around Charles the room is full of people- dancers dressed like angels and devils speaking intimately to various clients- but Emma is very much the focal point of the room, dressed in pure white with an elaborate set of wings strapped to her back. Even if they weren't both the only telepaths in the club Charles knows he would be drawn to her, because in spite of Emma's often cold exterior Charles knows he values her opinion, even if it is often given without being asked for.

“What will never happen?” Charles asks.

A small, sly smile spreads across Emma's face as she leans against the bar they are sitting at and begins to tap her nails against the surface.

“You know what I'm talking about...” Emma replies, giving a little shake of her head that has her blonde hair shifting briefly before resettling. “You can't keep things from me, sugar, and I don't need to read your mind to know what you're thinking. You want to make your move on the German”.

Charles’ mouth clamps shut as he quickly turns to scan the immediate area, looking out for the unwelcome sight of the owner of the Hellfire Club, but fortunately finding Shaw to be nowhere nearby. It wouldn't be good for anyone to become aware of Charles’ intentions, and consequently as Charles turns to look back at Emma he can't help but give her a pointed look that expresses his disapproval.

“You really think I would be so bold? I know the rules, Emma- and I know the penalty for breaking them”.

“And yet every Friday night you shun all the other punters in favour of a virtual mute with a big wallet and an apparently even bigger cock... Of course I can understand you pursuing the former, just make sure you don't do anything stupid because you're so dick-drunk over the latter”.

Charles' eyes narrow as he stares at Emma, annoyance clear in his expression, but before he can open his mouth to counter Emma's barbed words the tendrils of Charles' telepathy pick up on the presence of a familiar mind, and he can't help but instantly turn towards the door, knowing what he will find there. Erik enters looking like sin personified, his hair neatly combed and the leather jacket he is wearing adding some edge to Erik’s normally quite corporate look, and Charles has never wanted him more. Their eyes lock from across the room and even without words being exchanged the command is clear, and as such it only takes the smallest incline of Erik's head for Charles to immediately slide down from the barstool he is sitting on, his heart pounding in anticipation as he starts to walk over.

“Be careful...”

When Charles turns back to look at Emma she is still standing by the bar, her eyes trained on Charles and her expression communicating the same intent as the words she just spoke into Charles' mind. The concern Charles can feel coming from Emma is surprising but comforting, and though Charles would perhaps like to discuss his thoughts with Emma further there is no time for that, and all Charles can offer is a small nod of acknowledgment before he turns and walks away.

As Charles makes his way across the club the eyes that are cast upon him are all easily ignored, as if Charles' vision is singular and composed of the path to Erik alone. It's arguable that Charles presents a pretty striking picture, dressed in scant white shorts and with the shape of two angel wings painted in shimmering bodypaint on his bare back, but though Charles can feel pulses of desire passing over him in errant waves he ignores them all, wanting Erik's attention only.

Charles joins Erik in the darkest corner of the room, where Erik always is- away from the noise and the chaos of the rest of the club, where fortunately no one can see them. A gauzy red curtain shrouds the private seating area and Charles parts it to join Erik, mouth instantly drying at the sight of Erik sitting on the sofa inside, his posture tense until the point when Charles enters and Erik's legs seem to unconsciously sway apart. Normally Erik arrives dressed as if he has just left the office in one stylish suit or another, but on this occasion he is decidedly less formal in grey trousers and a black polo shirt with his leather jacket now discarded, and he looks so good Charles knows if he wasn't already planning to entice Erik into touching him tonight Erik's appearance would have made things very difficult anyway.

“Hi...” Charles says shyly, his usual contrived confidence made to falter on account of how much he really does like Erik. “It's so good to see you again”.

There are no words from Erik in response, and he keeps his eyes focused on Charles as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a bundle of notes that he places on the seat beside himself for Charles to take. Of course it all comes down to money but at that point Charles cares little for fiscal compensation, he only wants to be close to Erik once more, and to find out if the potent desire between them really is entirely mutual.

As the thumping music of the club continues to resound outside their safe haven Charles steps over to Erik, moving slowly and seductively as he draws both hands down his bare chest, watching as Erik's eyes track the movement. Erik's mouth parts as he watches Charles, as Charles takes up position standing in front of Erik, starting to roll his hips purposely, beginning the tease. Of course it's the barest of what either of them wants but Charles knows it is important to provide an intense build up, to get Erik hot and desperate before moving closer, but what thrills Charles is that he can see how turned on Erik is just from the initial part of the dance when arguably nothing scandalous has happened yet. Erik's face is flushed with colour and his eyes are heavily dilated, and already his unforgiving trousers are distorted by the line of a half-formed erection- something that has Charles involuntarily licking his lips as he turns around so his back is to Erik.

The warm swell of desire that runs over Charles as he presents his arse to Erik is unmistakable, intensifying as Charles bends over and draws his hands slowly up his legs, giving Erik a show. Even though Erik has barely spoken in the past Charles already knows how his arguably finest asset is also one of Erik's favourites, as evidenced by the lust pouring off of Erik's mind as Charles stands upright and shifts back, lowering himself into Erik's lap. It has always been remarkable to Charles just how easily his and Erik's bodies seem to fit together, his arse snug against Erik's crotch, the thick line of Erik's cock pressed intimately against Charles' body, prompting Charles' own arousal to increase emphatically. It's a tricky line Charles is walking between seducing Erik and making his own desire blatantly obvious, and it takes a tremendous deal of self-control (along with some very robust underwear) to ensure Charles does not show all of his cards too soon.

As always it seems like there is no one else in the entire universe as Charles begins to grind against Erik, listening to the helpless little murmurs Erik makes as his hands tremble by his sides, as if he is aching to touch. It's what Charles wants too because it has been almost two months of only seeing Erik once a week, of thinking about him every day in-between and daydreaming about all the filthy things they could do to each other. But more than that Charles knows it's not just sex he covets- it's comfort, it's companionship, is the contentment that comes from knowing you belong to one person alone and they in turn belong to you.

“I've missed you...” Charles murmurs.

The words are involuntary, given out as the front of professionalism Charles presents starts to slip, revealing truth beneath. Erik's breath hitches and his hands clamp down on Charles' waist, and Charles can’t help but gasp at the contact even if it's not particularly scandalous, because just to have Erik touch him in any way at long last is everything. Consequently Charles is visibly shaking as he feels Erik sit fully upright, as their bodies become even more firmly pressed together, and as those same large hands of Erik's become splayed across Charles' stomach, keeping Charles in place as Erik shifts to rest his chin against Charles' shoulder.

“Do you mean that?” Erik asks quietly, his lightly-accented voice prompting a thrum of arousal to run through Charles' body.

Charles knows this is the point where he needs to shut things down, where he needs to pull away from Erik and plaster a fake smile on his face and make Erik believe that what is happening between them is purely a business transaction and nothing else. But for some reason Charles does not want to lie to Erik, cannot think of anything worse than betraying him in any way, and as such Charles can only close his eyes slowly, voice soft and reverent as he eventually responds “Yes...”

The noise Erik makes then is just about the most beautiful thing Charles has ever heard- a happy kind of murmur that has Charles' heart fluttering in his chest like it is trapped beneath his ribcage, hoping to break free. Erik tilts his head down and trails his mouth slowly along the curve of Charles' shoulder in the hint of a barely-there kiss, and even though every part of Charles' inner monologue is yelling at him to withdraw before it's too late, he knows he is already in much too deep.

“Come home with me, Charles...”

The words are exactly what Charles has fantasised about hearing from Erik for so long now but still he is disbelieving, even as the way Erik continues to brush his lips against Charles' skin makes his convictions clear. However it’s not just uncertainty about Erik's intentions that makes Charles falter, it's contemplation of the potential repercussions that will await Charles should he choose to break the rules.

“I can’t... I'm not supposed to date clients”.

“Well then I'll stop coming to the club”.

“It’s not as simple as that, Erik... The rule extends to former clients as well. To be honest, it's not encouraged for us to date anyone. After all, we belong to the Hellfire Club first and foremost”.

“You belong to yourself, Charles...” Erik replies, his arms winding more firmly around Charles' waist, prompting Charles to worry about the increasing chance that someone might see them. Though dancers are usually left alone when they are with clients it's not unheard of for someone to check in on them, and Charles can't risk being seen essentially cuddling with Erik.

“I can't”, Charles says suddenly, standing up from Erik's lap.

Charles cannot bring himself to look at Erik in that moment, lest he see the disappointment become manifest on Erik's face, and so he remains staring straight ahead at the gauzy red curtains and the hazy scene beyond as he feels Erik stand up behind him. Charles' hands are shaking as Erik moves closer, as Erik steps around so he is facing Charles, and only when Erik gently places one curled finger under Charles' chin does Charles allow his head to be tilted upwards, listening intently as Erik starts to speak.

“Read my mind. Find out where I live. Come to my house after your shift is over, if that's what you want. If I don’t see you later I'll take that as an answer and you won't see me again. It's your choice, Charles”.

Being so close to Erik is mesmerising and Charles can't help staring devotedly into Erik’s eyes, lulled by the soothing tone of Erik's voice and the conviction of his words. The idea of going to Erik's home, of being with Erik in his own bed is incredibly appealing, but Charles knows he will need to think long and hard before he makes any rash decisions. Fortunately it seems like Erik is only too happy to give Charles the time he needs to think about things, as Erik simply reaches to give Charles' arm a gentle squeeze before stepping away, leaving Charles with one resounding question running through his mind.

Stay or go?

To be continued...?

[theashemarie]

Riding Out the Wave - Pearlina Fic

The Octo expansion got me good. Had to write something, even if it’s small. I’m shooting for 4 chapters in this little thing, but we’ll see. 

↪Chapter 2: [How We Got Here]

↪Chapter 3: [Gulf Space]

↪Chapter 4: [Morning Breakfast]

Crossposted: [AO3] [FFN]

Ch. 1: Adventures in Babysitting

It’s a brand deal that does it. Grizzco is fishy, but they (Marina) don’t want to alienate a loyal advertiser and they (still Marina) want to support a local business. Pearl couldn’t care less, to be completely honest, but Marina is so positive! About the whole thing! Saying things like “Oh Pearl, just think! It’ll bring in freelancers! Then Mr. Grizz will be set!” Pearl knows for a fact that Mr. Grizz is already set, considering the emails she’s read on her father’s computer, but she doesn’t mention that because Marina is so damn cute when she’s smiling and clapping her hands.

Yeah, Pearl has a problem. She knows she’s wrapped around Marina’s finger, but Marina doesn’t know it yet. Pearl also knows that she can’t say anything about her feelings (oh, and there are many feelings), because she’s... Well, she’s scared. And she’s not sure Marina feels the same way. Well, she kinda doesn’t know. Marina is really handsy and touchy-feely, but that’s probably a Marina thing. An... Ocotling thing maybe... Agent 8 isn’t like that but maybe it’s a specific Octoling thing. An if-you’re-close-to-an-Octoling thing.

Yeah, Peal knows she’s hopeless.

Pearl’s had an embarrassing crush on Marina for a while, but the whole Agent 8 thing really localized and magnified it for her. For a while there, she thought for sure Marina was going to figure it out, especially after she threatened to cut Cap’n Cuttlefish if he hurt her, but Marina never figured it out. But, there are moments when they’re back in their apartment and Marina touches Pearl just there, with this tender look on her face, and Pearl swears that she sees something there. Marina’s smiles are like the clouds parting before a brilliant sunset, but those moments look like an emotion that Pearl recognizes but can’t put a name to. Marina always looks at Pearl so fondly when it’s late and they’re lit only by the television; things are softer then, including their bickering, and especially Marina’s quiet gazes. In these moments, Pearl swears that there’s something growing between them that they’re tiptoeing around, testing, probing, but never leaping into.

But, predictably, come morning, with the harsh light of the sun and then the studio lights, Pearl isn’t so sure. She never makes her move, never asks, because this is something that should be reserved for quiet and private, but by the time they get there, she’s talked herself back into the corner of uncertainty. She second guesses, fears she’ll ruin things with Marina if she asks, so she keeps her crush to herself.

So, the brand deal. What Pearl thought it would be: Posing with Marina in a bunch of Grizzco Brand clothing from Mr. Grizz’s new clothing line (it looks about as grungy and crusty as the stuff he throws at his part-timers as compensation for working a few shifts; Pearl half-expects all the clothes to be straight from the bowels of Mr. Grizz’s closet, but she doesn’t say that, just wrinkles her posh little nose at it like her Papa taught her to), holding their signature weapons and smiling a lot (well, Marina smiling, Pearl glowering and smirking because she knows she looks like a gremlin). But, that’s not what she gets.

Record scratch, freeze-frame. Right there. Witness Pearl’s personal hell.

What she gets from the brand deal: Spawning Grounds at dusk, two cameras, attached to drones, two teammates, who look to be as new as the Jr. Marks stitched into the shoulders of their Grizzco Mandated Uniforms, dualies and splat brella in the rotation, both of which the newbies are blinking at in confusion, Marina with an Octobrush and Pearl with a Splattershot Jr.

So, no, she’s not happy.

She poses for the pictures. She follows Grizz’s barked, tinny orders when they filter in from her earpiece. She’s not happy about it. One time, she pretends to not hear him and jumps in the water and he’s contractually obligated to revive her, and she lives for the sound of his cursing as he does so. But then Marina gives her this look, the kind of look that makes her want to crawl out of her own skin and beg for forgiveness because she’s disappointed her.

She’s so, so, so hopeless but she doesn’t care really. Marina makes her want to be better with all of her passion and attention to detail, and the sight of her hands on the turntables always does something to Pearl that just lights her up inside and she just. Wants to make Marina happy. And if that means dealing with the angry bear man then so be it.

“You know what I think?” Pearl says as they’re taking a short snack break. (At least Grizz has the decency to provide food, even if it is cheap and stale.) “I think Grizzco is a glorified daycare.”

Marina glances at the two inklings standing guard over the snacks. One of them has the timing to take a long, loud slurp out of a juice box. “I think you might be right,” Marina answers, bemused. Then, she asks them: “Hey, how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” they chorus in their high-pitched woomy voices.

“Thought so,” Pearl says. Marina does that thing where she tries not to laugh and fails, so what comes out is an adorable little snort. Pearl has to look away to hide an embarrassing blush.

“This is child labor,” Marina mumbles as Grizz calls them back out to finish the shoot. Why he’s in charge is a mystery to Pearl. Shouldn’t there be some sort of middleman out here? What about their manager? This is the last time Pearl’s letting Marina handle business for the foreseeable future.

“Maybe so,” Pearl mumbles back as she watches the kids shoot each other with their weapons. The ink pellets off them harmlessly and paints the immaculate floor, causing Grizz to grumble. Marina mumbles something about a Squee-G being the perfect fix for that but Grizz doesn’t hear her.

They take a few more photos and things are looking to wrap up nicely. The kids are actually pretty good at modeling, so Pearl wonders if they’re actually not just some apprentices that Grizz picked up off some roster. Explains why they don’t know how to use the weapons all that well, if they spend all their time modeling at least.

Then, of course, the foghorn goes off.

“Uh oh,” the kids, who Pearl is now calling Dualies and Brella, chime together.

“‘Uh oh?’ Why uh oh?” Pearl asks, but she has a sinking feeling in her gut, because she knows what the foghorn means.

“Grizz, what the heck is going on?” Marina demands. Her hand flies up to her ear, as if that’ll make Grizz’s answer come out clearer.

“I forgot to mention,” comes the grizzled voice. “There’s a wave coming in.”

“There’s a what?” Pearl squawks. Her hands tighten around her Splattershot Jr., and she feels Sheldon’s painstakingly crafted casing crack from the strain.

Marina is pacing—not a good sign. “We’re jumping back to the boat,” she commands.

“Nope, sorry missy.” Pearl can practically hear Grizz’s slimy smile through the comms. “Super jumping is restricted in this area and I have all the permits. We need some action shots. Smile for the cameras!”

“Grizz—!” Pearl begins, taking in a deep breath to unleash the most vibrant and vile curse words she can come up with (the ones she saves for the special occasions), but she’s cut off.

“See you back at the boat!” Grizz sing-songs. Across the Spawning Grounds, the all-too-familiar basket appears. “Now go get me some golden eggs!”

Comms go silent with a loud buzzing sound. Pearl rips hers out. “I’ll kill him,” she declares.

“Not if I get to him first,” Marina mumbles darkly. She grips her Octobrush tighter as the foghorn comes again.

Pearl can see smallfry and chum climb out of the water on the docks. “Let’s kill him together. Hey kids,” she directs towards Dualies and Brella, who are cowering together, “group up and stick with me and Marina. We got this.”

Across the Spawning Grounds, a Steelhead heaves itself out of the water and onto the docks. The kids scurry to huddle behind Marina’s taller frame, and she holds her Octobrush out with perfect form. Suddenly, Pearl remembers that Marina used to be part of an elite fighting force. An Octoling force, and she was high ranking. She holds the Octobrush like it’s an extension of her arm and her whole stance changes, crouched, lethal, familiar, deadly.

Pearl is... hm. That’s attractive, isn’t it? That’s killer. Pearl forgets where she is for a second as she watches Marina launch herself toward the chum. She even takes the Steelhead out by swinging her Octobrush a few times from right below it. Then, she jolts Pearl out of her daze by yelling for help with the eggs. Pearl nearly trips over herself and can’t find the trigger of her weapon for a few seconds. But, when she manages it, Marina beams at her.

And that’s... hm.

+++

They’re on the third wave when it finally happens. Pressed against the basket with two dead teammates (Brella and Dualies fought hard) and next to no ink, Pearl knows that her end is coming. She sees a cohock wind back, pan primed to bludgeon her into an inky pulp, and she flinches, her weapon useless. They’re down three eggs and there’s only a couple seconds left. What’s worse is that the whole world will get to see her temporary demise, and that hurts more than anything. She may survive this, but her career probably won’t.

She closes her eyes. This part is never easy. Feeling her whole being fling outward in a burst is never fun, and the resulting respawn is even less fun, but, like every other inkling, she’s used to it. Luckily, Grizzco’s jobs are pretty safe and most people respawn without trouble. There are always exceptions though—

“Get away from my Pearlie!” comes a cry, so guttural that it takes a few seconds for Pearl to identify the voice. That’s Marina, flying through the air as if she has wings, swinging her Octobrush (because of course the weapons didn’t rotate like they were supposed to; this was a glorified photoshoot after all) and howling like there’s death hot on her heals. She destroys the cohocks and chum in a couple swipes of her weapon, slams a bomb down on their teammates’ life preservers, and they all pop eggs into the basket, grabbing quota at the last second.

It’s the hottest thing Pearl’s ever seen. She’s cemented in place as the foghorn goes off again and the salmonids turn tail and run. Marina gives her a bright smile, the complete opposite of the harbinger of death that she just embodied, and she scoops Pearl up into her long arms. Face pressed to Marina’s chest, Pearl can only blink in surprise, limp.

“Oh Pearlie, I was so worried! I turned around you were gone!” She gives Pearl a loose shake. “We’re supposed to stick together! You know that!”

Pearl very much wants to say that she’ll always stick with Marina, if she’ll have her, but her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and her teeth feel like they’ve been rattled loose. She swallows once, forcefully, and nods.

“Y-you got it,” she manages, and almost collapses as Marina releases her. Luckily, Marina grabs her again, this time by the arms, and holds her steady. “You didn’t have to save me though,” Pearl continues, because she has an image to uphold. “Grizz is a pretty good babysitter. Almost everyone respawns.”

Marina laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical to Pearl. “I can’t stand to see you splatted. I hate it.” Her voice is so gentle, so tender, something Pearl isn’t accustomed to hearing, and Marina rubs her thumb just there, on Pearl’s arm, exciting little goosebumps.

Pearl’s head is still spinning so that doesn’t make sense to her. “Wha—”

Maybe it’s the nerves. Maybe it’s the panic. Maybe it’s the relief. But, Marina pulls Pearl close again. Everything slows down, right there. Their teammates in their squid partying become muffled background noise and all Pearl can hear is her own heartbeats, her own breathing. Because suddenly, all she can see is Marina, and her face, getting closer and closer.

Until, their lips are touching. Marina’s arms pull Pearl impossibly closer, as if trying to meld their bodies together, and Pearl swears she can feel Marina’s hearts, hammering against her own chest. Marina’s hair is wriggling around them, and Pearl feels one of Marina’s hands come up to cup her jaw.

The world is nothing but Marina, and Pearl nearly falls down again as her knees give in. The shock of the last few minutes is too much for her but that’s okay. She uses her weak knees as an excuse to surge forward and press her lips harder into Marina’s and is delighted when Marina squeaks and then hums against her lips.

When they eventually pull apart, the world has calmed down. Their teammates aren’t looking at them, respectfully, and all of the salmonids are gone. Everything seems clearer. Pearl can feel every single pore on her face as she smiles.

Then, she realizes what they’ve done and that smile falters. The cameras whirr above them, trained on their heads.

“Shit,” Marina mumbles. Pearl can’t help but share the sentiment.