#erm for half body it will most likely by upper leg up

[tekbro]

Hemlo, anyone interested for some bust/half body commission? I don't have to say a lot, but kind of a financial issue and I gotta have to do it to temporarily stabilize it.

I don't have to ask for donation but if you feel like it, go for it, but I'd recommend taking commission instead so I wont have to feel bad that much receiving it :)

for $15 bust/half body commission, will mostly look like this at best ($25 for NSFW if that's okay):

I am opening 3 slots for now

[kirishimas-manly-eyeliner]

➴ are we supposed to share a bed?

pairings: sawamura daichi, ryūnosuke tanaka, koshi sugawara, tsukishima kei, tadashi yamaguchi, shoyo hinata, tobio kageyama, yu nishinoya, asahi azumane x gn! reader (karasuno boys)

warnings: none! pure fluff hehe <3

KARASUNO BOYS WITH THE FANFIC TROPE: THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED (...and a couch.)

KEI TSUKISHIMA

good luck on trying to get him to go to sleep comfortably on the bed.

“i’ll sleep on the couch,” he deadpans, and flops over onto the cushion that is clearly too small for him. tsukishima stays there, caught up in his thoughts for a while. tossing and turning on the bed, his head nearly falling off the arm rests and his ankles sticking out in an uncomfortable position. 

after a long day of practice, you nearly fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. the only thing preventing you from getting a good night’s rest is the sounds of the couch’s old springs shrieking and creaking. “tsukishima, you should just lie down here instead... it’s a lot more comfortable anyway.”

you can hear him scoff with his head buried under a throw pillow. “no.”

there was really no way of getting through to him, was there?

but the problem was, right before you were about to fall asleep, right as your eyelids got heavy and you were finally about to go into a blissful sleep for the first time in months, tsukishima would keep moving around

you didn’t mean to be this cranky. you were exhausted. “tsuki, c’mon. you sound uncomfortable. sleep here.”

tsukishima immediately stopped moving. for a moment, you thought he might come and join you. he doesn’t.

but eventually, when he’s so uncomfortable to the point where he can’t stop tossing and turning and you’re sound asleep, he’ll crawl into bed with you WAYYY later. no way is he going to snuggle in bed with you while you’re still awake.

instead, with his body heavy from lack of sleep, he lies down next to you, praying that you don’t wake up, and falls asleep like a light.

you wake up with his arms wrapped around you.

TADASHI YAMAGUCHI

precious!! little!! baby!!

tadashi will say he prefers the couch-- not because he doesn’t like you, he’s just afraid of the actual part of sleeping next to you. he’s watched enough movies to know what happens when the two characters fall asleep on the same bed. they wake up, hand-in-hand, completely flustered-- and tadashi is convinced that he’d combust if that ever happened. he just wants to make sure that you’re comfortable.

“are you sure?” you ask. “you worked really hard today... and your serves were amazing! take the bed. i’ll sleep on the couch.”

tadashi shakes his head. “i-it’s okay. really.”

“mm...” you think for a moment, but then smile. “you can always sit up here with me, if you want.”

tadashi immediately wraps his arms around himself. “n-no! it’s okay! really! i wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable...”

you smile playfully. “don’t worry about it. i don’t mind, i know you wouldn’t do anything weird. come on. i’m tired, you’re tired, let’s just go to bed, yeah?”

after a few more moments of talking and trying to let yamaguchi know that you genuinely don’t mind, you convince yamaguchi to sleep with you on the bed instead of him going on the ripped couch. 

he’ll be lightly hugging himself, afraid that if he outstretched his arms, they would wrap around you in his sleep. that was the last thing he wanted-- for you to feel uncomfortable around him.

(jokes on him, you two both wake up cuddling regardless)

SHOYO HINATA

without a moment’s pass, once you two settle into your rooms for the night, he throws his bags down, and DRAGS YOU DOWN WITH HIM ON THE BED

unlike the others, there’s no discussion on who goes on the couch and who goes on the bed. after games, hinata is always a little overly confident and ends up oulling you down on the bed next to him. he doesn’t even shower. he’s exhausted.

you laugh (his energy is contagious), “hinata-?? uherm don’t you wanna shower first?”

he laughs out loud, stretching his arms out. “but i’m exhausteeedddd!”

he fluffs the pillows in an insanely cute way and goes, “okay. i can sleep on the left side, you can sleep on the right so that we don’t crash into each other during the night. is that okay?”

you nod. hinata smiles before changing (and then he goes to rinse off) and plops onto bed, snuggling under the covers. he’ll casually get out his phone and scroll through the feed, maybe play a couple of games, and casually talk about his day with you, until he realizes that you didn’t respond.

he peered over, finding that you were sleeping.

he smiles softly, before the idea that he had actually JUST nonchalantly slept with you next to him, your face only a few inches away from his, and the realization finally settles in as his face burns against his pillow.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA

"I mean... If you want."

kageyama says that phrase at least ten times throughout the process of trying to figure out the idea of “only one bed.”

he’s trying his best not to be too aggressive or pushy around you, but it’s clear that he’s cranky and wants some sleep after a long day. his face is in a pout from exhaustion, his bags are sprawled across the floor and the last thing he looks like he wants to do is get a restless sleep on the couch.

“so uh,... do you want the couch or the bed-?” you ask. kageyama shrugs. but looking at how tired he is, his sunken eyes, and the way his knees were nearly unbuckling, you say gently, “i’m gonna take the couch.”

“okay.”

you take the couch and kageyama lies down on the bed, but exhausted as he is, a part of him is thinking with a twinge of guilt, “the couch must be really uncomfortable.. are they okay?”

so instead, kageyama peers over and finds you wrapping your arms around yourself from the couch, and he sighs, long and tired, and kind of just- STANDS over you on the couch like 🧍🏻 ...

“hey.”

you look up, confused and half-asleep. “...mmph?”

“sleep with me.”

the words tumble out before kageyama can stop them, but you’re just so heavy with sleep that you nod as if nothing had happened and flop onto the bed, your entire body sinking into the soft mattress. you wake up with a blanket wrapped around you, and kageyama on the floor from faling off.

RYUNOSUKE TANAKA

surprisingly, he has so much more respect and privacy for you than you may suspect. when tanaka enters the room, he’s lowkey kind of tense, but he sets his bags down and helps you, “uhem... do you need anything? tooth brush? tooth paste? extra blankets-?” he sees you as the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. the way he stares at you is something that no one else can compare to. 

you laugh. “nah, i’m good. but thanks!” you look around, pointing towards the couch and raising an eyebrow at how uncomfortable it looks. “you and i both had a rough day... how about we just sleep on the bed then? i-if you’re comfortable with it, that is.”

CONGRATULATIONS YOU BROKE TANAKA

this awkward blob who’s just insanely flustered because holy crow, his best friend AND crush is suggesting they both share the bed. he then flashes out a grin and a thumbs up, “alright! sounds good!”

you grin back as you two both get ready for bed and lie down.

and to confirm, he has absolutely no shame once he gets more comfortable and calm for cuddling you (with your consent BECAUSE CONSENT IS SO SEXY)

tanaka will talk about his entire day with you in such a free way. everything is so easy with him-- he constantly thinks that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on and tries not to say it out loud every five seconds. tanaka will hold your hand and try to make you laugh multiple times just for the sake of it <3

YU NISHINOYA

"i-i can sleep on the couch! really!"

...he’s lying.

you know when you offer someone food, you know, just for the sake of being nice-- and this small part of you hopes that they don’t take the food?

that’s what nishinoya is casually saying, explaining that he can “sleep on the couch.” in reality, he just wants to cuddle next to you, hand-in-hand as you two casually talk about your day. he wants to play with your hair and kiss you and make you laugh. he wants to see you smile and cuddle you, wake up in the morning hand-in-hand as someone you can trust.

“uHmMM... okay, you can take the couch then,” you say, completely oblivious.

a small part of nishinoya dies inside with those words. “erm, okay. goodnight!!” he’s trying to sound cheerful for your sake, but he can’t help but feel disappointed.

that’s what he wanted, right? you stumble over to the bed, your legs tired and knees buckling after a long day as you pull your covers over yourself. “mm, goodnight, noya!” 

but later, you see that nishinoya is standing above the couch a lot like kageyama did-- contemplating whether or not he should speak out about wanting to go on the bed next to you or going on the couch. once he hears that you’ve stopped shuffling under your bed covers, he thinks you’re asleep and stares at you-- only to find your eyes staring into his.

he blurts the words out. “can i- i mean, only if it’s okay with you, can i sleep on the bed with you?!”

you hesitate, but then raise an eyebrow and your upper lip curls with a playful grin. “oh?”

nishinoya laughs and gives a small shrug.

“c’mere.”

KOSHI SUGAWARA

he's such a sweetheart.

sugawara knows that you work really hard to help the boys stay healthy. he knows the work you put into cleaning up and trying to decide what’s best for them and yourself. “you can pick! i don’t really mind. go ahead, do whatever you’d like.”

(a part of him is secretly begging that you choose to go with him instead on the bed. will he say that out loud? probably not, but he loves you so much and wants you to know that with every fiber in his body.)

“you can pick,” you say, for a change. there’s a moment where sugawara is surprised, but then relaxes and nods along with it. “i can, erm, sleep on the couch. if that’s easier for you,” he blushes and scratches the back of his neck. your stomach sinks. did he really want to sleep on the couch-

“but if you’re okay with it, we can both share the bed-”

“okay!” the words spill out of you before you can stop them. you clear your throat, trying to contain your excitment. “i mean. okay.”

sugawara laughs and takes your hand, and he props up the pillows (strikes me as the guy to have a playlist i am just saying) and asks you about your day. 

he will definitely end up cuddling you in his sleep. in the morning, you wake up on his chest with his arms around you, and when you look on the other side of the bed-- you’re no longer alone. a soft smile with friendly eyes is staring back at you.

“did you sleep well, princess?”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN

he knows that you're private about a lot of stuff, but he'll definitely be a lot like suga and make sure whatever happens is best for you. daichi will make sure that above all else, you feeling comfortable is top priotity. he’ll try to be a good guy for you and let you make yourself at home-- heck, he probably brought lights or something in case you were afraid of the dark because hE’S JUST THAT CONSIDERATE

daichi, out of all of them, will immediately address that he’ll take the couch first. “i’ll take the couch. it’s been a long day.”

at this point, daichi’s brain is on autopilot after so long and he just immediately assumes that you’ll take the bed. he wants you to feel as rested as possible for the next day, so daichi is just about ready to flop around the couch, when you say:

“daichi... you should take the bed-! i can go on the couch. or we could share.”

HE DOUBLE TAKES

HE DOUBLE TAKES AND ASKS YOU AGAIN

a laugh bubbles up insdie your chest (he blushes and prays you can’t see it in the dark of the night) and you drag his arm to the bed, fighting back the urge to kiss him on the nose. “sleep. you deserve it, team captain.”

he leans back, grinning. “alrighty then. get plenty of sleep. i’ll be sure to see you tomorrow morning, angel.”

ASAHI AZUMANE

HE'S SCARED

HE THINKS HES TOO INTIMIDATING OR TOO BIG AND THAT YOU'LL BE UNCOMFORTABLE

asahi is practically soluting as if speaking to a general. “i’ll take the couch!”

he’s well aware that it’s too small for him. but if it means that you don’t have to deal with the idea of sleeping in the corner of the room with cobwebs, that was good enough for him.

you nod slowly, smiling gratefully. the couch couldn’t be that bad... right?

as you cuddle into your sheets, there’s a moment wher eyou open your eyes and finally look at the back of the room, to find asahi in a strange position-- his head is falling off the armrest and his feet are dangling from the front.

he’s shuffling, changing positions, but it’s clear that he’s nervous and isn’t too sure what you think of him like this.

“come here, big guy.”

you outstretch your arms and pat the side of your bed, and he doesn’t look to sure. it’s almost beauty and the beast all over again-- just the roles are slightly edited.

“oh-hkay!” asahi smiles slightly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “are you sure?”

you nod. “sure i’m sure. now come here, ‘m sleepy.”

asahi laughs softly and lies down, trying to avoid going too much in the center in fear of taking up too much space. “hey, it’s fine.”

you wake up with his arm as a pillow and your head resting on his shoulder.

🕭 reblog | comment | like 🕭

did you take care of yourself today? you deserve to, no matter what you got done today. remember to drink water to nourish your sexc body and to give you strength!! i love you so much and i’m proud of you, and know that the hq boys would be, too! remember to get plenty of rest and do what makes you happy above all else. if you needed to hear it today, you’re valid. and you are not alone.

join my family!

tag list!!: @kirishima-my-beloved​ @xuxisushi-1​ @morias-ace @mrsbokutok​ @farfetchedparanoia​ @eunoianthia​ @missmorosis​ @tsumushima​ @moonhere​ @zatannas-wand​ @cookiewhoree​ @kozumegamecollection​​ 

☂ small little playlist for imagining scenarios in your head to help you sleep <3 ☂ 

© kirishimas-manly-eyeliner 2021. do not copy, plagerize, steal, or reuse any of my headers, themes, tags, formats or templates. please refrain from reposting onto other sites.

[svnflowervol666]

An interview during self-isolation with Zane Lowe (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I’ve gotten a ton of asks to the tune of this scenario - about what a quarantine video with Harry and his family would look like. I put as many of them together as I could for you all! Hope you enjoy and it’s not too confusing, as this isn’t my typical writing style, but I tried my best to make it worth your while! Take care and TPWK.

“Harry, can ye’ hear me alright?” Harry heard Zane Lowe’s voice fill his right ear as he readjusted his headphones.

“Yeah, I can hear ya,” he responded, running his fingers through his hair once everything was situated and his laptop was balanced perfectly on his knee.

“I’ve just been video calling and chatting it up with everyone on how they’re navigating the pandemic, so I’m very thankful you’ve agreed to join in.”

“‘S no problem. Thank you f’ having me.”

“Oh!” Zane interjected his own strain of thought, “I see you’ve brought a special guest for us today,” he said when Harry’s screen finally focused and he was able to see everything on Harry’s end.

Harry chuckled, the dimples on either corner of his mouth growing wider at the mention of the sleeping body on his chest that’s got a fuzzy blanket tucked into their sides and draped over Harry’s upper half.

“I have,” Harry agreed, “Though he’s not gonna be worth much. Being a two-year-old is exhausting apparently.”

He gave the toddler a few gentle pats on the back and continued to look at Zane through the webcam.

“This is your son, right?” Zane asked.

“Who? Him?” Harry asked, nodding his head in the direction of his child, “Nah. Found him on the street.”

Both men laughed, but Harry tried to lower his volume as to not wake up his son.

“Well, he looks an awful bit like you t’ be a stray, don’t ye’ think?”

“I suppose the curls are quite convincing, aren’t they?” Harry sighed, playfully rolling his eyes.

“What’s brought your bubs along with you for this interview?”

“Erm,” Harry thought, wondering if he should be talking this much about his personal life but ultimately deciding it wasn’t too invasive, “Y/N’s been pretty tired lately, so I’m just trying to keep him out of her hair so she can rest. He’s going through a phase where he’s very clingy right now so he’d probably be crying f’ me at some point if I left him in his room.”

“Oh, that’s right!” it suddenly dawned on Zane, “You two are expecting again, aren’t you?

“We are,” Harry smiled softly yet proudly into the screen, “‘s kinda scary for us right now, but we’re hoping everything is cleared up before it’s time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to say right now’s probably not the greatest time to be havin’ a baby.”

“Well, the baby’s not due for a few more months so I think everything’ll be alright, but it’s still just kinda nerve-wracking ye’ know?”

“Absolutely,” Zane added, “This has all got t’ be tough on your guys; having to self-isolate with a toddler plus having one on the way.”

“Ehh, it’s not so bad,” Harry countered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as he spoke. “We’ve been spending a lot of time t’gether, which is pretty great. I just got done with all of the album promo, so I’d already been gone for a while. Plus, I was about to leave for tour for like a month so we were kinda sad about having to say goodbye before, but now I don’t have to. We talk to our families a lot and keep in touch with everyone pretty regularly so we don’t feel like we’re going too crazy.”

“Good! That’s good.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I was going to ask you about tour actually. You’ve pushed the European leg of your Love on Tour to next year, is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“That must be hard for you, I’m sure. I bet you were so ready to get back on the road and to have it all pulled out from under ye’ was probably not the greatest feeling.”

“I mean, it’s obviously disappointing, but like, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the most important thing in the world. But I think everyone kinda understands that there’s not anything you can do about it and ye’ have to do what you can to keep everyone safe, ya know?”

“For sure,” Zane nodded, readjusting the hat on his head.

“Plus, it gives you time to practice doesn’t it?”

Harry’s belly shook as he laughed softly.

“Definitely gives us plenty of time to be prepar-”

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked down at his son who was still napping away, lifting his hand up from where it had been rested on his tiny bum.

“Everything alright?” Zane asked Harry after he was still quiet for a few seconds and his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Uhh, yeah,” Harry stuttered as a noticeable heat climbed to his cheeks, “Think m’ son’s just farted on me in his sleep.”

This made Zane laugh even harder than he had before, clutching his chest while Harry remained embarrassed that his son had just passed gas on him during his first interview.

The commotion seemed to stir Harry’s son from his sleep. His pudgy legs began to stretch against Harry’s chest and his balled-up fists reached up to rub at his closed eyes. Harry seemed to sense some trepidation, like his son was going to start fussing at any given moment, so he quickly began bouncing his small body against his knee to soothe him and shushed him quietly in his ear. Zane didn’t draw much attention to it, but he couldn’t help but swoon over how easily Harry’s son settled back down.

Harry whispered, “’s alright, bubby. You’re alright,” before kissing the top of his curls gently, no doubt making the viewers lose their minds at home with how gentle he was being towards his boy.

“So your boy farts himself awake, huh?” Zane joked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. He’s an absolute mess,” Harry added.

“Does he take after you or Y/N?”

Clearly, neither of them were interested in talking about music or tour anymore. Harry’s son had stolen the show, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“A little bit of both I’d say. He’s extremely kind and caring like Y/N, but loves to mess around like me. Can’t really say he got any of Y/N’s looks, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Zane chuckled into his mic, “That one’s all you.”

Harry laughed again, rubbing the tip of his nose with the palm of his hand out of habit.

“Is he excited to be a big brother?”

“Ehh, I think he kinda gets the idea, but not really,” Harry tilted his hand back and forth to symbolize the fact that his toddler could just barely come to grips with there being another baby in his mum’s belly.

“He knows there’s ‘something in mummy’s tummy,’“ Harry noted using air quotes, “And he like, gives Y/N’s stomach kisses all of the time because we tell him to and he sees me do it, but I don’t really think he’s come to grips with it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Zane responded, “He’s only two.”

“Right, right,” Harry agreed, “But he’s, like, super cuddly and loves his stuffed animals and stuff, so I don’t think he’s gonna have a hard time at all really.”

Just when Zane was going to try to get back on topic with his prepared list of questions he had written up for Harry that didn’t involve his son, there was a commotion on Harry’s end that occurred somewhere beyond the view of the camera.

It was the sound of a door shutting a feet padding against hardwood steps.

“Harry!” a voice called out.

“Have you seen my laptop charger? I’m trying to FaceTime Gem- Oh,” the voice stopped.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry spoke above the laptop screen to whoever had just walked into the room, “Couldn’t find mine and I had t’ talk t’ Zane.”

“Which Zane?”

“Is that Y/N I hear?” Zane asked Harry.

Harry laughed at his wife’s words, quickly specifying that it was Zane Lowe and not his former bandmate.

“Yes, it is Y/N. She’s awoken from her beauty sleep it appears.”

The camera wasn’t able to pick up the way Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry.

“Gimme one of those,” Y/N demanded, holding her hand out for the other earbud that Harry wasn’t wearing so she could join in on his conversation with Zane.

Harry swung the free earbud around his chest with his free hand as to not disturb their son, smiling smugly at his wife while she settled onto the sofa next to him and cuddled into his side.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Zane greeted her.

“Hello, handsome,” Y/N responded, “How come you never call to talk to me anymore? Why do you only care about this nobhead?”

She playfully shoved Harry’s shoulder, but not hard enough to actually knock him sideways.

“He does have the number one album in the country right now. Kinda makes sense to check in on him now, dunnit?”

“And I’m his baby mama, so where’s my praise for carrying his little spawns?”

“You truly are a saint for tha’ one. I won’t lie.”

Harry feigned offense but failed to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

“I’m sitting right here!” he scoffed.

“We know, love,” Y/N cooed him as she looked over at him and brushed his curls that had fallen onto his forehead back into his mess of hair. 

“How are you doing, though, Y/N? We talked a bit about you while you were away. Harry said you’re strugglin’ a bit?”

“Umm, I mean, it’s just normal pregnancy stuff,” she dismissed his qualms as she absentmindedly stroked her protruding belly that was just barely in the frame, “I’m at the point where everything hurts all of the time and everything Harry does annoys the piss out of me, but other than that I’m pretty much normal.”

“Goodness. He didn’t tell me that part,” Zane chuckled, “Please elaborate.”

“Okay, well first of all-,” Y/N started.

“Why are you acting like you were just waiting f’ someone to ask you that question?” Harry forced through laughter.

“Because I’ve got a lot to say!” she exclaimed.

“You don’t pick up your dirty clothes, you leave your tea mugs all around the house, and you and your son eat all of my bread!”

“I do not eat all of the bread!” Harry started to playfully argue with his wife.

“I caught you sneaking into the pantry at midnight eating bread right out of the bag, Harold.”

“Well, what were you doin’ awake in the kitchen at midnight anyway, hmm?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m allowed to be hungry every twenty minutes. You’ve got no excuse.”

Harry sighed in defeat, meanwhile, Zane sat back and enjoyed listening to the two of them bickering like children. 

“Sounds like the quarantine might getting t’ the both of you, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Y/N dismissed Zane, “We’re always like this.”

Just then, Harry felt the weight distribution on his chest shift, and saw a pair of emerald green eyes identical to his open and look back and forth between him and Y/N. His pudgy cheeks were flushed a warm, crimson color and the t-shirt he had taken a nap in was tugged over to the side from how well he had slept.

“Well, hello there, bubby. Nice of you t’ join us,” Harry spoke calmly to his son that was in the middle of waking up, gently brushing his fingers along the side of his face.

“Dear god. He looks just like you, Harry,” Zane said in disbelief.

This made Harry blush and hide his face in his son’s plush blanket, and Y/N looked lovingly down at her two boys.

“I know he does,” Harry confirmed, “Poor thing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry’s comment. As if that was meant to be an insult.

“Hung-y,” the three of them heard the toddler mumble.

“What’s that, lovie?” Y/N perked up.

“I hung-y” he repeated, his arms outstretched for his mother to which she happily accepted.

The boy crawled right over Harry towards Y/N, his foot sinking deep into Harry’s gut and making him grunt in reaction. 

“You’re hungry?” Y/N asked, “You want some lunch, bubs?”

He nodded into Y/N’s shoulder where he had tucked himself away, clearly still in the mood to be loved on and cuddled.

“Well, let’s go make you something to eat then. What do you want? A banana?”

“Bread!” cheered the two-year-old, which earned a laugh from everyone in the room and an eye-roll from Y/N.

“Of course, you want bread. Wouldn’t expect anything less from your father’s child.”

“Why are you bullying me?” Harry fired back.

“Because you’re eating all of my damn bread!” Y/N yelled before scooping their son up from the couch and teetering out of frame into the kitchen.

“Alright,” started Zane, “Seems like it’s time for me to leave you three alone. Thanks for stopping in t’ chat.”

Harry chortled, readjusting his headphone one last time to sign off.

“Thanks again f’ havin’ me. Sorry my family crashed your interview.”

“It’s no bother at all, mate. ‘S actually quite refreshing seeing ye’ like this. I’m sure everyone watching would agree. Reminds us all that you’re human and not some robot with perfect hair and the voice of an angel.”

Harry hid his face in his hands, blushing for what felt like the thousandth time during this video call. 

“I hope you lot continue to stay safe and healthy through all of this.”

“Thank you so much. You as well,” Harry added.

“Of course. Tell Y/N I’ll ring her up soon.”

“Will do,” Harry nodded, “If she doesn’t kill me f’ asking her t’ make me some toast first.”

[toovirgins]

November, 2001

Summary: George Harrison reunites with an old friend.

There was a chill in the air.

All but uncomfortable, it was still and cool and calm, his skin refusing to prickle up into chills. There was no wind, or rain—bright, but no sun. Just air, all around him, refreshing and energizing and soothing all at once.

His eyes were closed. As his body began to come into itself, familiar sensations tickled up his spine. The first thing he noticed was the press of his feet and backside on the ground—must have been sitting cross-legged—and the feeling of dry, rough linen under the fingertips that rested on his thighs. His skin prickled as it recognized the feel of the linen up his torso as well.

He shifted slightly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. There was a certain mindfulness in practice, hyper-aware of the environment of his body: the cool, smooth ground beneath him, the scratch of the clothing on his skin, the curl of hair against his ear, the tickle of a mustache on his upper lip. When did he grow a mustache?

Internally, he felt… warm, cozy, almost as though in a deep state of meditation. His mind itself was drowsy, though he hadn’t tried to assess the situation much beyond physical sensation. He didn’t feel the need to.

It was nice. Peaceful, really. George couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong mind-body connection during meditation. There was nothing that existed besides the present; he had no past, and there was no future. It was not one of those times where the mindfulness revealed some grand ethereal Wisdom, and thus it somehow contained more truth. It was nothing and everything all at once.

Rather than let him enjoy this newfound spirituality, a familiar voice (in familiar habit) drew him out of the trance.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, mate!”

George languidly struggled to open his eyes, a half-fight as the voice dropped the silly tone and resorted to a short, sharp chuckle at his own antics. When the eyelids had finally pried themselves open and his vision focused, George frowned.

He looked like a picture, straight out of 1961. Standing before him, arms crossed as he bit his lip with childlike excitement at the reconciliation. George blinked, hardly believing the sight in front of him.

“John?”

“In the flesh,” he grinned. Then a pause. “Or, rather, anything but the flesh?”

John was in front of him, a quite young John, staring at him with a bit of a worried expectancy.

George’s stomach suddenly dropped.

His gaze flicked around the room wildly as unrestrained panic rose in his chest. They were in a room, though it wasn’t a room, just a dull white, not so much white as simply colourless, with no décor or wallpaper or flooring or furniture although somehow, he was now sitting in a chair.

He was dead.

John must have watched the color drain from his head, for he made his way over to where George was sitting and laid an uncertain hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, nothing mocking. Nothing to make a joke of. “Takes a minute.”

George suddenly remembered he’d been sick. It was feeding back into him, slowly, as if each thought trigged a new repressed memory. He’d been sick for some time now. Images of nurses and hospital and IV’s and the dread of going to “treatment” began to flood his mind, and he shuddered. He felt a stubborn powerlessness rise within him: yes, it had gotten progressively worse, but it was nothing the old chap couldn’t handle. He’d beat it once already. He’d been stabbed, for Chrissake.

How could this happen?

He thought of Olivia, and Dhani, and choked back a sob.

“I don’t want to be here,” he spluttered in a near-beg, his chest tightening in terror once more. “I can’t be here.”

John’s hand dropped to his side as he almost (almost) rolled his eyes. He held up an imaginary list with one hand, gesturing wildly at it with the other. “Join the queue of nearly every person ever.”

George felt a needle of annoyance shoot through the fear that was slightly ebbing away. He half-wondered if this was the acceptance people talked about in death: the strange inability to control your emotions, your body progressively growing used to the idea and the knowledge of your own helplessness.

“You could stand to be a bit more empathetic, you know. I’ve just died,” he reminded with sarcastic flair.

John smiled brightly at the twinge of normalcy in the expression.

The fear was almost entirely faded now, which struck a new worry in his mind. He couldn’t just surrender to this already—it would solidify it. Make it too true. But the more he thought about it, the more comfortable he became. Against his own will, George was growing in acceptance, knowing that he should be worried but unable to feel the pull of anxiety within him. In an exasperating tug-of-war, he fought between the poles of acknowledgement and fear, a vicious feedback loop that left him confused and exasperated.

Maybe curiosity didn’t mean surrender. Maybe he could test John for some of the millions of queries floating around in his head whilst still protesting the concept of his state.

John was staring at him with wonder, almost as if he was watching George’s mind work.

Here goes nothing.

George looked at him pointedly, raising the most pressing question in his mind. “Is this Heaven?”

John blinked, and George recognized the infamous John-trying-not-to-laugh-because-this-was-a-very-extremely-serious-situation expression rise to his face. “Yes, George. It is. Jokes on you, religion, because Heaven is just me, and you, in this room, and sometimes we play marbles or jack off.”

His face turned more serious at George’s scowl. He went for a Take 2, his voice much softer now. “No, actually,” he corrected, scratching his cheek. “I think it’s some sort of… Purgatory. Bardo.”

George’s chest felt odd. “Purgatory,” he repeated slowly.

“Purgatory.”

“I don’t understand.”

John clicked his tongue. “Again, love. The queue.”

“Purgatory,” George said again, softly, the words dripping with disbelief.

“The in-between,” John elaborated with a grandiose wave of a hand. “You die, you fuck around here for a bit, and if you’re lucky, you pass on.”

George couldn’t contain his curiosity. “To what?”

John’s features twisted into a strange expression. “I, erm… I don’t know.”

George’s face fell. Right. “Do you…” He began carefully, mulling over the taste of the words in his mouth and sussing out which were the least bitter. “Does time pass the same, then? Here?”

John shrugged indifferently. “You don’t notice it, really. There’s no days or nights—time is a construct, anyway. Haven’t thought about it since. There’s also no expectation, so no boredom. And sometimes I see old friends.” He finished with a signal in George’s direction.

George nodded, swallowing dryly. He doesn’t know.

How long it’s been.

John caught his eye, and George flicked his gaze away in an instant before he could catch on. But John was quick as a cat, just like in youth, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “George?”

George shook his head.

“George?” His voice was strained now, his demeanor thrown by the unsettling responses. “How long has it been? In-in actual time.”

Wincing at the question he knew he’d elicited, George averted his eyes and spoke near incomprehensibly. “Twenty years.”

John looked dazed.

After a long beat of silence, he snorted dryly. There was nothing humorous in the sound. “Suppose they’re still tryin’ to figure out what to do with me, then.” He paused. “For Chrissake, I already apologized in ’66.”

Neither man laughed at the joke. It was quiet for a long time.

“So.” John interrupted the stretch of silence, rather loudly, startling him. He clapped his hands together. “How’s Rings?”

George felt strangely hollow at the mention of his best friend. “Good. Married again, not long after you—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence. It was still hard to wrap his mind around, all these years later. Even now, that John was standing in front of him, chipper as the day they’d first met (more so, perhaps). Even now, that they were both… “After you.”

“Is he?” John looked surprised, curious. “What’s she like?”

“Name’s Barbara. Ritchie made a film in ’81 called Cavemanand they met on the set. He really loves her. Oh, she’s fantastic,” George asserted, wishing John could have been there, needing John to have been there.

“Watch it,” John warned, his voice light and teasing.

George scowled.

John pushed his shoulder playfully, and George slumped further into the chair, defeated. As John’s laughter died down, George looked up at him and watched in fascination as the man did a complete 180.

The smile melted from his face, and a chill fell over the room.

“I—m…” John cleared his throat, offering the ground a watery smile. “I miss Paul.”

George was suddenly standing knee-deep in the ocean. Nothing in the room was different besides the knowledge that the water on the floor was Pacific. John was there still, only further away now, feverishly blinking the tears away with that desolate smile on his face. Before George could call out to him, comfort him, he turned back towards the expansive sea only to be confronted with a fifty-foot wave.

The breath was knocked from his chest as the wave crashed down with full force, heart shattering on impact. He let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden rush of pain that washed over his chest and began to stumble backwards, tears burning in his eyes. There was no water, no wave, and he was still standing, dry as a bone, but the sensation was all the same. Panic began to rise in his throat, blinded by an incomprehensible catalogue of torment, longing, anger, desperation, heartache. Every excruciating emotion simultaneously wrecked his being, coupled with the strangely overpowering feeling of raw, unabashed love.

John caught his arm, quickly pulling him into a hug. George hadn’t realized that he was close again, and gripped him tightly for fear of having him drift away with the tides that were no longer there. Tears streamed down his face as John stroked soothingly at his hair, muttering sweet comforts and apologies over his head.

“I’m sorry, fuck, mate, I’m sorry,” he babbled, trying to squeeze away George’s trembling sobs. “It works like that here, sometimes. Christ, I’m sorry. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

George sniffed, feeling like a child as he pressed closer into his friend’s body. “Works like what?”

John tensed a bit, though George couldn’t understand why. He spoke slowly, sure but hesitant in his explanation. “Emotions. They’re… different. It’s sort of like all that Hare Krishna unity bullshit—” George wrinkled his nose. “—and whatnot, the whole ‘collective unconscious’.”

George frowned at the implication, taking a tentative step back. “You mean…”

“Feel each other’s emotions, you can,” John answered without missing a beat. He spoke plainly, as if he’d explained this away hundreds of times before. “But there’s a historical aspect, too, that part I don’t quite understand. It only happens sometimes.” His eyes lit up as his voice quieted, mumbling to himself more so than George. “Maybe they had to have been there at the time? ‘Cause of the thing with Elvis…?”

George looked up at him in shock, ignoring John’s musings. “That was you? All that?”

John offered him a lopsided smile.

George’s heart began to pound in wild misunderstanding. He’d always known, of course, that John and Paul had that “special connection” that whisked them away to an entirely different reality. He’d grown up an outsider, watching in on the world’s most famous duo and feeling just like anyone else, at times. His stomach felt queasy and slightly bitter at the thought that perhaps he hadn’t even known the half of it.

All that for Paul?

He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to comfort John. John’s pain was gone now, replaced by only a dull ache, causing George to shudder at the idea of his mate going through that alone all those years ago.

“Paul’s… good,” he said, slightly unevenly. It felt like a good place to start.

John looked up at him quickly, his eyes both intrigued and desperate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” George smiled. “He came to visit me. Not long…” His breath caught. “Not long before this.”

“I saw Linda,” John said quietly.

An image flashed in George’s mind of John in the very same room, sitting in a cushioned chair. In the vision, his eyes flicked up from the book in his hands, and he did a double-take, uncrossing his ankle from his knee and sitting up abruptly. Somehow, George knew that he was Linda, seeing John through her eyes. He—Linda—offered John a welcome, familial smile, and George noticed the portfolio of expressions on John’s face as the two radiated towards one another with emotions that George could not feel. And then—nothing.

In front of him now, John shifted uncomfortably, and George tried to get his bearings in the present once more. “She didn’t stay long.”

“It was hard,” George agreed, still trying to shake the vision. “She was the love of his life.”

John nodded, avoiding his eyes.

“He never stops talking about you.”

A beat. “I never stop thinking about him.”

Something passed between them. George wished he could go back in time and relive every Beatle moment together with this newfound information. Suddenly, as if they hadn’t before, things made sense: Paris, the LSD trips, India, the breakup. The songwriting feud. Yoko.

He understood now, that it was a complicated love that surpassed the boundaries of typical labels: no dating or marriageor sex, neither platonic nor romantic. There was a lust, but it was different than any other attraction George had experienced; it was motivated, driven by something much larger than himself. None of it was a means to an end—simply living, appreciating one another, taking it day by day until it imploded and rained down on them like a meteor shower, the disastrous aftermath of planned obsolescence. A love like that could never be.

George felt eager to change the subject.

“Have you seen lots of people passing through, then?” His gaze twitched away to offer the barest amount of privacy as John’s hand came up to quickly swipe a stray tear.

“Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You’d never believe—Elvis was here, when I first got here, which was right thrilling. We talked about everything under the sun for who-knows-how-long, but he left too not long after.” He nodded. “Linda. Some lads from school. Real nice chap named Freddie. He and I made a song together, though I can’t remember it now. He was in that up-and-coming rock group, the one on the tail end of the Beatles.”

“Queen,” George corrected, fascinated.

“No, that’s not it. I wanna say… Oh, you know who was a pleasure?” John switched onto this entirely new track, never missing a beat. “I met some psychologist. Taught me all about these fab concepts like behaviorism and operant conditioning and all that. I’d heard about his book, but I hadn’t read it until I met him. Verbal Behavior, is what it was. Real smart guy.”

“Do you see everyone?”

John thought for a moment. “No, certainly not. People die every minute. I’d be dreadfully overwhelmed.”

George smiled. “That is true. Lucky I showed up here, then.”

John returned the grin, almost sadly. “Yes, but you won’t stay long.”

George felt the strangest urge to reach for John’s hand. He suppressed it. “I want to.”

John shook his head. “You’re a good person, George.”

There were a lot of things to say in response. You are too, Johnny. I’m not a good person. We’ve both done some shit. ‘Good person’ is an arbitrary term because we are not our actions, so it wouldn’t matter, even.But nothing felt quite equipped to rival the emptiness of John’s eyes, so he said nothing.

“What do I look like, Geo?” He asked suddenly, staring a hole in George’s head with newfound curiosity.

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

John waved a hand dismissively as if it were the most normal question in the world. “Come on now, what do I look like?”

George just blinked. “Like… John.”

With a roll of eyes, John reached out and twirled a finger around the tip of George’s mustache. “You’re all Pepper-like. What about me?”

It suddenly occurred to George that this was not how John always looked, and hadn’t been for nearly forty years. He shifted a bit, startled at the realization. “Oh! Erm—Hamburg. Like we’d just stepped out of Top Ten.”

John grinned and stepped back. “Fascinating, isn’t it? It’s always different. That one, I can’t figure out. I first realized when Freddie asked why I looked like ’74 instead of when I died. I couldn’t give him an answer, on account of I hadn’t even realized that fact.”

George laughed, though it wasn’t funny. There was a giddiness bubbling up in him, mirroring the excitement with which John talked. He felt so bizarrely thrilled that his fingers began to tingle, and he chuckled at that too. The feeling rivaled that of a limb falling asleep, and he mindlessly shook his hand to quiet the growing sensation.

John’s face immediately fell.

George’s stomach dropped at the sudden change of pace. “What?”

His eyes were shining when he spoke the plea to anything that would listen. “No, please,” he muttered, lip trembling. Shaking fingers reached out to grasp at George’s bicep. “Not—not yet, I’m not ready—”

George’s heart hammered in his chest, hardly able to hear himself speak over the blood rushing in his ears. The tingle had snaked its way up his forearms now, and a similar feeling started in his toes. “John, John, what is it? What’s going on?”

“George, please don’t go. Please. This isn’t—it’s not long enough, I need you, I need more time, Geo…” The words trailed off, and a tear fell from each eye as John pulled him into his arms as if that could keep George there. As if he could save them.

George slowly started to understand, swallowing the alarm at John’s frantic reaction. He was going to pass on, to leave John behind just like everyone else in his life. But this was a different kind of departure. It was not Julia’s absence, Mimi’s coldness, Paul’s Linda. It was not even Uncle George’s death, or Brian’s death, or even Julia’s death. At least, those times, he could find someone, something new to latch on to.

George would have felt pity for the man if not for the immense heartbreak, the indescribable pain of watching John come emotionally undone before him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, blinking as a falling tear graced his own face. He felt oddly in control of the situation, despite seconds away from venturing into the greatest Unknown of all Unknowns. “Shh, John, it’s all right. Listen, we got to do this, didn’t we? We got to talk. And laugh. Just like old times, right?”

John’s voice broke. “I love you, Geo. Don’t go.”

They both knew it was a fruitless request.

George gripped him a bit harder in the embrace, feeling with hopeless acceptance as the tingling feeling reached his shoulders and began to pour down his back. He spoke the only thing that would come to mind.

“I’ll see you,” he whispered, a promise tainted by his own fearful tears slipping onto John’s shoulder.

John’s arms tightened around his waist. “I’ll see you,” he repeated.

[lightsaberupmybutt]

A friendly massage - Luke Skywalker x Reader

Part two is here!

Summary: The reader is Lukes Padawan and gets into an unfortunate (yet humorous) mishap during training that leads them into receiving a necessary massage from a certain blonde jedi. Someone gets a little too excited by the contact, ending in a awkward Luke ™

Warnings: PG15, no smut but mention of smut, awkward boner woops

Look, this wasn't suitable to be written on my twilight imagines page OR my peaky blinders page (for obvious reasons i guess) so I'm making this and leaving it here and if you read it, on your head be it.

For the most part, the life as a Padawan to the most renowned jedi was a thrilling experience. The training course of Luke Skywalker was one destined to end in success. However, standing between you and this end goal was an intensive regime of training and body conditioning that, quite honestly, made you want to pack it all in and move as far away from the blonde warrior as the physical universe you so happened to live in would allow. Some days you felt like your bond with your master was so strong that you would trust him with your life and risk yours to save his; other times you wished you could use all the force you could muster to choke the dear life out of the cocky little brat. Today was sadly an example of latter. 

“And you promise i wont fall” this was your 4th time of asking, and you still weren't completely sure that what you were being told was truthful,

“Of course you wont fall, stop being silly” Luke had a bashful smile as he reaffirmed the idea you didn't believe he actually had any faith in. 

Balance training was apparently key to being a good fighter, although the idea of you leaning how to do a cartwheel felt less how to be a warrior jedi and more how to entertain Luke in his fourth hour of training you of the day.

“i can literally sense that you are lying " 

“No you can’t" he was right, you couldn’t - but equally you could deduce from your failed previous attempts that the odds were not in your favour. 

“What if i just did a handstand against the wall? “ You had mastered the art of handstands due to a previous episode of Luke’s manic boredom.

Luke sent a tut your way, his lips slipping into a goofy sideways smirk.

“i think, young Padawan, you are significantly underestimating the importance of agility in a one on one combat situation” he walked around you in circles, in mock thoughtfulness. 

“I suppose you aren’t quite serious enough about your future as a Jedi” he continued, making you groan in annoyance.

“And whats the next key lesson? how to do the splits? a twirl?” you snapped; Luke was fun to be around and you'd be lying if you said a part of you didn't look forward to these times you were given alone together, but that didn't mean he couldn't piss you off. 

“a Twirl is actually lesson ten, you're nowhere near ready for the twirl Y/N” he quipped back, letting out a little giggle at his own joke. 

You had been around Luke for over a year now, long enough to grow more affection to him than an apprentice should to their master, however this laugh that would normally make your heart and lower stomach flutter was having the opposite effect on you today. 

Training sessions had recently started to take a less serious turn with Luke, which you thought to be a good thing at first. Luke could make you laugh very easily, and sometimes his jokes and elaborate tasks he would set for you were the only sense of joy you got in your day. You truly appreciated Luke for his carefree and wholesome jokey outlook in a place full of seriousness and rule. 

However, the proposition of an low level gymnastics competition while you are already drenched in sweat and bruises from your previous hours of fight training made your affectionate disposition toward the Jedi leak out of your ears. 

“Fine and then will you fuck off so i can get the smell of your sweat out my nose?” 

Luke stepped back, holding his hands in mock defence and clearing an area for you to preform. 

Shaking off a little, you got into the position of a dramatic cartwheel and then attempted to flip your hands to the ground and kick your feet over. 

Of course, you ended up on the floor with a bang and a yelp. 

“y/n! are you okay” Luke was at your side as if he'd just seen you take a bullet, eyes full of worry.

“i fucking hate this place” You managed to whimper out, stroking the back of your neck where you connected with the floor.

As soon as Luke realised you were indeed not suffering from any life alternating injuries he let out a belly laugh, clutching his gut and rolling back on the floor. 

“I dont know what the fuck is so funny, i nearly broke my neck” 

“You should have seen yourself !”

By the time Luke managed to gather himself together enough to stop laughing and take a proper breath, you were still staring at him in disbelief and sheer anger.  At one time, falling over or tripping in front of your master would send you into a cloud of humiliation, but now you knew Luke well enough to know he put you into this kind of situation for his pure amusement alone. This enraged you. 

“Fine, well now that you've had your fun ill take my leave, Master” You would only pull out his true label of authority over you when you wanted to taunt the Jedi, who always seemed to blush and fumble over his words after the use of the title. Like always, Luke was left stunned with an unreadable look on his face as you pushed yourself up and waltzed out of the combat room.

A few hours had passed and after a meal and a shower you had fallen into a nap on your bed. When waking from said slumber, you noticed the pain in your neck had returned and was now accompanied with shooting pains down your whole spine. With a grimace, you chucked on your cloak and slippers and made your way to the medical room, Only getting to your own door before bumping into the one and only Jedi Master. 

“You” You shot at him, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction,

“Me?” he asked back, looking genuinely shocked and maybe even a little scared. 

“Your fucking antics have got me in a disabled position” you told him, crossing your arms in a defensive position. He snatched the back of his head, attempting to look sincere, but you could see the gleam in his eye as he tried not to laugh. “Hey I'm sorry okay” when you neither break eye contact or accept his apology, he continues

,“Is there anything i can do? can i get you a heat pad or something”

You're not sure where the idea came from, maybe the need for your pain to dull or the hue left from the repetitive sexual fantasy dreams Luke had appeared in of yours lately, but before you could stop yourself the proposition was already out your mouth. 

“I think i deserve a massage”However shocked you were by your boldness, Luke’s face conveyed that he felt that ten times over. The boy openly gaped at you. 

“I .. i …erm i … y y yer sure i erm” He splutter off into nothing, his eyes darting around to avoid making contact with yours, 

“I guess .. i guess i can” he trailed off again.

Without a word you backed up into your room, Luke following and closing the door behind him. You plopped onto your bed, trying to not let your body protray just how excited and nervous you were at the idea of him touching you. Of course you’d had contact with Luke in training and even shared the odd hug here and there, but this was a different matter all together, a level of intimacy you hadn’t crossed into until now.

Luke was still standing at the door, looking the most lost you’d ever seen him. You looked over at him from your place on the bed,

“Okay so I guess this is happening” you heard him mutter, as he finally found his feet and stumbled over to your bed. You let out a giggle, finding your voice again,

“I don’t think even you can reach from other there, Skywalker” you teased him, as he gave you a cautious smile in response. He climbed up onto your bed with you, taking another few seconds to compose himself before slinging a leg over your back and straddling your lower body. You put your face back into the bed, the nervousness slowly seeping away and being replaced with humour with a side of sexual tension. Luke looked around the room, trying to find something to make eye contact with that wasn’t your bum that was now pressed to his lower half. You felt him shift again, as if he was trying to get comfortable from an angle that didn’t mean his lower region was touching your rear.

“You know you don’t have to do this right “ your words were muffled ever so slightly from the pillow you were resting your face on, but from this close proximity you knew he would hear, he quickly replied ��no it’s fine, I want to” his voice cracked a little on the second half, and you could hear the strain in his words, making you smirk. Yer so maybe you hadn’t planned this, but it wasn’t exactly not fun to have him all flustered on your bed with you.

He surprised you with his next move, his automatic reaction of pulling your cloak down softly from your shoulders, his machincal arm a cooler temperature than you expected, causing you to shiver.

“I erm, is this okay” he said, feeling your body move under his,

“Yer it’s fine Luke , thanks” you replied, maybe a little too fast, as he continued to lower you cloak. When you felt him let out a soft moan, you were reminded that you indeed had not much Underneath, only dressing yourself in your garments after your shower. This forgotten piece of information made your heart drum again in your chest, the anticipation of skin on skin causing warmth between your upper thighs.

He started to move his good hand against your skin, a little too cautiously for your liking. His touch was feather like, but it still sent shocks through your spine, not exactly the healing kind but shocks all the same.

“You can go a little harder than that if you want” you didn’t realise the connotations of your words until you heard Luke let out a breathy exhale, you felt him readjust his legs again in a futile attempt to try and distance his lower half from you for a second time. His hands returned to your back, but with more pressure this time, kneeding your skin and searching for tension between your muscles. You let out a soft moan of appreciation as he found a spot that had previously been in pain, and he moved his legs again, shifting himself. You decided to ignore it though, not wanting to risk him stopping. He continued to rub circles into your back, gradually building higher and higher. The annoyance of his incessant wriggling was almost at a point you felt you needed to address it, but before the words came out your mouth he moved higher towards your neck, being forced to push his body flush against yours again, and you felt a hard buldge dig into your back. Your head whipped round in reaction and you were met with a look of shock equal to your own as you both made eye contact and then drifted your gaze down to the offending area of The Jedis anatomy. When your eyes met Luke’s face once more he was looking away, but you could see even in the dimly lit room the pink blush that peppered his cheeks and the embarrassment on his face. When he looked back he caught you staring again at his not-quite-concealed erection, making him release a sign that came out as more of a whimper

“I’m sorry” he stuttered, guilt heavy in his soft voice, but you didn’t even hear him, completely taken aback and equally aroused by the sight of him. Even with his trousers and cloak on, neither did much to hide the sizeable package. Luke came out of the daze before you did, removing his body from yours and not very gracefully dismounting the bed, getting his foot caught in one of your legs as he did so causing him to stumble back.

“Y/N I erm... shit I’m sorry I ..” it honestly didn’t matter that he was struggling with his words because right now you didn’t have the brain capacity to listen, too busy trying to remove your eyes from his private area.

“Stop looking at him” Luke whinged, sounding like a little boy who was in a strop because he had just been found coping his homework. You finally managed to move your eyes back to his face, which was covered in a thin layer of sweat and the deepest blush you’d ever seen on the Jedi. You couldn’t help it, the tension that had been building all evening plus the expression he held caused you to burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Luke grumbled, feeling the most humiliated he ever had and covered his area with his hands, shifting awkwardly towards your door and letting himself out. Before the door fully closed you managed to compose yourself enough to get out between giggles,

“See you tomorrow morning for training yer?”

His groan of irritation and tension was audible enough to reach you through the closed door, causing your laughing fit to resume.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write Day 1

Foster – “encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good)”

“I still cannot believe you built a bloody airship! I mean, I’ve done maintenance work on them under Cid or Stephanivien’s tutelage, but you BUILT one, from practically nothing!”

Tataru looked up from the pile of paperwork she was dealing with and grinned at Franks. “What, you didn’t think little old me could do it all by myself? No, wait, that’s not it, is it?? You’re JEALOUS!”

Franks threw down the cloth he’d been using to clean his gun and tools only moments before. “Of COURSE, I’m jealous! You know how many times I’ve tried to make time with either one of them to learn more about magitek engineering? I’ve lost count, because every time, without fail, either I have to cancel because the star’s in peril again or one of them has some company emergency or other to deal with! And now here you are, buildin’ an entire AIRSHIP! Hells yes I’m jealous!”

Tataru spasmed as she tried to hold back her mirth, covering her mouth, but there was no hiding the look in her eyes. First a few giggles escaped her, growing more numerous and loud, until she released peals of laughter, falling over in her chair. Franks eventually joined in, the pair enjoying a simple moment together.

Eventually Tataru managed to get herself under control. “Well, hopefully one day, this will all be in our pasts and you can spend the rest of your days building and maintaining magitek, if you wish. Think you’ll open up Cid’s first competition? Or maybe work for him? Wait, can you stand to be around Nero that much?”

Franks chuckled as he resumed cleaning a wrench.”Honestly, once you recognize and accept that his boundless arrogance is an attempt to mask both his profound fear at having to essentially restart his life in a formerly-hostile land AND trying to sort out exactly how he feels about Cid, he’s really not that bad. But while working at the Ironworks would certainly be enjoyable, I think my place is in Ishgard, in the Machinists guild. I want to be at the forefront of that discipline, both training new recruits and helpin’ Stephanivien come up with new tools for them to use. I foresee workin’ closely with the Ironworks to make that happen, though, so it’s really the best o’ both worlds.”

Tataru nodded. “I don’t know what the Scions will do once this is all over. I don’t even know if there’s really a place for us once the world is saved, if such a thing is even possible. But I might quite like working for Cid, I think. There’s a lot of upsides. Good pay, constantly getting to learn, don’t have to leave Mor Dhona…”

“Not to mention being in constant proximity to a certain Lalafell engineer…” Franks added, smirking as he looked over in her direction.

Tataru flushed and quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. “Y-yes, I suppose being near my good friend Wedge would be a nice perk!”

“Uh huh” Franks replied, not at all sounding like he was buying that description for one second. He finished wiping down the last piece of his aetherotransformer, and with practiced ease, began reassembling the components. With a final click, the device came together and lit up from within. Giving it a final examination, he returned it to its place at his hip and began reassembling his gun. “So…this next question might seem cruel, and if it’s hurtful please tell me so I can apologize, but I’m curious. You’re clearly a good engineer, which means math isn’t a problem for you. So why have you had such a problem with arcanima?”

Tataru had returned her attention to her paperwork, but the question stopped her mid-sentence. She looked back at Franks, her expression one of sad acceptance. “Thank you for saying it like…. that”

“Tataru, I’m so…”

“No no, it’s not bad. It’s nothing I haven’t asked myself and wrestled with, but I came to an answer a while ago.” She picked up a small clock that adorned her desk. “When I’m building, anything from constructing an airship to something simple like sawing wood…the math is there, a physical object in front of me. When I can see, can feel, the results right then, it all makes sense in my head. But with Arcanima….it was all in my head for me to unravel before it would manifest the magic. That’s harder for me. Not impossible, I don’t think I could have manifested a carbuncle or a Ruin spell otherwise, but I was a lot less confident, doubly so when I had to fight with it. I think that confidence, or lack thereof, is why my carbuncle didn’t do what I want.”

Franks nodded. “That absolutely is understandable. Everyone learns differently after all.”

Tataru’s smile brightened. “And really, I’m somewhat glad it didn’t work out! I wouldn’t have been able to find my talents as a crafter and intelligence gatherer for the Scions if I hadn’t accepted defeat with a grimoire!”

Franks laughed. “Absolutely true. I’ve no idea what would have become of the Scions if you hadn’t! We probably would still be wondering how we’d pay for the fare to Kugane! Definitely wouldn’t be eating as well, that’s for sure!”

She had to laugh at that. “Oh, I get it, I’m just your bank lender and chef, is that it?”

“In all seriousness, do you still wish you could join us in the field? Fight alongside everyone?”

She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I won’t deny the idea doesn’t STILL have some appeal, but I know I’m way more valuable to the Scions in my current role. I do wish I had a more reliable way of defending myself, especially should the Garlands attempt another Waking Sands massacre, though. I suppose I’ll just have to hope the people of Revenant’s Toll are more capable of defending us than the citizens of Vesper Bay were.”

Franks looked back down to his gun, nodding. “Mmm, makes sense. Even if you aren’t in enemy territory, as it were, traveling around isn’t always safe. We might just have to….” he stopped, nearly dropping the assembled firearm.

“Have to what, Franks?”

“I can’t believe I never thought of this. How did it not occur to me?”. Franks stood up, slinging his weapon across his band into the holster that held it in place. He looked to Tataru with an almost manic gleam in his eye. “Go get something warm to wear, Tataru! We got someplace to be!”

Tataru looked confused “W-where??”

Franks grinned. “Ishgard!”

A bell later, the air around the Ishgardian aetheryte gave a slight pop as it was suddenly displaced by the appearing forms of Franks and Fearless. Both shivered, if only briefly, before their bodies re-acclimated to the colder temperatures that they had grown used to those many moons they’d spent in the city.

Both were quickly recognized by practically everyone they passed by, and while Franks had little hope of recognizing most of the people who spoke to them, Tataru seemed to know everyone, able to call them by name and ask personal questions that she’d had to have learned about on those random evenings in the Forgotten Knight. More than once, she was able to recognize fully helmed Temple Knights by voice alone. Franks, for his part, hurried them both along, seemingly eager to reach their destination.

“So where ARE we going, exactly?” Tataru asked in between a conversation with one of Hilda’s people in the City Watch and a noblewoman of a minor house. Franks didn’t reply aside from a grin on his face until a few minutes later when he stopped in front of a building and pointed. “There!”

Tataru bid one more person farewell and stopped to take in where the pair had arrived at. Sounds of rhythmic thumping filled the air, which smelled of flame and metal and soot. She looked up at the building. “Skysteel Manufactory? What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see!” Franks called back, already having made his way to the corner where one needed to turn to enter the Manufactory’s font door. Tataru squeaked and started after him as quick as her smaller legs could carry her. By the time she rounded the corner, Franks had already thrown open the wooden doors of the entrance and strode in.

“Franks, my old friend!” a voice cried out from within. Tataru quickly ran to catch up, and as she entered the door, the eyes of an Elezen man quickly jumped to her. “And mistress Tataru! What a surprise!”

“Good to see you too, Lord Stephanivien!” she replied, smiling.

“Whatever brings Ishgard’s savior, and most importantly my best machinist, and the Scion’s….erm…what IS your official role within the Scions of the Seventh Dawn these days, milady? If half of what Franks tells me is true, “secretary” would seem a woefully inadequate title! Perhaps ‘the very hull on which the entire ship is built’? No? Too long?”

Tataru giggled. “Oh no, milord, ‘secretary’ is just fine. I like it, makes people underestimate me! And that’s how I get em!”

“Who’s come calling, milord?” came a voice from the upper levels of the Manufactory. A woman’s head peaked over the railing, her blond ponytails dangling from the sides of her head. “I thought I heard….TATARU!” With that, she bolted for the stairs that led to the entryway, sliding down the rails. Tataru ran for the woman and lept right into her arms, hugging.

“What’re ye doin here, girl? I thought you were busy keepin’ them Scions from fallin apart!”

“I don’t know, rightly! Franks dragged me….” Tataru trailed off as she noticed that Joye’s braids had somehow completely undone themselves, and her hair was a wild mess. “Are you ever going to tell me how you do that??”

“Dunno what yer on about! FRANKS!” she turned and yelled at the man who’d been quietly conversing with Stephanivien. “Why you dragged this poor lass all the way out into the cold arse o’ this time o’ night without tellin’ her what’s goin on?”

Franks smiled, leaning away from Stephanivien, and crossed his arms. “Well, Joye, I’d like to introduce you to someone that, well, you don’t really need introduction to! That lady you’re hugging is Tataru Taru, Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the glue and rivets that keep the very organization held together, and-“

“We know who she is, ye daft sod!” Joy interrupted, setting Tataru back on the ground. “Ya literally just watched us have a mini-reunion!”

“-AND, assuming she’s amenable, the newest member of the Machinist’s guild!” Franks continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

THAT got everyone’s attention. Both Joye’s and Tataru’s jaws dropped. Stephanivien simply smiled.

“Wait…this is your solution to me wanting to increase my martial skillset?” Tataru asked.

Franks threw his arms out, gesturing around to the manufactory around them. “It’s a perfect idea! Think about it! You’re already proficient with magitek, you’ve certainly proven that by now! You already know what I’m guessing is about 80% of the members already! You don’t need any extensive training in magic or heavy melee arms, all you really need to learn is how to shoot! I don’t doubt you can get the hang of that, especially with Joye teaching you!”

Joye looked down at Tataru. “Aye….aye I can! Tataru, this’ll be great!”

Tataru still appeared in shock. “But…I don’t…I don’t have a gun! And I bet they don’t keep ones sized for Lalafell around!”

Stephanivien knelt down to face her. “As it turns out, my dear, we actually made a custom one for a colleague of ours from Garlond Ironworks. He frequently comes to collaborate with our fair guild and commissioned a carbine with which to recreationally shoot. He keeps it here, as well. I believe you are acquainted with one Wedge? His weapon should suffice for you to practice with until we can build a custom one for you. I daresay he will not object either, would you not agree?” He winked almost conspiratorially.

“I know where it is! Come on Tataru, let’s go blast some training dummies!” Joye practically dragged Tataru behind her as she ran outside. Tataru didn’t require TOO much prompting, however, as pretty soon, she was running full steam out the door behind Joye under her own power.

Stephanivien turned to Franks. “Seems you have a knack for fostering talent in people, my friend. I heard of the fortune that befell the Baroness de Jervaint, and now you’ve added a new member to our guild’s ranks as well! I know you must wear any number of metaphorical hats, but I am quite glad the Machinist’s goggles are among them!”

Franks smiled. Whatever the future held, he was glad to keep building towards making it better.

[celosiaa]

returning nightmares, only shadows

Summary: “Martin’s confused, he’s so confused, and Jon knows it—Knows it even, as he realizes with an unpleasant start that the Eye is drinking in all this fear and pain with absolute pleasure.”

Martin’s got a high fever, and Jon is there to comfort him through it.

(missing scene from between chapter 5-6 of "steady, love” but can stand alone)

(Jon’s thoughts are formatted in italics.  the EYE speaks in glitched text.)

Steam nearly chokes Jon as he steps from the bathroom, having run the water on the maximum temperature for most of his shower.  At this point, he’s willing to try anything to distract himself from the gnawing hunger that’s settled deep in his gut, leaving his body chilled down to the bone after a walk in the blustery Highland day.  He has to admit—the warmth of the water spilling over his aching shoulders felt like a blessed embrace; like some holy sign that he needs to heal, that they both need to heal.

If only I could get Martin down to the shower.

Martin still sleeps up in the loft, with no noise other than the occasional coughing fit or bout of snoring to interrupt the hollow silence of the main floor.  To pass the time, Jon has been reading some inane fiction book from Daisy’s shelf, all the while eyeing Martin’s notebook sitting open on the kitchen table.  The Eye constantly itches at the back of his mind, tempting him into Knowing the contents so incessantly that he’s had to slam the book shut and place it out of sight.  Better for Martin to show him than for him to read it without his knowledge.

I hope he will show me, Jon thinks as he curls back up on the sofa with his book.  He gets whisked away for a while by the loveliest thought—the two of them tangled together in their bed, Martin reading him the verses that spilled forth onto the page from his own mind, petting Jon’s hair as he plants soft kisses up and down Martin’s muscular arms—

THUD.

Jon is up and standing as soon as the noise hits, book flying across the room.

Oh god oh god oh god

“MARTIN?!” he yells, bounding up the stairs two at a time, stomach clenching as he imagines him on the ground, covered in blood—

He flings open the door to find him merely half-sitting up on the floor, in the midst of a coughing fit—planted in place where he had apparently fallen out of bed.  The tension leaves Jon’s body in a rush so powerful that his knees go weak.

“Christ, Martin,” he breathes, bracing himself against the doorframe and laying a hand to rest over his own heaving chest.

At the sound of his voice, Martin sits up straighter, back supported by the bedframe, and forcibly halts his coughs—the only remaining indication the constant fluttering of his chest.  Long strands of his mussed fringe fall into his eyes as he ducks his head, muttering something under his breath that Jon can’t quite make out.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks nervously, having recovered from the shock at last and approaching him tentatively.

Martin does not reply to this, merely continuing his muttering.  Leaning closer, Jon can just barely make out the words:

“M’sorry mum, m’so sorry I woke you, I didn’t mean—”

Jon’s stomach flips over once again.

Oh god.

How high is his fever?

Brow furrowing, Jon kneels slowly in front of him, trying to catch his eyes.

“Martin, listen.  It’s me, it’s Jon.  It’s Jon,” he repeats, patting at his arm gently to gain his attention.

Hearing his voice again, Martin looks up—fever-glassed eyes meeting his own, unhealthy flush coloring his cheeks, sheen of sweat over his entire being as he stares at Jon in confusion. 

“It’s only me, darling,” he says softly, rubbing a hand up and down Martin’s forearm.

At last, something about this seems to get through to him, as he shakes his head like a dog that’s just been swimming.

“God, sorry,” he mutters before choking off into the remainder of his stifled fit, lips closed around the awful congestion rising to the surface.

The audible weakness in his chest sends the first warning bells ringing through Jon’s mind.

I don’t think this is a cold anymore.

Maybe it never was.

“What happened?” he asks as the fit comes to a close.

Martin does not reply, staring instead into the middle distance.

This is not good.

Furrowing his brow in concern, Jon slides a bit closer to him in order to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.  Are you with me?  What happened?”

“Mum…needed to help her,” he replies at last, breaths still coming in pants.

Oh, Christ.

Okay, stay calm.  You need to stay calm.

“Right.  Erm…did you—did you hit your head?” Jon stammers, fighting to keep his voice low and soothing.

“Dunno.”

“That’s not…comforting,” Jon murmurs as he begins to search through Martin’s curls for any sign of bleeding or bruising, but ultimately finding nothing.

When he pulls away, Martin gives a little whining noise of displeasure, having closed his eyes against the soothing feeling of Jon’s hands in his hair.

“Okay, let’s get you back in bed then, alright?  Come on—” he encourages gently, pulling at Martin’s upper arm in an attempt to drag him at least to half-standing.

With significant difficulty, Martin manages to follow his lead, collapsing backwards onto the bed as soon as he’s up.  Anxiety spikes in Jon’s chest again at the renewed pallor of his face, at the heaving breaths with wet crackling behind them, and at the fact that he has to swing Martin’s shaking legs up onto the bed for him.

Stay calm, stay calm, it’s just the fever.

He’s just confused.

Bending over him for a moment, Jon pulls the light blankets back over him and reaches behind his head to fuss at the mountain of pillows on which he’s meant to be propped up.  As soon as he does so, Martin’s shoulders begin to shake violently.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a hoarse sob as tears begin to flow in rivulets down his cheeks.

The sight of it breaks Jon’s heart.

At once, he lowers himself to sitting on the side of the bed, taking Martin’s hand from where it has reached up to rub at the raw inflammation of his nose.

“For what, darling?”

Martin does not reply, instead squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his brow, straining to understand anything that’s happening around him.  He’s confused, he’s so confused, and Jon knows it—Knows it even, as he realizes with an unpleasant start that the Eye is drinking in all this fear and pain with absolute pleasure.

STOP IT.

He’s not yours to Know.

Trying to focus on what’s in front of him—that is, Martin desperately needing his attention—he reaches toward the nightstand to pluck a tissue from it, swiping it as gently as possible beneath Martin’s sore nostrils.  Something about this motion must stir some awareness back into him, for as soon as Jon finishes, the coughing resumes—his lips still closed around the horrible damp echo of it as it pulses through his lungs.  It’s obvious to Jon that he’s focusing his efforts on holding it back, on keeping it soft and just bubbling under the surface.

“You sound dreadful, Martin. Why don’t you just let it out?” he asks softly, running a hand up and down his forearm.

“Sorry, sorry, m’so sorry—” he mutters in response, his breaths coming in shortened gasps.

Jon grips his hand even tighter.

“Why?  Sweetheart, please tell me why.”

At the gentleness, another sob tears its way out, nearly choking him as he begins to apologize at full volume.

“I’m sorry, mum, it’s so loud, it’s so loud, I’m sorry—”

“Martin—”

A bit panicked now, Jon places his hands on either side of Martin’s scorching face.

3͓͛9̓̔.͓̰5̘, the Eye tells him.

Jesus.

“I’m sorry I woke you—”

“Martin, listen to me.  It’s Jon.  Your mum…” he trails off for a moment, measuring his words.  “…your mum isn’t here, darling, I’m so sorry.”

All he receives in reply is a watery stare, blinking at him uncomprehendingly.

“It’s just me, it’s Jon.”

At last, something about his tone manages to break through his fever-addled mind, and he closes his eyes—hand traveling up to pinch at the bridge of his nose and exhaling wetly.

“God, Jon.  I’m sorry.”

Frustration at the repeated apology blossoms in Jon’s chest, but he shoves it down with all the force of a hurricane.

“Are you alright?” he asks in as soft as voice as he can manage.

“I just need—” he’s choked off by another cough, which he stifles vigorously behind his lips.

“What do you need?”

“The cough suppressants,” he whispers, pressing a hand into his lower ribs to rub at them painfully, breathing still unnaturally quick.

Jon’s heart sinks into his stomach.

“You need to cough, Martin; you need to get it out,” he replies in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

Martin is fully panting now, ragged and burbling.

“It’s too loud, it’s too loud, you shouldn’t have to—”

“Stop, stop.”

Jon takes his hands into both of his own, pulling them down from where he had been wringing them in distress.

“Listen to me,” he demands, meeting his eyes with as much intensity as he can pour into them.

“It’s loud, and it’s alright.  It’s loud, and it’s alright—I promise, darling.  Please…let yourself get well.”

At his plea, Martin’ eyes immediately well up again—chest still fluttering with effort before he squeezes Jon’s hand back. 

Jon can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face.

Martin then takes a deeper inhale than any in the last ten minutes, shuddering and strenuous, and allows the force of the coughs bursting from his chest to pitch him forward—bracing over his pajama-clad thighs.  Rolling out over the blankets, spilling between the creaking floorboards is that same thick fog—the Lonely pouring from him in billows.  All Jon can do is listen to the agonized churning, rubbing at his back in what he hopes is a comforting motion as he tries desperately to make a path for oxygen to flood his lungs.  Nearly a minute goes by before it stops, Martin folding weakly back against the pillows in its wake, panting.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks again, not liking the color of his cheeks.

“M’sorry, Jon I—” he breaks off to inhale.  “I can’t seem to—heh—”

He rubs painfully at his nose and sinuses for a moment before continuing.

“—my head’s not right, I don’t know why.”

“It’s the fever, sweetheart.  You’re alright.”

I hope you’re alright.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks, patting his knee where it lies beneath the blankets.

Distinctly not looking at him, Martin pauses for a moment, considering.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers at last, guilt flooding his face.

Jon quirks up a smile in comfort.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Seeing the lightness of his expression causes Martin to mirror it, lips turning up gently at the corners despite the weepiness of his eyes.  He brushes his lips against the back of Jon’s hand, over the burn scar and down, turning his palm gently to kiss the sensitive skin over his pulse point.  It’s enough to send sparks of lightning through Jon’s body, and he immediately feels the heat rushing into his cheeks.

“You’re too good for me,” Martin murmurs, eyes drooping closed as he drops Jon’s wrist.

Shaking his head with a smile, Jon steps out of the room to collect his book, fully intending to spend the remainder of his evening curled up by Martin’s side.

I must be the luckiest person in the world, he thinks, the love buzzing through his head forcing the static of hunger far, far away.

[neon-junkie]

Poor Boy - Male Version

Summary: Sean headbutts Kieran after an argument, giving Kieran a bloody nose and bruised cheekbone. You step in to help Kieran clean himself up.

Pairing: Kieran Duffy x m!Reader

Word Count: 2507

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Minor descriptions of blood and violence

Tags: Arguments, Nosebleed, Bruises, Fluff, Friends to lovers, First kiss.

Notes: Based off that camp interaction where Sean goes BONK on Kierans’ poor nose. EDIT: The bathing Kieran fic is HERE, nsfw warning tho :^)

Female version

You'd overheard Sean and Kieran bickering from across the camp. Sean was as always, calling Kieran an O'Driscoll, winding the poor boy up for being something he's not. You'd not spoken to Kieran much. He seemed very timid and kept to himself. Most of the gang bullied him like their life depended on it, so you weren't surprised that Kieran kept his distance and didn't bother trying to be-friend people. Sean was one of the many few who would purposely go out of his way to torment Kieran, following the poor boy around the camp, shouting at him at every opportunity he got. He used Kieran as his personal punching bag. Kieran would sometimes just accept it and walk away, but today Kieran was fighting back.

"You better stop that," Kieran hissed at Sean.

Sean laughed to himself. "Else what?"

"I'll get ya for it, that's a damn promise," Kieran snapped.

By now, most of the gang members were watching the two argue. A handful of them were calling out to try and get the two to stop, though no one had fully stepped in.

"Whatever you say, O'Driscoll," Sean teased, grinning as he saw Kieran's face go red.

"You know, I ain't no O'Driscoll," Kieran replied as if his words were going to get through to Sean.

Kieran approached Sean as he spoke, pointing his finger at him, huffing. Sean grinned again before suddenly headbutting the poor boy. A loud crack was heard and Kieran fell backward onto the floor. Miss Grimshaw was the first one to march over and begin screaming at Sean. Sean walked away, Grimshaw on his tail. Sean tried to brush her away, making up excuses as to why Kieran deserved what he got.

You had automatically approached Kieran to see if he was okay. Kieran was sat on the floor, his hand clutching his nose. He slowly stood up, watching blood drip down his white shirt.

"You okay?" you asked him, placing a hand softly on his back which accidentally startled him.

"Oh!" Kieran said as he spun around to see you stood there, a concerned look over your face. "Yeah, I'm fine," Kieran lied.

"No you ain't, your nose is bleedin'," you replied. Kieran sighed and looked at the ground. The poor boy looked like a dog that he been scolded far too many times for things he never did.

"Yeah. Hurts pretty damn bad if I'll be honest," Kieran replied, not looking at you. His spare hand picked at his neckerchief and managed to take it off, using the rag to press against his nose. He wiped his bloody hand down his already ruined white shirt.

You huffed at him. Messy boy.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," you told him.

"Oh, it's okay, Mister. I'll be fine," Kieran replied, finally looking up at you.

"No, you won't. Bet you don't even know how to get blood out a shirt. C'mon," you insisted as you softly took him by the arm, leading him over to the lake. On the way, you stopped by your tent, grabbing a few items to wash his clothes with, along with a rag to press against his nose rather than his neckerchief.

Kieran sat down beside you on the pier. His nose had mostly stopped bleeding, but his face was covered in smeared blood, along with a bruise starting to form under his right eye.

"I need your shirt," you told him.

"Erm.." Kieran paused for a moment, seeming rather nervous.

"I won't look," you say as you looked away. You overheard Kieran quietly laugh, followed by the sound of him undressing his upper half.

"Here you are, Mister," Kieran said, holding out his shirt and neckerchief. He had put his hat back on, along with his unbuttoned blue shirt. You could see the outline of his ribs and collarbones, his body was so scrawny and thin. Poor boy.

You tried not to stare, taking his clothes and leaning forward on your knees so you could begin washing them in the lake. The two of you were silent for a while, only the sounds of you scrubbing in the lake could be heard. Eventually, Kieran spoke.

"Erm.." he quietly muttered, catching your attention. You looked over your shoulder at him. Kieran looked away.

"Thank you... I really appreciate it, Mister," Kieran quietly said, clearly embarrassed about the whole situation.

"You know, you can call me ___," you smiled.

"Well, ___, I appreciate you helpin' me," Kieran said as he looked at you. He had removed the bloody rag from his nose.

"You should probably wash your face," you told him. You didn't mean for it to come across so blunt. His eyes widened.

"Am I that bad?" Kieran asked.

All around Kieran's nose, mouth, and chin was red from where he rubbed the bloody cloth against it. He looked like he had shoved the lower half of his face in a watermelon.

"If I say no, will it make you feel better?" you joked.

Kieran pulled a face that resembled 'whoops,' and lent forward to begin washing his face in the lake. You overheard him whine under his breath, not realizing how bad the bruise under his eye was.

You finished washing his clothes, the bloodstain pretty much gone. You saw Kieran dry off his face with his sleeve, then began to button up his blue shirt with the few buttons left on it.

"I need to go put this on the line. I got something to help that bruise also," you said to him as you wrung out his shirt.

"Oh, lead the way," Kieran said as he stood up, offering you a hand. You accepted, letting Kieran help pull you up.

The two of you walked back into camp. You could see Sean glaring at Kieran in the corner of your eye and only hoped that Kieran was choosing to ignore it. You flung his shirt and neckerchief over the camps clothesline then lead Kieran over to your tent. You invited him inside your enclosed tent; there was more than enough room for the two of you to comfortably sit.

"Here," you say as you give Kieran a spare shirt.

"Oh, I don't mind wearin' this. I don't wanna get your clothes dirty," Kieran responds.

"I've seen how conscious you feel. Just put the shirt on, it's your size," you say as you place the shirt on his lap.

"Thank you," Kieran quietly says.

Kieran begins changing once you look away, going through your stuff to find the ointment you were looking for. You quickly find it and turn back to see Kieran pulling his braces up over his shoulders, then placing his hat back on.

"Suits you," you smile at him. You can see him blush, despite how dark it is in your tent. You had given him a yellow plaid shirt to wear, the colour going well with his brown pants and hat.

"T-thank you," Kieran replies, rubbing the back of his neck.

"C'mon, let's get that bruise sorted before your eye swells up," you say as you try and shoo him out the tent. Kieran doesn't move.

"Mister ___, I don't mind doin' it myself. You've already done too much for me," Kieran replies.

"Kieran, it's fine. It's always nice to have someone take care of you. Now come on," you shoo him again and this time, he moves.

The two of you step out of your tent and you instantly notice a bunch of eyes look at the two of you. Kieran stands awkwardly with his feet turned inwards, looking at you for a sense of direction. You look over at the campfire and decide not to go there as Sean was still there, prominently glaring at Kieran but thankfully not you. Sean knows you'd help him if he needed it, but will definitely question you as to why you helped Kieran the next time he saw you alone.

"Let's go sit by the horses, hm?" you suggest. Kieran seems eager and begins walking away. You closely follow.

You sit yourself down, your back leaning against the log. Kieran pokes at the fire, relighting it as you pour ointment onto a clean cloth. By now, it was dark and the temperature was beginning to drop. You enjoyed the temperate pick up as Kieran got the fire going. He soon leaned back against the log beside you.

"Here," you say as you turn to face him. Kieran doesn't have any time to react before you press the cloth lightly on his cheekbone where the bruise was forming.

"You gonna do everything for me, Mister?" Kieran jokes. This was the first time today you'd seen him actually smile, and probably the first time in a while.

"You ain't enjoying me care for you?" you joke back at him.

"Oh, I am. I just... wasn't expecting it," Kieran pauses for a moment, shuffling his legs till his knees rest close to his chest, his arms in his lap. "I ain't had anyone take care of me since my parents passed."

"Oh, Kieran," you sighed, feeling sorry for him. "Enjoy it then, hm?"

"I will," Kieran smiles. The two of you sit in silence for a little while. Your arm begins to ache from holding the cloth up against Kieran's face.

"Here, lie down," you say, patting your thighs as you move the cloth off him.

"You.. you want me to sit on your lap?" Kieran questions, laughing lightly as he gives you a puzzled look.

"No, silly! My arm aches. Lie your head on my thighs so I don't have to hold this up against you," you explain.

"Like I said, Mister, I don't mind sortin' myself out here," Kieran tells you yet again. You brush him off, encouraging him to get comfy. He jokingly rolls his eyes and shakes his head, making you laugh.

Kieran lies back on your thigh and tries not to make direct eye contact with you, feeling a little awkward. He wasn't used to any attention, so to have someone suddenly grab a hold of him and not let go had made him feel rather anxious. He props his hat on the log, his hands resting on his stomach. He watches you pour more ointment onto the cloth then place it back down on his face. Kierans head is rotated slightly so he can watch the fire dance. You notice him fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt, a sign of nervousness. You lift the cloth up and brush some strands of hair off his face. Your hand goes back to his face, whilst the other remains on his head. You start to run your fingers along his hair, very gently combing it, giving him a slight head massage. He eventually stops picking at his shirt, slowly feeling at ease.

"You need a bath," you pick at him, noticing his greasy his hair is.

"You offering to wash me as well?" Kieran jokes with you, turning back to look up at you.

"You want me to?" You ask him, seriousness in your voice.

"?!" Kierans eyes widen and he's not quite sure what to respond. He fumbles about, a string of 'err' and 'uhm' coming out of his mouth.

"Like I said, I'm happy to care for you," you shrug.

"If I knew gettin' headbutted by Sean was gonna get a handsome man offering to bathe me, then I wouldda got him to headbutt me a long time ago. Hell! I wouldda got him to run me over with one of the wagons," Kieran states.

You laugh loudly, your laugh definitely being heard across the camp. Kieran laughs with you, noticing how your face lights up. He suddenly sits upright, startling you slightly. Kieran turns to you.

"I'm serious. Honestly, ___, you're handsome. You know that, right? When I..." Kieran pauses for a second, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from you. "When I saw you comin' over I wasn't sure what you were gonna do. Hell, I was so nervous! I assumed the worst cause everybody in the camp is like that to me, but I didn't think you'd help me out this much. I really appreciate it."

"Awh, Kieran. You don't need to thank me, but I do appreciate the compliment," you smile.

"If you ever need a favour, I'll be there. Why, I owe you more than one," Kieran speaks directly at you.

An idea springs to mind.

"I've got somethin' you can do for me," you reply.

"Anythin, Mister. Whatever you need, I'll do it," Kieran insists.

"You could give me a kiss?"

"Wait, what?!" Kierans' eyes widen. "You better not be jokin' with me here."

"I ain't. I think a kiss is fair payment," you smile.

"Well, if that's really what you want, then I ain't gonna turn you down," Kieran replies. There's a nervous shake to his voice and he's struggling to make eye contact with you.

You cup his left cheek, avoiding the side with the bruise. He calms into your touch, finally looking at you. Your fingers brush over his scraggly beard, a lot softer than you expected. Kieran shuffles so he's on his knees and pauses. He seems starstruck. His mind is still processing today's wild turn of events. Nobody could have predicted that Kieran was going to get beat up and kissed on the same day. Kierans fumbling about with his shirt. He was always a nervy little fella, but being on the spot only made him worse. You began to feel bad for asking him to do such a bold thing.

"You don't have to if you don't wa-" Kieran cuts you off with his lips pressed against yours. His hand is on the back of your neck, fingers running along your hair. Your eyes slowly shut, softening into his light kisses. You can faintly taste iron on his lips, along with a stronger taste of tobacco. He doesn't try pushing his luck, slowly pulling away. The two of you open your eyes; he's looking at you calmly but there's a tint of lust in his eyes.

"You happy with your payment?" Kieran jokes. You laugh with him.

"I think I may need more, you know."

"I can't deny you that, not when you've done so much for me." Kieran seems bolder as he sits directly beside you, stretching his arm behind you against the log. You rest your legs on top of his, your shoulder burrowing in the crook of his neck.

"Might have to bathe you too," you purr. Kieran squeaks and blushes.

"I'd like that, a lot," he admits as he lifts your head up gently with his hand on your chin. He kisses you again, this time confidently.

The two of you spend the night making out by the scout campfire. Kierans more than happy with this turn of events, despite the bruise on his cheekbone.

An angry Sean watches in the distance.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [22]

Masterlist

~^*^~

“Drac!”

The gasp of his name filled the hallway, right after the sound of his hand slapping your ass. He chuckled, your pout only managing to be adorable to him.

“I couldn’t help it. My god, I never want to see you wear anything except leggings again.” He breathed.

“Typical male.” You rolled your eyes, hitching the strap of your gym bag higher up your shoulder.

You stalked towards the elevator, ignoring the hot gaze the vampire was currently giving you. Maybe inviting him to the gym was a very bad idea. Especially in the outfit he had decided to sport to “fit in”. A muted grey/green t-shirt, a little baggy, a little low cut on the neckline, exposing just a tease of his collarbones. The black joggers were an anomaly to his usual wardrobe choices.

“Instead of going to the gym, I propose we stay here and improvise.” You finally turned your head to send him a venomous look.

“You literally took months of reluctance to even fucking finger me and now you won’t even let me go to the gym because my leggings rile you up?” You feigned an angry tone, “stay here if that’s how you’re going to be.” You pressed the button, waiting for the elevator.

“I already told you, I can’t do what I want to you. Did our little session the other day ease any of your tension?”

You rolled your eyes, face flushing as you thought back to a few days ago. The doors opened and you strolled in, the tall vampire hot on your heels. You turned to face the doors, only to almost knock into his chest. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist and pulled you up to your tippy toes. You glared up at him as the door snapped shut.

“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was a little gravelly, the sound of it making your heart skip a beat.

“I rolled my eyes. That’s an answer in my books.”

“Clearly I’m going to have to do something more... strenuous next time.” His lips came down on to your jawline, pressing tender kisses to your skin. You hummed.

Then, his fingers slipped a little lower, eventually making their way to your ass. He squeezed, making sure to get as much into his hands as he could.

“Stop!” You laughed, twisting away from him. His grip tightened.

“Why?” He whispered against your skin, “we are the only occupiers of the elevator, right now. Would it be so terrible?”

“Yes, seriously I’m about to go back upstairs and change.”

“Don’t,” he growled, squeezing harshly, causing your to gasp, your hands moved to snake around his neck, “even think about it.”

“I have no idea what’s made you so possessive all of a sudden, but you pack it in now, mister.” You playfully commanded.

Dracula’s lips continued on your neck, and he clearly had no intention of stopping even after the elevator had reached the bottom of the building and the doors opened.

~^*^~

The gym was an... experience. Upon leaving, you vowed to never let Dracula tag along again. No less than four times did he get into altercations with other men who had been ogling you (three out of the four being during your squat session), and he was adamant on just watching you which was off putting. When you had invited him along, you had hoped that he would actually partake in exercise.

Apparently you were too distracting.

Said the man who had sat on the bench press, practically drooling whilst you did your warming up lunges and stretches.

Yeah, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near the gym again if that was where you intended to go.

When you returned back to the apartment, you noticed a missed call on your phone. Your mother. Whilst you had been in contact with her, it was time for her annual summer party, in which all of her friends, and their friends, and her colleagues and their friends crowded your home for hours on end. It was so exhausting to have to socialise with so many people that you didn’t know or care about.

As you called her back, you regretted it almost instantly.

“[First]! Finally, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you!”

“Yeah, sorry, I was at the gym.”

“Look, you know that my party is next week, right? You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

“Erm, I don’t actually know...”

“Oh come on, [First], I haven’t seen you in so long! You have to come!”

“Well, I mean, I’ve not been in London long and-“

“Yes, apparently you’ve shacked up with some man!”

“Mother!” You shrieked. Clearly Dracula had heard, since he turned around to send you the most devilish grin. You batted him away, “that’s not true!”

“Well, Martha rang me up and told me she saw you out shopping with some man your father’s age! And then Daphne FaceTimed me and told me she’d seen you in a car on two occasions with the same man!”

“Oh my god!” You groaned, “stop listening to gossip about your own daughter from the fishwives!” You scolded.

“I’ll keep going if you don’t agree to come.” You could hear her playful smile.

“Alright! Fine, I’ll come.”

“And bring your mystery man - apparently he’s quite a looker-“ you hung up, not wanting to think about your own mother drooling over your boyfriend.

“Who was that lovely woman?” Dracula was very clearly trying to wind you up.

“Oh shut it.” You snapped, “you’re just smug because they think you’re attractive.”

“Well, I am.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh!” You groaned, stomping away to get dressed.

The week dragged. Your mother was constantly ringing to harass you over the party. ‘Black tie but casual, [First]!’ ‘Don’t forget that Brenda’s son Mark is coming, I believe you’d suit each other quite nicely!’ ‘Have you decided what you’re going to wear?’ ‘Your entrance fee can be a platter of those nice little sandwiches you make!’

It was dizzying and to add insult to injury, your mother’s constant inquires on your “mystery man” was blowing up his ego quicker than you could say ‘bloodsucker’. Oh, if you had a stake you’d strike it right through his heart if it meant one moment of peace. You eventually told him about your mother’s plan to hook you up with this Mark (which had been ongoing since you were 16 and he was 18) which switched his mood a whole 180° extremely quickly. Now you had an impatient mother and a grumpy vampire.

Was god punishing you for your fornications with the man currently lying next to you, facing towards the wall instead of you?

Technically you hadn’t even had sex, so technically there was nothing to punish.

Or was it just because he was a vampire?

You scoffed in amusement at your thoughts.

“Thinking about Mark are you?” Dracula grumbled.

“Oh yes.” You jeered, “tall, handsome Mark and how I think I may have to take up my mother’s offer and see him to dinner. I wonder how far he’d go on the first date... it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex-“

Within a matter of seconds, you were pinned under the vampire, his dark pools swimming with all sorts of angst. His lips curled down into a scowl. You felt like you deserved a punch to the face. How you managed to dig yourself an even deeper hole was beyond you.

Well, Dracula found use for the belt that had been on the bedside table and you had learnt your second lesson on purposefully making him jealous. You were sure you were growing addicted to his fingers.

~^*^~

You swallowed, looking over yourself one last time in the mirror before you stepped out of the room. The black satin cami dress was formal, right? It came down to your knees, with a little bit of a peplum hem at the bottom. It was a little revealing, mostly on your chest, but you had accessoried to keep the attention on the gorgeous Whitby Jet wrapped around your neck concealing your bite. Yes, you looked fine.

Nerves would always eat you up before you attended these stupid parties.

Stepping out into the main room, you held your breath. Holy fuck. Dracula was leaning against the table, clearly bored of waiting for you. His hair was tousled back, a few strands falling forwards towards his forehead. A black shirt sat undone on the upper half of his chest, and over the top a black suit jacket rolled up past the elbows. You oggled his forearms and the image of the way they flexed as he pumped his fingers into you flashed through your head. Your eyes moved down to his legs, form fitting suit pants showcasing his thighs and you almost drooled. Running a hand through your hair, you coughed, grabbing his attention.

The moment his eyes fell on you, your heart quite literally stopped. His eyes... oh dear god. It was the way you’d begged god to make someone look at you. Just once. So much love, a sparkle of utter awe of you, glistening the truth of his affection. His lips quirked up into a smile. His eyes racked over your body, loving the way your dress fit you perfectly, hinting at your body but leaving the majority of it to the imagination. It was long enough to not be dignity-diminishing, but short enough to give attention to your legs.

“If I hadn’t made a promise to give you the best life, I would take you right here on this table,” he patted the marble, “and drink every ounce of nectar within your veins.”

“Keep talking like that and I will make you do it.” You smirked.

“I promised you I’d help you live,” he prowled towards you, unable to wait another moment to pull you into him, “and I believe you see our union differently to how I do.” He fornwed just a little and you pulled yourself into him, drowning him in your perfume and warmth.

“It’s just sex.” You retorted, looking up at him.

“Not with you it wouldn’t be.” He whispered, “and whatever coward made you think that it’s “just sex” would be advised to never come a step near to me.”

“Why, would you teach him your ideas on union?” You chuckled, your slightly dirty joke apparently going over his head.

“I’d fucking kill him for taking your body so intimately and convincing you that it meant nothing.”

You chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to his neck. He hummed, feeling the soft fabric of your dress beneath his fingertips. He was so thankful that you had chosen him. Lucky was the understatement of the century.

~^*^~

Your mother continued to look out of the window every minute or so, anticipating your arrival. After most adamantly demanding that you bring the gentleman you had been living with, she was at a peaked curiosity. Was he truly so much older than you? And was he as handsome as her friends made out?

He turned out to be definitely rich, pulling up in a sparkling Jaguar. She almost squealed in anticipation - much like a teenager - and the tray of appetisers she had been holding flew up into the air.

Your father grumbled at the commotion and apologised to the men he had been speaking to. He explained that your mother was on edge, awaiting to see what her daughter was about to drag into the house.

The aura that swept the house when you and Dracula entered seemed to affect every guest present, and all eyes were suddenly on you.

“[First]!” She greeted lovingly, pretending she hadn’t been waiting for the last 45 minutes by th window.

“Hi mother,” you greeted, letting her pull you into a brief hug. Her eyes wandered past you and to the tall gentleman standing just at the step of the door, smiling sheepishly, “it’s alright, love. You can come in.”

Your wicked eyes sent him a mischevuous look. He frowned, knowing that you were internally laughing at him still not entering without an invitation. Would your parents mind so much if he spanked you in front of them?

“And, my, who is this... gentleman?” She breathed, clearly impressed by his face, but unimpressed at his presence with you.

“This is-“

“Count Dracula.” He cut your off, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. [Last].” He smiled at her, taking her hand and briefly kissing her knuckles, “[First] has told me so much about what an amazing woman you are.” She couldn’t help but laugh airily at the compliment.

“Well, I’ve done my best for my daughter. Come on through, both of you. [First], your father is just by the kitchen.”

She rushed past you, pushing past people as quickly as she could to make her way back to the kitchen. That gossip! Your eyes filtered through the people until you found your father talking to a few people. Intertwining your fingers with Dracula’s, you began to pull him into the living room when you were stopped by a man you didn’t recognise.

“What an honour it is, Count Dracula! My name is Richard Johnson, I own Johnson and Moore, a law company under your own. I was wondering when I’d finally meet the famous Dracula.” You turned to look at Dracula, who was smiling a little shyly.

“Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you as well, however as you can see I’m with-“

“No, it’s okay!” You quickly interjected, “I better go say hello to my dad before he feels rejected. I’ll let you two businessmen talk.” You winked at the vampire before scampering off towards your father.

“What a beautiful little thing she is!” Richard eyed you as you left, “you’ve got to tell me how you got such a young one.” He laughed.

“Well, I could tell you,” Dracula began with a fake smile, “but I’d have to kill you afterwards.”

Neither of them realised that you had heard and you grinned at Dracula’s words.

Your arms snaked around your father’s waist as you rested your head on his shoulder. He continued his sentence to the two men he was engaged in conversation with. When he had finished, he took a sip from his drink and then manuvered his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Here she is, my little detective!” He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “you wouldn’t believe this kid used to poop in our garden drain, would you?”

“Do you have to say that to everyone you introduce me to?” You rolled your eyes, but you were grinning.

“Baby, I’m going to bring it up at your wedding and tell all of my grandbabies.” The two men standing opposite from you laughed at his words.

“I’ve read some of your journals, [First], you’ve grown into a very intelligent and respectable young woman.” You pulled yourself from your father as he spoke to you, smiling shyly.

“Thank you, I’ve worked hard to be where I am today.”

“Yes, didn’t you spent quite some time in Yorkshire?” The other man began, “your father was telling us you were part of some coverup story within the Jonathan Harker Foundation.”

“Well, that’s simply not true. And even if it were, I couldn’t tell you, Pauly.” You grinned, clearly teasing him.

“Awe, come on, [First]! Don’t you remember when I used to dress up as Santa and bring you all those wonderful presents?”

“Well, I suppose I could tell you,” you began, “but I’d have to kill you afterwards.”

Your eyes moved across the other side of the room and locked with your favourite pair in the entire world. He was smirking right back at you. ‘Touche’ he mouthed at you. His eyes sparkled as they continuously washed over you. Wait... was he really eye fucking you in a room full of people?! Your father’s conversation ended quickly after that and he was quick to pull you into the corner to have a private word with you.

“You, young lady, are driving your mother up the wall with the gentleman you’ve been seeing, you know that don’t you?” He was unable to hold back his amusement.

“Of course I know that.” You laughed.

“Then go and talk to her!” He laughed. Clearly he was already growing drunk.

“Alrighty. Don’t drink too much, okay?” You patted his arm, side stepping to get ready to make your way to the kitchen.

“I can’t promise you anything, buttonnose.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek and sent you on your way to the kitchen.

Before you even made your way in, you could hear all of the wives whispering and giggling. Did they seriously not realise that they were not still school girls? You rolled your eyes and made your way in.

Your mother jumped at your intrusion and you were soon bombarded in compliments on how pretty you’d gotten, how tall you’d grown, congratulations on your work, and question upon question about Dracula and intimate details of your plans. Mostly marriage and children.

Two hours later and you found yourself by your mother’s side. Dracula had blended in well, making conversation with almost everyone that approached him. You had barely seen him, but your mother had been talking quite a bit to him. Standing washing your hands after eating a few greasy little bites, she came to your aide.

You were dreading whatever she had to say and prayed that this would be a short and sweet conversation. She was obsessed with you getting into a relationship and you had finally found someone that made you happy and she wasn’t satisfied.

“[First],” she began warily, “Dracula seems... nice...”

“He is.” You answered stoically.

“When did you meet him?”

“When I was working in Whitby last year.” You grasped a tea towel, beginning to dry your hands.

“Is he a detective like you?”

“First of all, I am not a detective - I’m a Supervisory Special Agent specialising in criminology. Secondly, he is not a detective and you would know from all of your eavesdropping that he is a businessman.”

“Don’t accuse your own mother of eavesdropping!” She scolded.

“Weren’t you?” You challenged.

“I just... I just think you’ve made a mistake, [First]. He’s your father’s age for crying out loud!” She hissed, clearly not wanting the other wives to hear such an embarrassing conversation.

Silly woman. He’s ten times your father’s age.

You scoffed at her words.

“What, so because he’s a little older than me I can’t be with him?”

“No, I’m not saying that I’m just-... is he your sugar daddy?!” She suddenly gasped.

“No mother!” You exclaimed.

“I had to ask, sorry.”

“What, did Brenda tell you that? Or maybe Daphne? When will you all grow up and stop gossiping over your own children?!” She went quiet.

“...Will you at least consider Mark...?”

You groaned, having to throw the tea towel down and leave the room. Your face was flushed with anger and when you looked back up, your jaw hit the ground.

“Jack?”

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026

[luisa2swag]

Love me for me (2)

"If you're so great how come you don't know how to tie your shoes properly, doo-doo head ?" I shot back, taking a step closer with my chin up, finger pointing at his untied basketball shoes. Jungkook scoffed "why am I even here arguing with you? You sure talk a lot but you forget that your last name is Mcniplecocker. Thats an instant L"

he towered over you, chest looking larger than usual thanks to the tight white shirt that stuck to his body with sweat. Your eyes darted to his nipple and before he could even muster another insult, His nipples were firmly grasped between your thumbs and index fingers, twisting away with all your might.

Your lips tugged upwards in satisfaction when he let out a yell of surprise and pain.

"What the actual fuck?!" He backed away, freeing himself from your hands. You smirked "Now you know why my last name is Mcniplecocker. Because I twist nipples and I certainly do have a cock!"

You were shameless as you said theses words. Jungkook couldn't even bother thinking of something else to say other than "okay I'm leaving." As you watched him walk away from you in the empty classroom. You saw him turn the doorknob but he did not move.

Was he maybe going to say something?

The tugs at the door knob became more violent with each twist and you could see Jungkook losing patience. His shoulders slumped, "We're locked in."

"W-what?"

[THREE HOURS BEFORE BEING LOCKED]

"W-wow." You looked at the school in amazement, boxes in your hands, you watched as the other male students buzzled around campus with their parents and installed themselves into their dorms.

You didn't have the luxury of being here with your dad. Imagine one of the most wanted criminals in the past setting foot into a place filled with lawyers. Your plan would be immediately dead but most importantly, you'd be behind bars.

This school must of been as old as Harvard. The building resembled the ones they would teach about in history class -You know the medieval ages- only the inside had been done up.

They were the only University that didn't open its gates to every gender which only lured more male heirs from all over the planet.

Parents thought that no girls meant no distractions but what they failed to know was that in 2018,some boys didn't just like girls.

"Hey, do you want help? You seem lost.." startled at the sudden deep voice coming from your right side, you jumped a bit.

Turning around to take a look at who had the audacity to initiate a conversation with your lonely ass. To be completely honest, you had just been standing around, mouth agape, looking at boys passing you by.

Holy shit he's hot

Instantly, you felt blood rush to your cheeks, you hoped that he wouldn't notice. He stood tall compared to you, nose long and eyes almost rectangle-ish. The sun and the ore gold were both jealous of his heavenly skin. You watched as he ran a large hand through his chestnut hair.

"Uh-huh" was all you could muster. A frown draped itself on your features, realizing how dumb and un-dude-ish you just sounded. Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, nothing could prepare you to the fact that a freaking model would be here speaking to your thirsty ass.

"Are you perhaps looking for your dorm? I had tricky time finding mine too in my first year." His voice god his voice.

"Am Taehyung, by the way." He smiled, a smile so adorable you couldn't help but smile back too.

"Am Bob, yeah I think I need help."you smiled sheepishly, holding your box closer to your chest.

"Alright, ill need the number of your dorm."

"67-b"

"Ahhh, that's the law dorms. So you're a law student huh? So am I." He seemed excited. Long legs already taking the lead to find your dorm.

"Are you a third year student or ?" You asked, now entering the dorm you presumed to be yours.

"No, just a second year." He smiled.

You both walked in a comfortable silence until he stopped infront of a door. "67-b is here." He said with the nod of his head, leaning against the wall near the door.

"Do we usually have roommates?" You read that since it was such a prestigious and little school, they would give you your own room but you needed to be sure. You didn't want any surprises. "Yeah it'll just be you in there." He affirmed with his usual dashing smile.

"Official classes start in two days but if you want, you could still go check out the classrooms. There won't be any teachers so make sure you leave the door open or else you might be surprised."

"Oh okay." You didn't bother dropping your voice a couple octaves, sure that in the near future where you could be possibly drunk or inattentive, It'd royally fuck you up. You found it to be a better idea to stick to your normal low but warm voice and let the guys think that "oh, his voice sounds slightly feminine!"

You took a step back, hoodie floating around your body and hiding your womanly curves the best it could, you bowed slightly "thank you so much. I hope I'll see you around school!" You actually did hope to see him around .

Not only was he devilishly handsome but very sweet. You wouldn't mind spending time with him all while gawking at his beauty greater than the Greek gods. "If you want, in about three hours I'll be able to hang. I would've been available way sonner if it wasn't for the fact that we both need to unpack a little bit. We could meet up at your new law class? What do you say?" He pointed finger guns at you, only making you blush more.

Fuck he doesn't even know I am a girl and here I am blushing like a schoolgirl just because he invited me to hang out.

"I'd love to I-I mean yeah, that be cool dude." Awkwardly, you raised a fist in the air which he happily bumped. "Okay I'll be off now!"

And just like that, the chestnut haired boy was out of your feet with hop of his own. Leaving you to unpack with the sound of 90's music from your cellphone.

Your room was a decent size, a simple bed on the left with a desk on the right, a tiny kitchen area and out and down the hallways were the shared bathrooms.

You took out the basics, some clothes, toothbrush, the frozen goods your dad had cooked you and bedsheets. You'd finish up your room later,after seeing Taehyung.

Yeah, I'll do this as soon as I get back!

[thirty minutes before being locked]

Your room looked neat. There were still some boxes here and there but you promised yourself to unpack them as soon as you got back.

Now you had changed into a comfortable black t-shirt and joggers.You made sure to duck-tape your breast, of course.

You stepped outside, the sun hung lower but still shined and the wind blew, giving you a comfortable breeze. The other students also seemed to take this evening as a chance to explore the campus more.

You watched as two boys ran, almost bumping you on their way. The shorter one with plump lips turned and blurted a bunch of apologizes before his taller lean friend dragged him by the collar. "Cmon Jimin, we need to get him !" And they were gone, leaving you to wonder exactly who they were going to get.

You continued making your way to the class, eventually finding it.

It was spacious just like in the movies about college life. You quickly found yourself a the front where the teacher desk was but before that you made sure to keep the door open, starring into space and waiting for the young man. You heard foot-steps and a smile already adorned your features.

You turned around, waiting to be met with the chestnut haired boy but you were just met face to face with a chestnut haired boy, that wasn't your chestnut haired boy.

"Erm, sorry." You squirmed away as the buff boy with the angular nose reached to grab something behind you.

"Were you really trying to steal the notes professor had prepared for me?" He took out a sheet of paper almost out of thin air and you just stared in amazement until it hit you.

Hold on, did this guy just accuse me ?

"W-what? I didn't even know that was there. I don't even know who you are!" Brows twisted together in confusion, you couldn't help but dart your eyes to the paper and to his piercing gaze, examining me like a corpse.

I gulped when he crossed his arms over his chest, oblivious to his flexing, he stood about one head and a half taller than me.

"You're lying. Everyone knows me." He scoffed, confident in the words he spoke as I blinked away, still In confusion.

"Come again?" I tried, I really genuinely had no clue who this dude was. I mean yeah he's kinda cute or whatever but with an attitude like that, I don't see him having any friends.

"Of course you would play dumb, well you are dumb for trying to steal my notes. Maybe you should take the initiative like me and ask teachers to prepare you notes of everything you'll have to study for the semester." His thin upper lip twitched upwards, his eyes trailing over my body, probably judging.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge lil punk, school hasn't even started yet and to inform you, i am the smartest student here, I don't need your bitchass notes to be able to catch up on class before class has even started."ooooh I burned his bunny looking ass!

A smirk adorned my full lips when I noticed the blush spread across his cheeks like wildfire. I watched as his confident facade slowly broke when he took a step back.

"I guess you really don't know me then, my name is Jeon Jungkook." Now he was the one with the smirk.

I deadpanned, "Uh, yeah I totally know you. Omg I cant believe I didn't realize sonner!" Arms crossed, I rolled my eyes.

"Think harder dumbass. Jeon Jungkook, doesn't that ring any bells?"

I thought hard, past all the cat memes, gta on PlayStation 2 cheat codes, my club penguin password, the pin of my first iPod. Past all the unnecessary things my brain stored I finally found what he has hinting.

All boys : Great Jeon University

It couldn't be, no .

Or could it be ? With my luck it could. His smile grew larger as he saw my eyes widen in shock. "Don't tell me this is some crappy wattpad plot where your family happens to own this school?" I already dreaded the answer I knew I would get. "Yes it is." His chest proudly rose.

"Well I couldn't care less , dumbass." I stated, indifferent.

"I just told you that my family basically owns this place and you don't give a shit?" Index pointed at my face, he asked dumbfounded. Not sure if my lack of respect for him should be a good thing or not. "You have a lot of guts for saying that to the great Jeon."

"If you're so great how come you don't know how to tie your shoes properly, doo-doo head ?" I shot back, taking a step closer with my chin up, finger pointing at his untied basketball shoes. Jungkook scoffed "why am I even here arguing with you? You sure talk a lot but you forget that your last name is Mcniplecocker. Thats an instant L" Your eyes twitched confused, how did he know your name? Then your orbs wondered down to your shirt who haired had gifted you as a joke with your fake name written just above your left tit.

he towered over you, chest looking larger than usual thanks to the tight white shirt that stuck to his body with sweat. Your eyes darted to his nipple and before he could even muster another insult, His nipples were firmly grasped between your thumbs and index fingers, twisting away with all your might.

Your lips tugged upwards in satisfaction when he let out a yell of surprise and pain.

"What the actual fuck?!" He backed away, freeing himself from your hands. You smirked "Now you know why my last name is Mcniplecocker. Because I twist nipples and I certainly do have a cock!"

[taehyung pov]

I don't remember the building being so far... I entered the law block, nothing but the sound of my sneakers against the wood floor could be heard. Hallways were clear and so was the sky this evening. I smiled thinking of the new friend I had made.

Pat pat pat I whipped my head around st the sudden running noise "Jimin? Namjoon?" My brows arched in confusion, I watched how they frantically started shouting my name.

I looked back to the front

The class where I had so kindly asked you to meet up with me was maybe twenty steps away

I couldn't just blow you off, no that wasn't something I'd want at all.

But with a blink of an eye and a stumbling Jimin, we we're passed the door and left behind a loud clacking noise. In fear of having accidentally closed the door shut, I twisted my neck to look back all while running with the two grown man looped around my arms. "J-Jimin, the d-door!" I let out breathless, heart thumping

"Guys -wait there's someone-" Jimin quickly interrupted "Yoongi snuck a girl on campus!" I looked back again, wishing that my gut feeling was wrong, wishing I hadn't just locked someone in a classroom.

She might be late, everyone comes late nowadays! I reassured myself.

With a aggressive tug of my sleeve from Namjoon, I realized that I didn't have a choice.

I'll come back later, I promise.

[Narrator pov] You were shameless as you said theses words. Jungkook couldn't even bother thinking of something else to say other than "okay I'm leaving." As you watched him walk away from you in the empty classroom. You saw him turn the doorknob but he did not move.

Was he maybe going to say something?

The tugs at the door knob became more violent with each twist and you could see Jungkook losing patience. His shoulders slumped, "We're locked in."

"W-what?"

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.2

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Ao3 link here.

ch.1 - ch.3

~~~~~~~~~~

A loud scream Jackie wasn’t prepared for disturbed her slumber and made her jump, lying on her stomach and propping the upper-half of her body up with her hands pushing against the mattress. She calmed down as she became used to the crowing of the rooster… or an opera singer dying… one of the two. Jackie relaxed and fell back on the bed. So that’s what Stan had meant yesterday.

Looking forward to her first day, Jackie hopped out of bed and started to get dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt with boots. No sense taking a shower now since she would get sweaty and gross later; she’d treat herself to a bath after dinner, like she did yesterday. After a quick brush through her jet-black hair, she took in a deep breath and gazed around her bedroom.

Stan said it was a guest bedroom, not that they ever had any guests, but Ma had this part of the house built in with the idea of visiting grandchildren. So Jackie was granted a small bedroom with a comfortable bed with an old quilt, a dresser, a nightstand, and a Jack and Jill bathroom with the opposite bedroom promised to be Fiddleford’s when he came up here from Tennessee. Jackie, who didn’t come here with much, was comfortable and anything she couldn’t fit in the nightstand and dresser she kept in boxes under the bed.

Jackie finally emerged from her bedroom and peered up and down the short hallway. She listened and could hear the shower running. As she journeyed to the kitchen her nose picked up the beautiful aroma of coffee and she instantly saw the pot filling up and heard the boiling water when she entered the empty kitchen. Whoever was in the shower must have started the coffee so it would be ready by the time they were done. Seeing no indication that breakfast was going to be made and given what she learned yesterday (that the boys couldn’t cook to save their lives), Jackie rubbed her hands together and started to hunt for ingredients to make biscuits.

About fifteen minutes later, Stan came out of the bathroom with a puff of water vapor behind him, shaking his mullet dry with a towel, his maroon robe wrapped loosely around him. He hummed to himself drowsily as he strode to the kitchen, but his not-so-keen senses heightened as he swore he could smell something cooking. Bacon? His mouth watering, Stan picked up the pace a bit without running and saw Jackie working hard in the kitchen. Holy Moses, who knew he had hired the best cook in Oregon?

“‘Mornin’.” He greeted casually.

Jackie glanced at him and her face dropped in shock. His toned, hairy chest was half-exposed, his legs bare below his knees apart from his slippers, and he had a smile on his face alongside those nice pair of brown eyes, the kind of smile you naturally mimic. It’s more contagious than the flu. Jackie caught it and returned it. “G’mornin’. Slept well?”

Stan shrugged. “Yeah, pretty good. You? Bed okay?”

“Yeah, it’s real comfortable.” Jackie replied. “Fix your coffee and sit down, biscuits are almost ready.”

Stan threw his towel onto the back of his chair and went to the cupboard above the coffee machine for a mug. Standing right next to Jackie and the stove, he saw a skillet full of sausage gravy being cooked, a pan sizzling with bacon, and she was currently cracking eggs into a bowl while another pan heated up. Stan marveled at how one person can keep an eye on so many things at once.

“You like your eggs scrambled?” Jackie asked.

Stan shrugged. “Sure.” His favorite way to eat eggs was over-easy, but hey food is food. The farmer can force anything down his gullet if needed. He watched as Jackie whisked six eggs in a big bowl and added previously shredded cheese, some chopped basil, and a small splosh of milk. Stan raised an eyebrow at that. “Why add milk?”

“Makes the eggs fluffier.” Jackie explained as she threw in some salt and pepper, whisked some more, and then poured the eggs into the small pan. The little hand-timer dinged and Jackie slipped on some oven mitts to pull out the pan of biscuits. Stan’s jaw dropped as the new farm-woman had a tray of twelve beautiful, fluffy, golden biscuits. She carried the tray to the table, where a dishcloth was folded to protect the wood, and she sat the tray down and used a little brush to paint melted butter on top. Stan licked his lips and reached to grab one, but Jackie smacked his hand and said, “Wait, mister, if you eat ‘em now you’ll burn yourself.”

Stan snorted as she turned back to the oven to flip the eggs with a rubber spatula and Stan sat with his mug of black coffee. Ford entered the room, yawning, but fully dressed. He had a rolled-up newspaper under his arm and he dozily threw it to Stan, who caught it one-handed like it was a baseball and opened it. “‘Mornin’, Sixer.”

Ford grunted as he grabbed a mug like a drunk man, poured some coffee, sweetened it with some sugar and milk, and gulped it down. Jackie watched him with a raised eyebrow as she moved the bacon onto a plate. Some people simply could not function in the morning. Ford poured a second cup, sweetened it, and sighed after a few sips, and then sat in his chair to breathe and obtain his necessary caffeine. 

“How long before he can talk again?” Jackie asked as she sat the bacon down and quickly moved to the eggs.

“I’d say two full cups for half-baked sentences n’ a full pot for him to function like a normal human bein’.” Stan sneered playfully as he read the headline.

“Har, har.” Ford said sarcastically. He then blinked a few times at the realization of another feast before him. Jackie set the big bowl of cheesy scrambled eggs down and began to move the gravy to another bowl. “Holy Moses, Jackie, you didn’t have to…”

“What else am I payin’ her for?” Stan asked but took the time to throw her a wink so she knew he was joking.

Jackie snorted and sat the bowl of sausage gravy down and made herself a mug of coffee. “Since none of you know how to cook and I don’t wanna eat brown meat, I figured I’d make breakfast.”

“Hey, I can make some mean pancakes.” Stan corrected. “Sure they got a bit of hair in them, but…”

Ford and Jackie laughed and the young scientist reached for a biscuits and was pleased to find it didn’t burn his fingertips. He bit straight into it to give it a try and it was like his brain had exploded. He had never thought he would ever know what it was like to eat a cloud, but here he was. He hummed and took another huge bite, too happy for words.

Jackie’s cheeks suddenly felt a little warmer and she smiled as she spooned herself some eggs.

While Ford happily fixed himself some biscuits n’ gravy, Stan bit into a biscuit as he read his paper and he froze like a statue. Angles were suddenly dancing on his tongue. He moved his eyes to Jackie and muttered, “I’d have to marry you if you always cook this good.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, your mother never cooked?”

“She always cooked,” Stan explained. “N’ she was good at it, too, but you’re… you’re really, really good!” And he engulfed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth.

“What Stanley is trying to say,” Ford said firmly and smiled at the dark-skinned woman. “Is that we’re extremely grateful you’re here.”

Jackie returned the smile. “Thanks. I’m grateful to be here. What made you decide y’all needed help?”

“Well,” Ford sipped his coffee again and began to explain in detail why exactly the twins decided to hire extra help on their farm. “You see we can handle it for the most part by ourselves, with Stanley handling the sheep and chickens and with me supervising the crops and sales, but recently something has caught my attention and… erm, kept me away from the farm, and it’s too much for one man to do on his own.”

“What’s been keeping you out of the farm?” Jackie asked, not at all judgmental as to why this man wasn’t helping his brother, but curious as to what caught his attention.

“Recently some strange things have been occurring.” Ford added. “I don’t know if it’s because I went away to college and saw what was considered normal and not normal or what, but there have always been weird happenings in this town. The deeper you go into the woods, the more natural anomalies there seem to be.”

“Which means stay outta the woods.” Stan said firmly.

“Which means, since we live on the outskirts of Gravity Falls, we’re safe.” Ford corrected. “But I plan to further investigate what’s going on, and I wish to spend all of my time doing so to quickly get to the bottom of it. I also need some help, and Stanley is too busy and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to be at my beck and call, so I’ve asked my old college buddy to come down to help me investigate the strange findings in this town.”

“I get it, okay,” Jackie said with a nod, it all making sense now. “But what kind of weird stuff have you been noticing?”

Ford grinned excitedly. “You’ll see in time.”

Jackie blew a raspberry at this guy deciding to be “cool” and mysterious, making him laugh and resume his breakfast. “So, what kind of stuff we’ll you have me do?” Jackie asked Stan.

“Well,” Stan closed his newspaper. “Since it’s your first day I’ll walk you through everything. Some stuff you’ll do every day, some stuff only on certain days. The chickens need to be fed, the sheep need to be let out, the cow’s gotta be milked, n’ the crops gotta stay healthy n’ weed-free.” And he left the table to get dressed in a red button-up and jeans.

Stan made Ford do the dishes, claiming they were behind on work and it would take longer to get everything done since Jackie was learning. Right by the kitchen door, next to two big pairs of rain boots, was a huge bag of chicken feed. “We gotta keep it here or the hens get into it.” Stan explained and opened the bag, showing a big measuring cup inside. “One cup’s enough, just spread it out n’ don’t pour it all at once. If they’re still hungry there’s plenty of bugs.”

Jackie nodded, taking mental notes, and watched as Stan scooped out some food and opened the back door. Jackie had seen the farm yesterday, but to see the sun rising on the barns and crops made the whole thing sparkle gorgeously. She grinned at the little chicken coop by the house and watched Stan sprinkle out the feed as he whistled. A dozen or so hens scurried out of the coop with one big rooster standing as king on top of the small structure, and he fluttered his wings and floated down for food.

“That’s our rooster, Clock.” Stan explained as he put the cup back inside the bag, grabbed a woven basket, and closed the kitchen door behind them so no chickens would run into the house. “Here, get in the coop n’ collect eggs. We don’t need a whole lot, so don’t freak out if the hens aren’t makin’ that much.

“Any chance they’ll have chicks inside?” Jackie asked, eyeing the loud and proud rooster.

“Nope. Clock’s an old boy.” Stan explained. “That’s why he sounds so bad. We haven’t had a chick from him in years. Hey, he always does his job, though.”

Jackie chuckled and ducked into the chicken coop. Some nests had no eggs but some had one or two. Jackie carefully collected them and knew they would be great for baking and breakfast. When she emerged, Stan tossed a metal bucket to her. “Sheep need water. There’s a well out that way, just make sure they won’t get thirsty after you put the eggs in the kitchen. I’ve already got ‘em out in the field. If you need me I’ll be in that barn over there.” And he pointed to the smaller one of the two.

Jackie nodded and headed in the direction he pointed toward when talking about the well. As she walked, she took in her surroundings and was free to acknowledge how big his farm was. There was a lot of land, with the woods acting as the border. On one side of the land it was full of crops like a big cornfield, rows of carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, watermelons, and pumpkins, and closer to the house strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries blossomed. Jackie also noticed a little herb garden growing in a basket on the back porch, not too far from the kitchen door. 

On the opposite end of the crops was the two barns and a huge patch of clear land for the sheep. Jackie awed at the thirty-something sheep that “bah”ed quietly and gnawed on grass, their coats a bit short, telling Jackie that they had been trimmed not too long ago. Somewhat between the crops and the fields for animals was an old well that might have once been the primary source of water here, but thanks to modern plumbing now it was only used for the livestock. Jackie saw another bucket tied by a rope with the pulley system and she was clever enough to figure it all out on her own.

Mustering up her strength and hardly breaking a sweat, Jackie filled her own bucket with water and carried it to where the sheep dwelt. By the fence that kept them away from the crops, there was a trough, so Jackie poured the water in it and the sheep came flocking, craving water. She chuckled and noticed the trough wasn’t full, so she walked back to the well, refilled her bucket, and poured it out again, this time sploshing some sheep a little, but they didn’t mind. In fact, they started licking each other’s faces for more water, making Jackie laugh and she petted a nearby sheep and admired the soft wool.

As she petted the sheep, she caught something out the corner of her eye and looked over at the smaller of the two barns. Stan was emerging with a beautiful gray and black horse and then gently slapped his behind so the horse would know he’s free to wander. The horse galloped for a bit and then slowed, lapping up some water at his own trough. Jackie wondered if she needed to fill that one, too, but Stan made his way to the well with his own bucket and watered the horse. Jackie smiled and walked to Stan, ready for her next chore.

“That there Truffles.” Stan explained, pointing to the horse as the woman approached. “Stubborn. It’d be best if you let me handle him. He doesn’t like people much, even gives Ford a hard time.”

Jackie nodded. “Gotcha.”

“Watered the sheep? Good. Ever milked a cow? Well today you’re gonna learn.” Stan said and motioned for her to follow him into the smaller of the two barns. Inside were two stalls and equipment for a horse and a cow. Jackie could even see a horse-drawn sled collecting cobwebs in the back corner. “Luna’s okay, as long as you’re quiet. Doesn’t like noise much. She’s got a soft spot for Ford.”

Stan opened one of the stalls and Jackie got a full view of a white cow with only one big black spot over her right eye. She mooed at the visitors and licked Stan’s outstretched hand. Jackie couldn’t help but notice how gentle he petted her neck and talked to her. Despite having a voice made of gravel, his talk was as soft as silk. “Hey mama, good to see you, good to see you. Try to be nice for me, girl, okay. Alright, c’mere, Jackie.”

Stan pulled a short stool over and motioned for her to sit. He knelt beside the cow and placed the bucket below the utters. “It’s really simple, just squeeze n’ pull n’ squeeze n’ pull.”

“Okay,” The woman sat on the stool, held the bucket between her boots, and carefully grabbed an utter. It was soft and squishy and she could feel the milk, and she did as she was told and smiled to see delicious warm milk fall into the bucket.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Stan commented with a smile. “Here, you can squeeze harder, you won’t hurt her. Like this.” He gently covered Jackie’s hand with her own and showed her just how tightly to squeeze and pull. Jackie followed, her eyes darting up to Luna, but the cow only happily chewed on some hay. She didn’t even twitch her tail with uncomfortably. Jackie smiled at Stan, thanking him for his help, and he returned the smile and let her go to milk. She milked just as well as Ford or Stan could, and when Stan checked to make sure Luna was empty, there was no milk left to obtain.

“Good job.” Stan praised and stood up. “Take the milk in the house n’ Ford can pan it. He’s got a knack for dairy n’ makin’ butter. He can teach you if you want.”

“Sounds great.” Jackie hoisted the bucket up and let it hang in front of her. “What after that?”

“Well, nothing’s ready to harvest yet.” Stan answered. “We’ll check for weeds n’ make sure the gardens are healthy, then I think we’ll be okay until the afternoon. Usually around noon is when we go into town, do laundry, chop wood, or whatever else needs to get done aside from mornin’ n’ afternoon chores.”

“Well what are the afternoon chores?” Jackie asked.

“Basically reverse of what we just did. I’ll put up Truffles n’ I’ll show you how to drive in the sheep. Then you’ll water ‘em n’ milk Luna again, or you can make Ford do it so you can cook.”

Jackie snorted. “I think I’ll do that.”

“Good. Then we’ll have your afternoon chores only be to drive in the sheep.”

“Anything needs to get done today?” Jackie asked.

“I can’t think of anything.” Stan said with a shrug. “Ma used to have a little jingle… Scrub on Monday, Laundry on Tuesday, Knit on Wednesday, Prep on Thursday, Bake on Friday, Rest on Saturday, Clean on Sunday. O’course, you can do whatever you want, s’long as work’s gettin’ done. I’m sure I can find you something to do.” He hinted at and winked.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “I like it. Your mom was really smart… What’s today? Wednesday? Well, I don’t feel like knitting or sewing, so I guess I’ll try to clean the house for when Ford’s friend gets here. Hey, what did your mom mean by scrub on Monday?”

Stan shrugged. “Usually that meant the kitchen n’ bathrooms. You know, the tubs, sinks, toilets, the oven, the stoves…”

“Ah, gotcha.” Jackie wandered out of the barn with Stan and said, “Well, after I check the crops I’ll scrub.”

“Have fun.” Stan teased and headed for the corn to check for crows and other pests.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Great, so we’ll see you on Tuesday?” Ford clarified. “Thank you so much, buddy. I owe you. No, of course we don’t mind. We’ve got plenty of room. You’re welcome, goodbye.”

Ford hung up the phone and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been foolish to think Fiddleford could simply drop everything and move across the country just to assist him. Foolish and selfish. What stung most was how worried Fiddleford had sounded over the phone when he began making his request.

There was no good in stalling and not telling Stan, he had to tell him that the plan had changed. Ford stood and exited the parlor to try to find his brother, probably out in the fields by now. He knew if he did he would get tangled into trying to help, which was fine for today, so Ford mentally prepared himself for hoeing and pulling weeds as he entered the kitchen and found Jackie entering the room with a bucket of milk. “Oh, thank you, ma’am.” He said politely. “I’ll pan it later, we’re low on butter. Right now I need to have a word with Stanley.”

“He’s out at the cornfield.” Jackie assisted.

“Thank you.”

Ford found Stan right where Jackie said he would. The younger twin emerged from the field, satisfied with the state of the corn, and raised an eyebrow when the older twin said, “Stanley, we have to talk.”

“What’s the word, Sixer?” Stan asked as they started to walk alongside the edge of the field.

“Fiddleford will be here on Tuesday…”

“Great!”

“... and he’s bringing his son.”

They kept walking as Stan gave Ford a surprised and confused look.

“Tate. His four-year-old.”

“I know who the boy is, Poindexter!” Stan snapped, irritated that that was what Ford thought he was confused about. “That’s fine, we’ve got room for him, but why in Moses’ name is he brinin’ Tate? I thought your friend was only visitin’ for a few weeks.”

Ford sighed and ran a six-fingered hand through his fluffy hard-to-maintain hair. “Fiddleford is getting a divorce.”

Stan winced. He may not have known the nerd as well as Ford did, but from what he gathered he had been over the moon for his gal.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with Tater, either.” Ford added. “Says he’s too much like Fiddleford. He thinks this is a good way to start a new life, you know? Move here and help me, then maybe find their own place.”

“Or we can build a smaller second house.” Stan threw in. “More houses means more hands to work the farm, which means more money n’ more land.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Perhaps. For now I was thinking Fiddleford could have the guest bedroom and Tate could have the Jack and Jill bedroom.”

“Sure, I bet Jackie won’t mind.” Stan predicted.

“And you’re okay with Tate coming to live with us, too?” Ford double-checked.

“You kiddin’ me, I love kids!” Stan punched Ford’s shoulder and stood still with his arms cross over his chest. “It’ll be great, you wait n’ see! There’s plenty of stuff here to Tate to do until he’s old enough for school n’ nobody’s gonna get claustrophobic here. Not that Santa Claus is real.”

Ford groaned and pinched at his eyes under his glasses. “That was bad, even for you.” But the young investigator smiled at his twin and returned the punch on the shoulder. “Well, thank you. I know it’s a lot to take in in such a small amount of time…”

“You know something, Sixer?” Stan interrupted and gave him a slightly-more serious look. “It’s been too quiet here lately.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what your definition of quiet is, but…”

“You know what I meant.” Stan said firmly and resumed what he was trying to say. “I ain’t got a problem with it just bein’ the two of us - you know I don’t - but it’s been way too quiet here. I miss it bein’ crowded n’ busy n’ loud. So I say the more the merrier; n’ the sooner I can’t hear my own thoughts (though few there may be), the better.”

Ford smiled softly at his brother. It was true. The quiet had been appreciated at first, but now it wasn’t as appreciated as the noise that comes with good company. Ever since Ma and Pa had died and Shermie had gone back to California, it had just been the twins on this big farm. What Stan said was true, it was fine, and with Ford gone for four years while he earned as many PhDs as he had fingers, it was nice to reconcile and catch up. But now it was high-time the Pines family grew bigger and louder and weirder, the way it was supposed to be.

“Well, guess we should tell Jackie she’ll be sharing her bathroom, then.” Ford suggested and led the way away from the cornfield with his twin by his side.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Male Drider Boyfriend: Nyraen

Warning: Mood board isn’t for those who are a fan of spiders. Arachnophobes are warned!

Part 1 (YOU’RE HERE) - Part 2 - Part 3

Web to Your Heart

For most of your life, you believed that fate had already been written for you to take: a journey to venture where you needed to get to, with no knowing what route it would lead you down.

You believed that that was the same for people: that certain people in your life had been written into your life for you to meet along the way. Some you would come to befriend, some to fall in love with, but there were few who would be there and leave before you even had the chance to say goodbye.

For you, in your little life you lived, you chose to live it simply: opting to farming and living outside of nearby towns, tending to live alone than occupy your life with others. You had always been like that; tending to yourself and your crops.

You couldn't admit there were highs and lows, but you enjoyed the times to find yourself and escape from the rest of the world, with no-one knowing you existed.

That was what you had lived by for years until you had found yourself with the feeling of being watched. As if someone was going out of their way to watch over you. It was at first unnoticeable, and you shook it off as just being sceptical, but over the days passing, you found yourself feeling more certain that there was someone or something there.

You felt it most when you were travelling back from your harvests, bringing back your goods on a small cart you dragged on wheels. Although it would be late at night, you had a small trusty lantern as your guide home.

It was scary times, travelling along dusty bleak roads, with trees twisted and as tall as mountains, curving in so you felt trapped. It was, however, the only route you knew home, and you couldn’t trust any other way that could get your lost.

You had heard stories from your grandmother telling you of old tales, of mountain hill gnolls and cannibals hiding in the darkness, all some you had come to believe when you were young but now, were all just stories to make sure you wouldn’t misbehave.

You had never run into anything as mythical or supernatural on your many journeys home, and never once did you think you would. You had places to go and things to do, and you thought they would too.

You, however, didn’t expect to meet one that certain night.

It seemed normal at first, walking along and pulling your cart behind you with both your arms down the dark road, shadows and the abyss surrounding you, and the source of the ground acting as the light to help you see.

You thought not much of it, again, the odd occurrence came again when you passed under some thick foliage and trees, not being able to see up into the branches, you could feel something with its eyes burning into the back of your head.

Slightly aware now, you picked up the pace, seemingly being a bit more careless with where you were walking until you accidentally tripped, sending yourself forward and the cart in your arms to fall out, all items falling to the ground in a clatter.

“Oh, gods.” You hissed to yourself quietly, not bothering to check yourself over, rummaging on the ground, you scrambled to pick everything that had dropped, wildly and messily, you tried doing so you could get back home quicker.

A large snap came from behind you, and in your rush of all of your senses heightened, you froze, grabbing your small lantern hastily and looking around to see what lurked.

Nothing you could see, all shrubs and tall high trees and skinny branches, you couldn’t help but feel more nervous. I’m overthinking this. You thought to yourself. There’s nothing here with me.

When you had collected your things, you set your lantern back into place, ready to carry on moving, when a large noise of the branches to your right swayed, the wind cried and danced through the air, catching at your hair to blow behind your neck.

You shook your head dismissively, “If something wanted to kill you, they would’ve done it by now.”

“I would never harm such a thing so small like you.” Called from the darkness.

You shrieked, turning around swiftly, lantern in hand and squinting into the darkness in front of you. “Who’s there? I-If you need anything, I have only food-”

An amused laugh came from the abyss before you, and still, you could not see much. His voice called itself softly and silvery along the air to you, like the wind itself. “I haven't come for food, I was more interested in the little one wandering alone in a place like this.”

His voice was enticing, lulling and smooth as if he was singing a lullaby. You couldn’t help but be strangely drawn to him. “I-I was going home...” You stopped yourself from spilling too much detail of where you lived.

“Hmm, but you’re quite far from your home aren’t you kitten? Bad things hide in the shadows, waiting for pretty things like you walking around.”

You gulped, taking a step back, grabbing at the lantern as you were sure to almost flee. The cart can wait, I need can collect it come the morrow. “I sure must be leaving then. It is quite f-frightful out here.”

“Frightful yes, beautiful too. Still, a shame you must leave so soon, I enjoy looking at you.”

You were taken back by his honest words, anyone else would’ve thought of them as creepy, but you were still shy in thinking something thought of you as becoming or attractive.

You took a weary giggle to yourself, bashful. “Erm.. do you live out here?”

“No,” he pleasantly sang, “but I live close by. Although, I have seen you here most often, wandering each day alone.”

You nodded, now it had dawned on you, this person could’ve been watching you. Your head glanced back and forth towards the rest of the broken path behind you, your path to getting home. “I should really be getting home now.”

“Not without telling me your name?” He whispered. “A pretty thing like yourself should have a pretty name to share, hmm?”

You uncertainly told him your name, and he hummed it back to you like a ghost calling for your name. You couldn’t help but shudder by the way he spoke your name. “Do you have a name?”

“I do, but I think it would be most difficult to pronounce, it’s not... a human name so to say.”

You froze on your spot, not human? Every alarm bell was ringing in your head, screaming for you to flee, but you foolishly thought the only thing you could do was question his words. “Not human-like you’re not... human?”

If you could see, you would've believed he was smiling, and through the rumbling and rustling of trees, the figure emerged, one that appeared into the light of your lantern so gracefully.

He had light grey skin, smooth from the upper half of his body with a toned torso and two human arms and long nails attached. His hair, like woven silver, flowed long past his shoulders, guarding his many eyes along his face, all black sclera and pupils as red as rubies. Four you could count. And when you looked down, instead of seeing his upper body connect to two legs, you saw that his torso was connected to the many dark spindly legs with eight limbs.

His bottom half was of a large spider, with a grey underbelly and coal-black hairy legs as long and large as swords. He was huge, crouched before you with his hairy long spider legs bent. You watched in silence as he entered from the shrubs he was hiding behind. 

He took in your reaction, many eyes watching and from where you stood, the lantern light caught the small mandibles for teeth, sharp as knives. His overall look wasn’t scary; it had been the fact that you had been blind that a massive drider was living in the woods without you being aware. You had unintentionally gulped at the thought, giving the drider perhaps the wrong impression, a disappointed look fell on his face.

“I frighten you, don’t I?” He merely whispered, looking glum, his pale eyebrows frowning. “No, I-I... it’s just--- you’re-” you blubbered, tying to find the right words correctly, before blurting out something embarrassing. “You’re beautiful.”

He snorted, and had you been aware, you swore you could see a deep blush to his high cheekbones. “You flatter me, kitten, but never have I heard such a compliment like yours.”

You seemed stunned, although he seemed rather scary at first, you never were afraid of spiders- maybe if you had been, you wouldn’t have been able to make conversation with him so easy.

“I mean it... I just--- how long have you been watching me?”

He took a pause for a moment. “I’ve seen people come and go, but never has a human come so far out of their way to live outside of a town. You’ve intrigued me.”

You watched him silently, thinking for the right words. He had been there for who knew how long, watching you from the shadows each day. It did creep you out a bit, but it wasn’t every day you could say you got the attention of another; certainly someone attractive in your eyes.

The drider continued, looking up briefly to raise his head. “It is late, and I would feel better knowing you were home safely.” From the corner of your eyes, he had something in his hand, reaching out, he handed it to you. A singular rose. In your moments of everything passing so quickly, you were surprised by the simple yet thoughtful gift.

 “Your name... can you give me your name now?” You called to him.

“Nyraen you may call me kitten.” He spoke, his voice so soft you thought you had nearly missed what he had said. You repeated it, carefully looking around yourself again when you were unsure about whether it was still safe to venture back home. You preferred getting home when it was still light outside, but by now, twilight had come and you could hear the life of the night come alive.

“W-Would you take me home? Help me--- just in case, it’s a bit darker than I imagined.”

Nyraen gave you a sympathetic smile, leaning closer to you face for a moment, and when you thought he would lean away, he didn’t. From this far up close to his face, you could see just truly how beautiful his eyes were, and just his entire face in general.

“If I am to help you, you must give me something in return. An eye for an eye.” He suggested. You wondered what he meant by that? Could you put your trust straight away into a stranger? You were going to have to risk it. Nodding you spoke. “What is it you want?”

He smiled and smoothly took a lock of your hair and stroked it between his clawed fingers. “A simple kiss is all I ask for, pretty thing. Just a kiss.”

It seemed innocent enough but had he known you had never kissed anyone before, you were more scared to be just giving him one as a whim. Giving in, you agreed, taking the initiative.

He watched with watchful eyes, letting you come up to him, as he helped in bending down further to your height. You still found yourself having to stand on your toes to reach his face, pulling his face close as you pressed your lips against his in what you hoped would just be a simple and short smooch.

But when you tried to pull away as quickly as it had happened, Nyraen went to clutch at your head, pulling you back to his lips, a large gasp coming from you as he kissed you with more vigour. 

His lips were cool against your warm ones, but soft and kissable, leaving your knees like jelly as you tried keeping yourself stable. He held you still in his arms, kissing you roughly, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip as he took the room to kiss you with his tongue.

You were smooching a drider in the middle of the night- you had come to realise - and as much as you enjoyed the thrill and wildness, you pulled away, breathily as if he was a drug you needed.

Nyraen continued kissing at your flesh, mumbling incoherently “Oh, oh you taste so sweet. Like nectar from a blossomed fruit.” He pressed feverish kisses to your neck and jaw, leaving the warmth like you had been burnt.

Hovering at your lips once again, he nipped at them, “Allow me another my sweet.” You couldn’t say no to his words of fancy and gave him a kiss you both knew you wanted.

Kissing a stranger was something you definitely didn’t think you would be doing. Nyraen swiped his tongue across your lips again, and this time with his long mandibles, he nibbled across your bottom lip and the inside of it, before sinking them into your flesh as you drank at whatever he was putting into your body.

Your mind was screaming to panic, for you thought that this was his way of getting you into his trap; a spider’s web with you as his prey. You started struggling to get out of his grip, whimpering as you tasted at the poison on his lips; sweet as a forbidden fruit.

He murmured against your lips, trying to keep you calm, as a heavy blanket of tiredness seemed to fall over you, lulling you to try and sleep. With your movements growing sluggish, you finally went to pull away, as darkness pulled you into darkness.

When you woke up, you weren’t in the middle of the dark forest on a broken small path, but in your bed, tucked neatly under the duvet and rest as if you had the oddest of dreams. There was no Nyraen; the drider who name you now know, and you had come to believe it had just been a dream.

A dream. You thought glumly; A dream I didn’t want to end. You sat up from your bed, morning light pouring in from your open window as you looked to see something you hadn’t noticed at first from when you had awoken.

It was oddly small, sitting perfectly but visible beside your long mirror, a long silvery net of a spider’s web from the wall to the mirror stand, and the webs had been stretched and pulled in ways to form words.

‘Until next time my sweet. N’

You had come to look forward to meeting your little friend once again.

-----------

I enjoyed writing this, and I want to write a part 2 soon! Hope you enjoyed yourself! Thank you!

[sunnyblackwidow]

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - Natasha's secret

Sypnosis: For a long time, Natasha has kept you hidden from the outside world. No one but Nick knew about your existence. It was going to change soon when the team was in danger and needed help.

Warnings: Angst(?), fluff, a little bit of smut.

So it's the first story I've written for tumblr and I hope you enjoy it. Please don't forget to let me know what you think, your feedback is what keeps me writing. I'm open to requests so hit me up.

The team had been compromised. They needed a place to hide. Your place was the nearest and the most well equipped. Natasha knew that. She brought them there replying all questions with "We'll be safe there."

Cap had the worst injury and needed to be treated asap, Clint had needed stitches, Tony only had a few bruises due to his suit, Thor was mostly unscathed and your girlfriend, Natasha had a bullet lodged in her thigh.

You were sitting down at your desk doing last minute night work when the front door opened. Your eyes lit up. It meant that Natasha was home. You stepped out to see the Avengers staggering into your living room. They looked visibly startled to see you but didn't say anything. Their eyes held fatigue and you grabbed your coat from behind your door hurriedly.

Your worried eyes scanned for Natasha. She had an arm around Thor and hobbled into the room.

"Baby I'm sorry. I didn't have time to-" she tried to explain but you cut her off.

"It's fine. Sit down guys." You quickly took out your first aid box. The name "First-aid box" gave it no justice as it contained everthing anyone could possibly need from band-aids to sutures and scapels. It even had a comfort toy.

You instructed Clint and Cap to lie down. You quickly strip the dining table of it's decorations and sterilize the surface. You lay down a cloth and tell Clint to sit there while you stitch up his arm. Being the expert that you were, he was good to go in 7 minutes.

As for Cap his wound was much more complicated. Thor carried him to the table. You assessed the injury, set up what you needed and got to work. There was a small shard of the alien like blade lodged into his abdomen. His stomach was punctured but the other organs were all fine. You removed the shard and quickly added gauze around the area. There were no other shards and you quickly and skillfully stitched up his stomach. The stiches were small and precise. The Avengers watched your movements in awe. In no time you had stitched up the tear in his stomach. "Thor" you called out to the man standing next to the machine, "Vitals please."

"Erm lots of numbers.... Which colour ones do you need?"

"Vitals are stable baby. You can stitch him up." Natasha piped in.

You gave a nod and started to suture up the wound. You tried your best to make the wound look pretty and to stitch it up so it wouldn't scar too much. The man had to look pretty. He was Captain America after all. Once you were done with the last stitch you cut the thread and heaved a sigh of relief.

"He'll be much better after some rest. Lay him down on the bed down the hall please. The blue door."

As Thor carried Captain to the spare room, you help Natasha onto the table and sat her down. The bullet was lodged in her upper thigh. Easy to remove and only a about two stitches were needed. It was a simple but painful procedure. As if she could read your thoughts, Natasha said "Just do it Y/N. I can take it."

You looked up to her with a worried expression. "You sure?"

"Go ahead," she said as she pushed her leg towards you.

You breathed deepy and went in with the tweezers. She laid her head on your neck and gripped the back of your shirt as you reached in , gritting her teeth, eyes squeezed shut. As you pulled the bullet out, Natasha screamed and gripped your shirt even tighter. The scream sent chills down your spine hating the fact that your loved one had to feel pain.

She let out the breath she didn't even know she had been holding when the metalic cling of you plopping the bullet into the tray sounded out. Even as you stitched up the wound, she never did let go of your shirt. Only until you were done with the stitches then did she let go. You wrapped up her leg and gave it a gentel pat.

"Good job little red." You said as you said before giving her a peck on lips.

You turned around to see the remaining of the team looking at the two of you, looking like they were going to burst from the number of questions they wanted to ask but refrained from asking.

You didn't even change your gaze as you applied medicinal remedy on all their bruises that would male sure the ugly blue and purple marks would fade within 12 hours. "I'll blow up some beds," you said before walking to the store room the get the inflatable beds that you and Natasha had gotten in case of this kind of emergency.

She had told you when you had started dating that it wasn't an easy path to take when you wanted to date the world's best spy. But you didn't care. Now, you're her everything and she was your world. You trained in the medical line to make sure that if she ever came home injured you could treat her. To make sure that in any situation, she would never leave you as long as she was in your hands.

You fit the beds in the visitors room next to the existing bed which held a sleeping Steve Rogers. You put the other two in the living room.

"You guys can wash up in the toilet. It's in the room Cap's in. Beds are ready but you can sleep anytime you want. I'll go cook something. You boys must be hungry.

You walk to the kitchen to begin cooking up some greens, meat and your secret recipe smoothies used to boost up Nat's strength for the team. Just as you were done searing the steak, Natasha walked in.

"Hey uhm Y/N. I'm really sorry about coming in like this. We just...we just were in a really tight spot and I know you don't-" Natasha tried to explain before you slienced her with a kiss. The kiss turned heated and you lifted her onto the island. She grabbed your face and wrapped her legs around your waist as you slipped your hands around her and pulled her closer. She tasted the same as always, sweet. But this time there was something else that could be felt. Desire.

You hadn't seen each other in months and you two were so deperate to hold each other again. To touch each other again that you completely forgot where you were. All you needed was her. Her touch. Her kiss. Her smell.

All tongues and lips left red. Teeth clashing, tongues brushing. You didn't care about anything as long as she was safe and in your arms.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you and Nat out of the trance you had been in. It was Thor. "I'm sorry lovely lady who's been smooching the all so deadly and private, Natasha Romanoff. But can we take her for just a sec. I promise we'll return her to you."

You blushed furiously and coughed awkwardly unwrapping Natasha's legs which have been tightly holding you in place. "Of course you may, I'll just cook the rest of the food up and we'll eat how does that sound?"

Natasha smirked at your embarassment and gave you a kiss on the cheek before walking off.

Thor turned around and gave a wink before skipping over to the sofa where the concious Avengers were gathered.

You fanned yourself trying to cool down from what had just happened before you cut the steak and set them onto their respective warmed plates, adding the greens as well as some garnishes. You put those in the warmer as you got started on the, as you call it, strength smoothies.

Throwing frozen fruit, vegetables and açaí just to add flavour into the blender, you buzzed the thing up. In about 10 minutes, you had a jug full of the smoothie and put it into the fridge. The Avengers were still talking and so you decided to start washing up. You put all the pots and pans in the sink and slowly scrubbed each and everyone of them. You hummed your favourite song as you cleaned trying to make the process less boring. Once done you wiped it all with a dry, clean towel and put them back in their respective places.

Natasha always liked to call you a perfectionist. Making sure things were neat despite the number of things you had. Your shared bedroom was split into two. The left side hers, and the right side yours. Her side was simplistic. All the basic things like her tools, a gun, black widow bites and a picture frame with the two of you in a lip lock during one of your dates infront of a ferris wheel. Your side however, was a neat mess of photos hung on walls, strings linking them together. A peg board with momentos as well as your drawing of your girlfriend. You can even see the distinct line on the walls where the room was split because in order to save space, you lined the photos up in a straight, vertical line going down from as high as you could reach to the dresser which you two, also shared.

You smiled at the memory of Natasha teasing you about how you might as well decorate the bathroom in half as well with all your antics. Your reply to that was "I would. But then we can never get hot and steamy inside like we always do," which earned you a pinch to your cheek that although painfull, made her so cute that you just had to kiss her.

Snapping out of your flashback, you saw Natasha leaning against the entrance of the kitchen.

"Wake up dreamy. We're done you can cone out now." You can see that she was tired. But her eyes had a green sparkle. Her body was toned and curvy in all the right places making you want to just pounce on her. But you refrained from doing so. Not while everyone was here.

"Yes Ma'am," you said smiling as you put the last pan away and took out the food, balancing three on your right arm and two on your left.

You laid the food out as Natasha handed them the utensils. You went back in to get the drink before all you you sat down around the table and ate dinner.

"Oh my god Nat. You never told us your...." Tony said before pausing. "Roomate, was so good at cooking." He finished with a small smirk.

"That's funny Tony. You see. I don't even remember telling you I *had* said roomate." Natasha replied.

"Well now that you *did*, why not just let the cat out of the bag huh Nat. How long has it been?" Tony asked excitement flowing out of him.

At that moment, Tony looked like a child, giddy with excitement. Curious to know everything around him.

Natasha looked at you and you flashed her an 'it's okay' smile. "It's been two years and a half." She replied flatly.

"Didn't think you of all people would be able to have such a long relationship. Being away so much and all." Thor teased before letting out a groan as Natasha kicked him from under the table.

The others at the table just grinned at this knowing that you and her were serious about the relationship.

The rest of the meal consisted of the Avengers learning more about you, how you met Natasha and as, you quote Tony, "Deal with such a difficult woman".

The crew slowly started to learn about you, what you did for a living and why you were so good at fixing people. Their trust grew as well as certainty that you were, indeed the only one that can make Natasha soft and believed that you were the right one for her.

"Did I miss anything?" Cap's voice rang out as you guys sat around drinking after the dinner.

"Nope," Clint said. "How are you feeling Cap?"

"Better, and curious." Steve replied.

You had gone to the kitched to retrieve his part of the dinner and as you approached him he asked "Who are you and why are you so good at stitching people up?"

"Hi Steve. I'm Y/N. Natasha's girlfriend. I'm trained in all aspects of medical care to make sure that she," you pause and look at Natasha, "Is always safe." You end with a smile looking straight into Steve's eyes.

"Considering that you did such a good job on me, I'm sure Nat's not going to have any problems. Pleased to meet you. I'm Steve Rogers also known as Captain America," he stuck his hand out for a shake.

You grinned and shook his hand thankful that he trusts you with one of his best friends.

"Hey Natasha. I get why you like her so much now. Her smile is entracing isn't it." Steve said as he tucked in.

"Too bad guys. She's mine." Natasha said protectively before pulling you onto the couch, between her legs and hugging you and shooting the men a glare.

[issabangtanfic]

[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 2)

Masterlist

Synopsis: When for once rich doesn’t rhyme with Christian Grey.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

-

“Why?” I frown, cofused, even though I know I should just shut up and thank him given the position I'm putting my company in.

“I thought you hated my vision.” I murmur. His eyes light up, and he gives me a soft smile.

“It’s all the contrary. I love your vision, Maya.” He croons, my whole body going rigid. Oh, please.

“Mi-“

“Miss Fair.” He corrects himself. I swallow.

“Then why didn’t you give me the project for your mansion?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Because this is much more important to me.” He counters.

“Huh.” Is all I manage to say. I don't understand his logic. I should be the last person he gives such an important project to then.

“Wanna see what it looks like?” He proposes, jerking his head towards the house. I nod, my curiosity getting the best of me. Mr Jeon leads me up the stairs to the porch. 

This house doesn’t even have a door. It’s just a big plywood board with a metal chain on each side, chains that are attached to the house by two hooks and two big locks. Mr Jeon fishes the keys out of his pocket, opening each lock. He then lifts the board effortlessly and moves it to the side to reveal the inside of this old guy.

We step in, and I discover a dark and desolated place. The left wing of the house is closed off by a door, and in front of me lay old wooden stairs that lead to the upper floor. The only point of light comes from the open room on our right, the high column where the windmill is. My feet carry me inside that room, the old wood crackling and squeaking under my heels. A stuffy smell of rotten wood invades my nostrils, and I absolutely love it. This definitly is an old guy.

The room we walk in is the living room, one of the most beautiful spaces I’ve seen in my life. The room is high, really high. Easily dwarfing the ten meters I had guessed. And it’s luminous, bathed in light by two humongous bullseye windows, making the inside look like a ship of some kind.

The furniture is covered by big white pieces of cloth, and I’m dying to uncover them. I guess the shape of a couch, two armchairs, a table and a cabinet by the windows, and a bar on the left where there are no windows.

If half of the cylindric room is covered by windows, the other half has a huge embedded bookshelf as a wall. I’ve never seen anything like this except in harry potter. A huge wall of books, easily covering half of the height of the room, and a ladder that can slide across it.

Oh wow.

At the far end of the room, there is a small metallic spiral staircase that leads to a small platform at the very top of the room, and I guess it’s the windmill maintenance area.

“So?” I hear Mr Jeon ask expectingly. 

Is this, like, his childhood home? Someone clearly has spent a lot of time here. Was it him? His parents? Windmill houses are usually found in America, and he has an American accent, it wouldn’t be surprising if this was family home. 

But it’s odd. The whole Poudlar spaceship spirit of it makes it look like some kind of… big child room. A place where you’d come to escape reality, far from the city.

“It’s…” I trail off, trying to put a word on all of my thoughts. This house speaks to me, and I can feel that it’s filled with meaningful moments and memories.

“Heavy.” I breathe, my shoulders sagging. I look up at him and watch his eyebrows slightly furrow.

“Heavy.” He repeats, looking at me intently. I shy from his gaze, focusing on these beautiful windows again. That’s when I notice the fireplace. 

“Take a look at this.” He offers, pulling my attention back to him. He strides across the room, towards the metal stairs, and grabs the wall. Thats when I notice a crank I hadn’t seen before.. He grabs it, and it must be rusty, unsurprisingly, because he has to put some strength on it to get it to spin. When he finally gets it moving, I hear the sound of heavy metal rustling. 

The sound comes from above, so I lift my eyes, and see the ceiling opening. Wow! The roof of the windmill is actually made of blinds, against glass. And as Mr Jeon turns the crank, the blinds lift up to reveal the sunny blue sky.

“Woah.” I breathe as I’m starting to get bathed in sunlight. Now that is luminous!

“That’s amazing!” I laugh in delight. This is so cool! But who the hell would’ve thought of that back then?

“And also, really strange.” I had, now that I think of it.

“You should see it in the night.” He says, pulling my eyes back down to him. He’s taking slow but confident steps towards me. I don’t answer, my eyes glued to his face. I hope he’s not going to stand too close to me.

“You can see thousands of stars. There’s not much light pollution.” He adds, still walking to me. I’m tempted to  take a step back, but that would give away my lack of composure. He stops when he’s unreasonably close to me, as if he knew it would make my heart pound in my ears.

He knows.

“You can even see Saturn, in the summer.” He finishes. I look up at him. Not knowing what to say, unable to form any decent answer to that. He smells so, fucking divine, It’s giving me a head rush.

“You in on this?” He asks softly. I manage a small nod, swallowing a big lump in my throat. The corner of his mouth curls up.

“Good.” He says, his lips twitching, refraining a grin. Good? This is anything but good. He’s trouble. Is he not going to move? 

His phone rings in his pocket, and I take the opportunity to look away and step back from him. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the caller’s ID.

“I have to take this.” He says, looking up at me. “Make yourself at home.”

I manage another small nod, and he strolls out of the room to take his call. Sighing, I place my bag on the bar and walk over to the covered furniture. I pull a cover, revealing a leather couch and also sending dust into the air.

I cough, taking a look at the fine piece of work. This could stay here. But I’m more intrigued by the  bookshelves. I cover the couch back and take my heels off, walking to the ladder. I slide it across the wall and climb to the top, grabbing a random book.

Curiosities of the sky by Garrett P. Serviss.

Astronomy. 

I put it back and grab another one.

A brief history of Time by Stephen Hawking.

Astrophysics. This place is a spaceship! I open it and find a note on the inside.

For my neutron star Jungkook. Don’t aim for the stars but for Canis Majoris. Love A-

I have no idea what this means. But at least I know Mr Jeon has lived here. And he’s keen on space science. What an actual nerd.

The squeaky floor boards announce Mr Jeon’s return way before he enters the room again. I look down at the doorway until he appears, and notice his tie is gone and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Yum.

His eyes land on me and widen.

“What are you doing?” He scolds, pacing towards me. 

I thought I could make myself at home!

“I’m sorry, I thought I could look around.” I stutter, surprised.

“Of course you can, but not. like this. Do you realise how high this is?” He mutters. I look down at him, realising he has to bend his neck to look at me. 

Damn, I am high. 

He could see my knickers!

“I’m scared you’ll fall.” He murmurs, holding his hand out to me, inviting me to come down. He’s scared I’ll fall? Well, he better stop making me so dizzy.

I place the book back on the shelf and proceed to step down the ladder.

“Where are your shoes?” I hear him ask from under me.

“Erm…”

“In such an old house, that’s dangerous.” He lectures.  Yeah, yeah, whatever.

I look down at him, and he’s still offering his hand. I have no choice but to take it. I decide to jump down the last step.

You could get a sh-“

“Ow!” I cry.

“Shard in your foot. Well, congratulations.” He mutters. I hop on one foot, my heel stinging painfully. I don’t know what I just landed on, but it was not a shard!

“Careful.” I hear him mutter, and suddenly I’m sent flying as he scoops me up in his arms. I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck so I don’t fall off, but shocked this is happening. I’m in his arms, and they are strong. He has a hand on my back and the other curled around the back of my knees.

My eyes bulge out of their sockets and I feel my face heating up. I feel hot in my cheeks and my heart is racing. This is both hell and paradise.

“Let’s see.” He breathes, walking to the couch. He sets me down on it and sits on the adjacent armchair’s arm, grabbing my leg and setting my injured foot on his knee.

My face is about to explode. He takes a look at the underside of my foot.

“You’ll have to take your stockings off.” He declares, looking up at me. 

And I know. I know myself and I know, my face is bloodshot and I’m busted from miles away. Mum and Dad always tell me this will bring me troubles, blushing that hard that easily, now I know why.

I blink and swallow, not knowing what to do.

I take a minute process things. My dress is knee-length but it’s flowey, so it won’t rise up to my waist if I reach under it. If I ask him to turn around, he’ll make fun of me. I must act confident,.

Looking away from his eyes so I don’t see his reaction, I carefully reach under my dress and grab the waistline of my stockings, lifting my bum to slide them down.

When I’m past my bum and reach halfway down my thighs, his hands cover mine, and he “helps” me get the rest off without having to bend. But the way he does, it sends my body in a frenzy. He doesn’t take my stockings off, he caresses my legs, sliding his hands down on my skin and dragging the stockings with them.

Heat licks along my skin and I let out a shaky breath, shocked by his boldness but too focused on not letting it show. My stockings come off, and I exhale deeply.

His thumb strokes my ankle as he lifts up my foot, and I chew down on my lip, not wanting to make a sound. Suddenly, his phone vibrates again. 

Halle-fucking-lujah!

“I’ll take care of it.” I declare, removing my foot from his lap. “Take the call.”

He nearly yanks my foot back onto his knee.

“While you’re bleeding all over my floor?” He mutters. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Not that much? So he knows he’s an arse.

“So, you’re aware that you were a arse to me yesterday?” I ask, my feverish body making me brazen. He examines my foot carefully, tugging on a shard.

“I’m... merciless, when it comes to business.” He muses, removing a shard with a sharp movement.

“Ow.”

“Sometimes it’s a quality, sometimes it a flaw and costs me a lot.” He says, pensive. This is dangerously close to an apology.

“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry?” I try.

“No it’s not.” He retorts, pulling another shard out of my foot. I scowl at him.

“Would you happen to have tweezers?” He asks casually, looking up at me and ignoring my scowl. I blink at him.

“In my bag, yes.” I indicate. When he stands, I sag against the couch, rubbing the bridge of my nose. This man is so attractive, I hate feeling like this. I know men like him.

He comes back with my tweezers.

“You went through my bag?” I ask, shocked. I thought he’d bring it to me!

“Well, that’s where the tweezers were.” He retorts, sitting back down on the armchair, ignoring my semblance of annoyance. He grabs my foot again.

“Has anyone  ever told you it’s very rude to snoop in a lady’s bag?” I mutter, readjusting my position.

“Stop moving, woman.” He mutters. Rude!

“There.” He declares, pulling out what feels like a huge chunk of wood. I hiss in pain.

“That’s a nasty cut. You’re still bleeding. I’ll see if I can find bandages somewhere.” He declares before leaving again. He comes back a few moments later with bandages and disinfectant.

He cuts a piece of bandages and pours some disinfectant on it, before bringing it to my heel. The product stings. 

“Ow!” I squeal, removing my foot from his hold.

“Maya.” He calls, grabbing my foot back. Will he stop?!

“It’s Miss Fair.” I grind out,  yanking myself out of his reach. He looks up at me, sighing deeply, his tongue briefly poking at the inside of his cheek in annoyance.

“Yeah, as soon as I get this disinfected.” He mutters. Huffing, I reluctantly give him my foot, letting him do his business and wrap it up in some bandages.

“Done.” He declares once he’s finished.

“Thank you.” I mumble, because I’m that. He places his medical equipment on the covered table.

“I guess that’s enough designing for today. Wait here.” He announces before rising and disappearing. He comes back with my bag and hands it to me. I take it and stands, and before I can even take an actual step I’m flying again.

“Jesus Christ!” I yell in surprise as he scoops me up again. What the heck? “Mr Jeon, I can walk.”

“Clumsy as you are, you might break a leg.” He mutters, casually walking towards the exit, with me in his arms. I clench my jaw.

I am the clumsy type, but this is wrong!

“I am not clumsy. You can put me down.” I try not to sound like I’m begging, but I bloody am.

“ I insist.” He retorts, stepping out of the house. Oh, how fucking perfect. He carries me over to my car, but heads for the passenger side.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking you home.”

I start to panic.

“I can drive, really.” I blurt out, stumbling over my own words. He sets me down in front of the passenger door.

“This is really unnecessary.” I murmur, looking up at him. 

“I don’t feel comfortable knowing you’re driving with an injured foot.” He shrugs a shoulder, narrowing his eyes at me because of the sun in his face. He looks perfect in the sun. I imagine him in shades and a V neck. Mmmh..

“Injured is a big word.” I retort. He opens in mouth and I’m not having any of this.

“And, I don’t feel comfortable with you taking me home.” I say before he can argue, reminding him he’s a client and I’m not going to cross this line with him. 

He frowns, staring at me for a moment, his face a knot of confusion. Finally, he scoffs.

“Listen to me, lady.” He admonishes. Lady?

“I know I affect you, and you should know the feeling’s mutual, but this,” He pauses, taking a small pause and knocking the air out of my lungs. “Has nothing to do with how bad I want to have sex with you.”

I mean, I knew he knew I was attracted to him. I keep making a show of myself whenever I see him, but I didn't think it would be mutual! Oh, and the way the word "sex" sounds in his mouth is filthy and filled with promises.

Oh my god, if I come home with him, he might just-

“I’m not giving you the keys.” I say sternly. His lips curl up and he seems pleased.

“I see you’re not denying it.’ He murmurs. 

Oh bloody hell!

“Oh, and I already have them.” He says, fishing them out of his pocket and holding them up. Bloody bastard!

"In." He jerks his chin.

"In not going home, I have to go to my office." I try.

"At this time?"

"Yes."

"To your office we go then. Hop in." He pipes up, unlocking my car and opening the door for me. I make a desperate attempt to snatch my keys out of his hand.

I fail, and he smirks at me.

“Cheeky.” He murmurs. “I like that.”

There’s a detonation inside me and blood rushes to my face. This is just getting worse. I thought just being around him was hard, but how am I supposed to keep calm when he teases me like this?

Huffing, I get into the car just because I can’t stand the way he looks at me. 

"I'll get the door. Don't go anywhere." He says to me before closing the door. While he’s good I take a look at myself in the rearview. I’m one messy tomato. I sag against the seat, defeated.

I groan. When will I stop being a fucking impressible? I have no fucking taste in men. Ugh.

When Mr Jeon finishes closing off the house, he gets in my mini, cramming his frame into my tiny car. he pushes the seat all the way back and still looks like a clown in a clown car.

I don’t make any remarks though, I don’t think he’d laugh at himself. he ride to my office is silent and feels like an eternity because he just had to look smoking hot while driving.

He parks in front of the office and gets out the car. I don’t wait for him to open my door for me, and I don’t even know if he was going to. I kick my shoes off and leave the there before getting off as well.

“And now on the concrete? Miss Fair, how much do you hate shoes?” He utters while circling my car.

“A lot.” I mutter.

“Here.” He says, bending to grab the back of my knees.

“That’s enough!” I squeal, swatting his hands away. Not on the bloody street! Is he mental? 

His brow furrows. I clear my throat.

“My keys, please.” I ask sternly , holding my palm up. Sighing, he hands them back to me.

“Thank you for the ride.” I say before turning on my heels.

“What about when you go home later?” He calls from behind me.

“I’ll manage.” I reply, looking over my shoulder. “Thanks for worrying.” I add before disappearing inside the building. I sigh deeply, feeling exhausted. My foot doesn’t even hurt that much.

This man is mentally exhausting. I feel more drained by an hour with him than by a full day at work. And I’ll have to see him again and again until the project is finished! What am I going to do with myself?

I make it up to my office to grab my sketchbook, and on my desk lay a bouquet of flowers. Frowning, I take a closer look, discovering a card with the white Roses. I open it, and it says:

I’m sorry. - J x

So he is sorry after all! And he sent flowers to apologize? So that’s what he meant. He said his speech about him being merciless wasn’t his way of saying sorry because he had sent a whole bouquet of flowers to my office.

When I realise my smile is reaching my ears, I pul myself back together and put the card back. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I grab my sketch book and head back out, taking a moment to reply to my Mum’s text asking why I din’t call her after work.

Worked late today. I’ll call you when I come home. Love you lots x

While I’m sending the text, I feel my car keys being snatched from my hand.

“Ah!” I yelp, feeling myself flying again. And here I am again, in Mr Jeon’s arms, confused and nearly having a heart attack.

“Walking down the stairs with your eyes glued to you phone and an injured foot.” He mutters, walking me down the stairs. What in hell?

“It’s like you want to get hurt.” He grumbles.

“Put me down! What are you doing here?” I utter, in deep shock. He waited outside?

"Taking you home.”

“I said I was fine!”

“And I don’t want to take the risk.” He retorts, circling my car and bringing me to the passenger’s side.

“You’re taking care of a life project of mine. I don’t want you to die on me.” He explains, letting me down. I take a step back,, leaning against my car huffing and puffing.

“Pretty sure driving with a stinging foot isn’t going to kill me.” I mutter, smoothing my hair and tugging my dress down.

“Not taking the risk.” He counters, opening the door.

“Mr Jeon.” I grab the door.

“Mind your head.” He says, taking advantage of my lack of balance and pushing me down onto the seat. I groan, frustrated at him. 

It’s not like I can do much to stop him. He has the keys and he seems stubborn as heck. Grumbling to myself, I let him get in the driver’s seat and take me home. I guide him to my house, relieved when we make it in front of my home. I wait for him to join me on the pavement, and he gives me my keys back before leaning against my car.

“Did you receive my flowers?” He asks me.

Oh.

“Yes.” I reply. “They’re pretty.”

“Do you accept my apology?” He enquires, stepping in front of me, trapping me between him and my car. I swallow and nod.

“Great.” He smiles to me. 

“Now that I’m forgiven, I think we should drop the honorifics.” He proposes.

“This whole Miss Fair Mr Jeon thing is getting old.” He shrugs. Oh hell no!

“I’d rather we didn’t.” I counter.

“Why?”

“I don’t call my clients by their name.” I lie.

“Well, in case you still haven’t figured, I hope to be more than a client to you.” He replies, his tone changing, becoming low and inviting. I refrain a gasp and try to hold his smoldering gaze.

“Mr Jeon, this is highly inappropriate.” My voice is almost as quiet as a whisper.

“Yeah.” He breathes, nodding. Yeah?

Yeah, it’s inappropriate, and he knows it. What kind of excuse was that. Everything about this is inappropriate, I bet that’s why he wants to have sex with me.

“Should I give the project to Mrs Bingfield?” He proposes, tilting his head to the side. My jaw drops.

“I wouldn’t be your client.” He shrugs. I scoff. He narrows his eyes at me.

“So I guess that’s not the actual reason you won’t have sex with me.” He guesses correctly, and a shiver runs down my spine when he says ‘sex’. I’m in so much trouble.

“If you have no reasonable reason, that could mean you’re scared.” He muses. “If you tell me what you’re scared of, I’ll do my best to reassure you.”

I blink, his words echoing and bouncing in my head. 

And then I see him, really see him. 

He’s there, using his charms to pin me against my car, all cocky and arrogant, talking about how he’ll do what it takes to get me in his bed. He’s human garbage. He’s just a rich, power hungry arse who likes to seduce women. He’s playing with me.

I’m a conquest for him, a challenge.

I know that all too well, and it all comes back to me like a nasty aftertaste.

“So, whatever happens you’ll be the one to make it all. better.” I scoff.

“I’ll try.” He shrugs a shoulder. I’m such a fuck-up. He’s just plain trash, how could I have missed that. He’s hot, alright, but he just emanates with manwhore energy and now I want to throw up.

“I absolutely abhorre men like you.” I grind out in his face, using my sketchbook to poke at his chest and push him away. He takes step back, frowning deeply.

“You can keep your project. And your dick in your pants for that matter.” I mutter before pushing past him, and go home without a single look back in his direction.

[shipaholic]

Good Omens/SU crossover - The Prologue!

Day 19, 2020: already behind on my writing schedule, lol.

It’s angels and demons with gem powers y’all! I’ve decided to post scenes from the fic on tumblr as I go, and then do a big edit at the end before putting it on AO3.

Prologue: three days after Adam and Eve leave the garden, Crowley reforms for the first time.

Link to next part at the end.

---

Prologue

4004 BC

There was an angel in the garden of Eden.

The others had left already after the business with the apple, muttering about cock-ups (but more politely, being angels). Strictly speaking, there was no reason for any angel to still be skulking around the garden. A cloud of embarrassment hung over the place. In a few hours management was due to turn up and sweep it, before returning to head office and drafting an official statement. The garden couldn’t remain on Earth, obviously. There had been talk of archiving it.

A twisted black sigil, the size of a rook’s feather, lay on a flat rock. It looked as though it should have only had two dimensions, but had been press-ganged by physics into manifesting an extra one. It was wrapped in a little nest of white cloth and placed in a sunbeam. The angel hovered nearby, trying not to break into out-and-out looming.

The black object on the rock finally did something. It glowed pure white and rose out of its nest to float in the air two feet above eye level. It made a noise that would be identifiable, many, many years from now, as a laser beam charging up [1].

The light became blinding, and a shape grew out of it - more shapeless than shape, its borders wobbling like a giant soap bubble. Then it compressed and became human-shaped. Limbs sprouted in every direction. The blob at the top decided to be a head. It was like watching dough being rolled out and reformed into an unsettlingly realistic gingerbread man.

Long curls unspooled from the head. Swathes of cloth burst into existence and draped around the figure, similar to that worn by the angel. It then changed its mind, and the loose toga pinned over one shoulder morphed into a cowl and hood, wrapping around the head and leaving only a few loose strands of hair.

Features popped out of the smooth face. Colour suffused it down to the fingertips. There was a final burst of wind and light, like a celestial flourish, and a pair of gleaming white wings unfolded from its back. Immediately, they turned black, like a forest scorched to ash. They fluttered once, and the figure gently touched down on the grass of Eden.

It opened its eyes. They were still golden.

Then it squawked and fell over.

“Ack,” it said.

It kicked a few times at its robe, which was not especially tangled around its feet, but that seemed less embarrassing than acting as though it had fallen over because it still hadn’t got the hang of having legs.

Then it caught sight of the angel hiding behind a rock.

“Gnn!” it said, and grabbed for something to throw at him. [2]

“Um!” The angel held up his hands. He tried to stand up without looking intimidating, and ended up in a kind of hunch. “I come in peace. Erm.”

The figure pulled a face, as if remembering the distant present. “Peace? You killed me!”

The angel grimaced. “Well. I suppose I did, technically. Sorry about that.”

“You whacked me over the head!”

“I know how that must look -”

“I thought we were having a nice moment up there, with the sheltering from the rain and so on, and two seconds later you karate-chop me with your blessed wing!”

The angel’s face was two notches guiltier than his gave-away-my-flaming-sword face. “It really was an ac -” He paused. “Well. Not quite an accident, to be quite honest. Not in the sense of not meaning to do it. But I really didn’t mean to k- discorporate you. I feel terrible about the whole thing.”

“Oh, you feel terrible! I’ve got a ding in my skull. Brand new skull and everything.” The demon tapped its own head, but found it undamaged. It frowned. “Huh. That’s useful.”

“You seem fine now,” said the angel. He already sounded far less sympathetic.

“Yeah, ssssuperb.”

“You’ve even redecorated yourself a bit. I like the, erm.” The angel gestured vaguely. “Belt.”

“Yeah. Well. Why not.” The demon preened a little. It was quite a nifty trick. The angel was a fan of his new, cinched-in waist look, but thought it a bit of a shame the demon had covered his long red hair. His gem - the winding black sigil just under his ear - was also half-hidden under his hood. The angel had a few further thoughts, but it seemed impolite to comment.

“What are you hanging around for, anyway?” said the demon. He was still sprawled on the ground with a clump of grass in his hand. “Planning to stand over me and just… finish me off whenever I reform?” He blanched. He’d just said it off the top of his head, but it was actually a disturbing thought. “Because that sounds, uh. Boring.”

“Of course not!” said the angel. It did sound boring. Also, horrible. He’d got through the entire War in Heaven without engaging in what might technically be called combat. Given the option, he’d prefer to keep his kill-count at zero. Who knew their human forms would… explode into smoke clouds from one tiddly knock on the head? Someone upstairs might have told him. “I wanted to see you were all right, that was all. You gave me quite a shock, you know.” He gave an embarrassed cough. “Look, I really wasn’t trying to trick you - back on the wall.”

“Oh, ‘course not. You were just doing me a favour, keeping me dry, nice and neighbourly, only by sheer misfortune an overwhelming blood-lust came over you, and there was nothing for it but to smite me off a sixty-foot wall. That’s a comfort. I feel much safer now.”

   The angel, unlike most of the others, understood sarcasm. [3] He kept what had really happened up on the wall to himself. It had been a loud clap of thunder - the first ever produced on Earth - and it had been startling and unpleasant. Usually a sound like that heralded the appearance of Upper Management, who would have had Questions about him chatting to a demon, of the kind that ended in Meetings with Clipboards. Getting the demon out of sight chop-chop had been the word of the day, and - well. Turned out these new, corporeal bodies were less resilient than one might hope. Bit of a rush-job, the angel regrettably suspected.

“How long was I out, anyway?” The demon peered around the sun-drenched garden. “I see this place has had time to dry out.”

“It’s been three days. I’m not really supposed to be here anymore. I’m going to be terribly late to the staff meeting.” The angel looked at him sidelong. Politeness lost a skirmish with curiosity. “What… exactly was it like?”

“What, getting my head stoved in? Or just the general feeling of betrayal?”

The angel was a being of heavenly love and he did not roll his eyes. “What were you doing in there? While you were, er, recharging?”

The demon’s yellow eyes went blank. “Hnn.” He scratched his cheek. “Just. Hanging about, you know. Think I was in contact with one of my people. Sort of felt like someone was talking to me. And like I was filling in forms. And having a nap.”

The angel frowned. “A nap? Never heard of it.”

“Oh, it’s going to be big.” The demon smiled. He had high hopes for sloth. At the very least, he suspected he was going to like it.

The angel gave a tentative smile. “So it wasn’t too unpleasant?”

The demon huffed. “Fine, no, it wasn’t torture. It was just weird. No harm done, and I got a new look out of it, so don’t be too hard on yourself. Not that you were being all that hard on yourself. Scratch that, be harder on yourself, softer on me.” He clambered to his feet. He definitely hadn’t got the legs down yet. Rebooting his body had set him back, he was sure of it. “I’ve got turned around. Where’s the exit?”

The angel pointed. There hadn’t used to be an exit [4], but now that Adam and Eve had departed, there was. “I’d move quickly if I were you. Head office is sending some of my lot down to check the place over. Could be any minute now.”

“Thanks for the warning,” the demon said gloomily. He spread his wings for balance and started to wobble away on newborn legs.

“Sorry again!” the angel called out.

“Not like anyone died. See you, angel.”

The angel waved, then felt foolish since the demon was facing away. “Aziraphale. Don’t think I said.”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.”

“Goodbye, Crawly.”

The angel watched him stumble towards the exit of the garden, until he started to feel peculiar and unsafe and guilty about something he couldn’t put his finger on. Time to leave and avoid running into management.

Aziraphale the angel turned and strode eastwards, and Crawly the demon continued west, and they wouldn’t meet again for six hundred years.

---

[1] But only in certain B-movies.

[2] There were no deadly weapons in Eden, even if you improvise. The figure grabbed a handful of grass. He inconvenienced himself more pulling it out of the ground than he would have done to the angel by throwing it.

[3] After a fashion. At least, when it came draped in a neon flag with ‘I am being facetious and mean to you’ scrawled across it.

[4] An exit for humans, that was. The four Gates at the North, South, East and West were guarded by angels and they led to less Earthly destinations.

---

(Chapter 1, Part 1)

[legobiwan]

Could you continue your short piece where Obi-Wan punched his "dead" Master and went away to drink? I can just imagine the next confrontation between a drunk Obi-Wan and a guilty Qui-Gon!

This…uh…got a little out of control. Intro here, rest is under the cut! :)

———————————

It hadn’t been too difficult to find the place, despite the warnings of the grumpy Snivvian ticket taker at the turbolift station.

“Place doesn’t exist,” he had grumbled, not bothering to take his eyes from the holomagazine propped on his rather prodigious stomach, which hid all but a hint of leg attached to small boots propped on a nearby desk. “Went out of business year ago.” He punctuated the statement with a small sniffle, running a thick sleeve under his nose. The Snivvian glanced at the slimy residue on his clothing, eyeing it with a mix of trepidation and scholarly interest before wiping it on the edge of the table.

“Tissue?” Qui-gon offered, holding a spare rag in his outstretched hand. It had taken quite a while for his nose to stop bleeding, and he had stuffed some extra fabrics in his utility belt just in case it started up again.

Obi-wan, it seemed, had developed quite the right hook in his absence.

The Snivvian hadn’t been completely wrong, Qui-gon thought as he walked down the desolate side street. It certainly looked as if the place didn’t exist, being situated between a used speeder dealership and an out-of-business florist. Qui-gon paused in front of the large storefront window. Empty vases were still stacked in the display, a few dried corpses of flowers drooping from their empty mouths.

Qui-gon allowed himself a moment to wonder about the owners. Perhaps they had been the last of the native Coruscant businesses that were slowly being eaten up by off-planet interests, something he had noticed when he was alive...the first time. Most decorative floral arrangements came from imports, if he remembered correctly, as Coruscant itself boasted few native species, and even fewer that could be considered “aesthetic.” Access to off-world plants was difficult and expensive, and he imagined that was even more so now, due to the war. 

More likely they were smugglers operating a front for a more insidious business.

Qui-gon sighed at his own cynicism, letting the thought slip into the Force. He was eager to maintain some semblance of equilibrium, of balance, but a million questions whirled around his mind.

Just how long had this conflict been going on? How did it start? Who was the leader of this opposition and why?

And why were the Jedi at the center of it all, at the vanguard of the violence and suffering that had all but screamed at him through the Force when he had woken in that warehouse in The Works, heaving for air, dark cold penetrating his body?

Qui-gon paused in front of the unassuming door, reaching out with his senses. His nose tingled at the faint, sour aroma emanating from inside, highlighted by hints of cheap whiskey (although not so cheap as to strip the lining from one’s stomach) and off-brand t’bac (not quite counterfeit, but not exactly the real item, either).

It was perfect, really - a bar just mediocre enough to deter any upper-level politician while keeping away the party-goers and spice dealers of the lower levels. An ideal place to disappear and drown one’s sorrows, especially if that person was a Jedi.

Well done, Padawan.

The tension that had been wreaking havoc on Qui-gon’s body several hours earlier began again to creep up his spine, his neck tightening, shoulders hunching close to his ears. 

He could turn around and leave, wait for Obi-wan to drink whatever tumultuous emotions he was experiencing out of his system. And Qui-gon knew the next day, it would be as if nothing had happened. Obi-wan would be polite and deferential and never say a word about what had happened again. 

It would be the easier option. Obi-wan would be sent back to the front, Qui-gon kept at the Temple for questioning, and that would be the end of it.

Just like he and Dooku. A slow separation, until the man who had raised him was practically a stranger.

Qui-gon shook his head. No, he wouldn’t waste this, the chance the Force had given him to at least attempt to right whatever wrongs, whatever pain he had caused his former Padawan. 

And so with a deep breath, he threw a final prayer to the Force and pushed inside the bar. 

The space was somewhat larger than one might have guessed from seeing the outside. A smattering of tables and booths stood near the curved walls, which were adorned with the usual array of half-torn posters and advertisements. Lighting was at a premium, but Qui-gon recognized the faded glint of corroded metal - speeder parts repurposed as decor. 

How convenient.

Several patrons turned to stare at Qui-gon with deep suspicion. He swallowed over the growing lump in his throat, raising his palms in front of his body in the universal signal for peace. A Rodian in the corner narrowed his eyes and whispered to his hooded companion, who listened and then nodded. Apparently content that he was at least not a threat, the two went back to their drinks and conversation, ignoring the interloper. The others followed suit thereafter, the wary discontent rumbling through the Force now a muted disinterest.

One of the only beings to not stare at him was seated at the bar in the middle of the room, shrouded in a dirty, ragged brown cloak about his shoulders, red-brown hair shining under the one passable light in the entire bar.  He was the only human in the establishment and definitely the only other Jedi within a five-level radius.

Qui-gon quietly slid into the seat next to Obi-wan, stomach fluttering somewhere near his eyeballs.

Obi-wan was a void in the Force, so tight was the curtain he had pulled around his own presence. He said nothing as Qui-gon motioned to the bartender, indicating that he would have one of whatever Obi-wan was drinking. 

Qui-gon folded his hands together, placing them on the bar. He stared at the patterns of multi-colored stains on the counter, stealing glances to the side as he waited for his drink. Obi-wan sat, sipping the amber liquid from his own glass, staring at the walls, past the walls, possibly past the entire planet.

It was only when the Harch bartender returned with an entire bottle of what seemed to be knockoff Corellian whiskey that Obi-wan snapped out of his reverie, watching Qui-gon’s protestations with clinical detachment.

“I only wanted a glass,” Qui-gon said.

“You said you wanted what he’s having,” the bartender replied, pointing a clawed digit in Obi-wan’s direction. It was only then that Qui-gon noticed the bottle in front of Obi-wan, three-fourths empty. “And that’s what he’s been having,” he added, scuttling away with an annoyed click of his mandible.

Qui-gon regarded the bottle in equal parts trepidation and horror. Well, if I must, he relented, pouring a thumbful into a water-stained glass, downing the liquid in one go.

Fire erupted from his lungs and Qui-gon let out a strangled, pained sound as he let out a series of violent, deep hacks. His eyes watered and heat rose in his cheeks, turning his face bright red.

Dear Force, what *was* that stuff?

Obi-wan made no move to help, didn’t respond at all as Qui-gon fought to regain control over his body. It occurred to Qui-gon between gasps that this was already not going well.

He might not even want to see me again. Force, he might be a completely different man than the Padawan I raised. Certainly I misconstrued his taste in drinks, if this is any indication.

Obi-wan raised his eyebrows, as if he had heard the inner dialogue. In one swift movement, he drained the remainder of amber liquid in his glass, slamming the tumbler down on the counter with finality before turning to face Qui-gon.

“You.”

It was more an accusation than anything else, as if Qui-gon’s sudden reappearance in the realm of the living was an affront to all of Obi-wan’s sensibilities.

“Erm…” Qui-gon stuttered, all rehearsed apologies and speeches promptly forgotten under his former student’s withering glare.

Obi-wan pursed his lips and hummed before turning his attention to his empty glass, the bartender, and then the partially consumed bottle in succession. After allowing his gaze to linger, he seemed to come to a decision, taking the bottle by the neck.

Qui-gon frowned. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said, already cursing himself for his inability to keep his mouth shut.

He is an adult, not your student - if Obi-wan wants to drink himself into an early grave, let him, he thought, with no little degree of petulance. 

But Obi-wan only shot him an enigmatic smile, a bemused expression falling over his face.

“You’re right,” he said, reaching into his belt as he stood, legs shaky, bottle still in hand. Obi-wan took a handful of credits and threw them on the bar counter.

“You’re right,” he repeated, “it’s not a good idea. We should take this outside. People have an unfortunate tendency to…” Obi-wan swayed, chuckling to himself. “To be parted from their limbs in these situations.”

“The Council might throw me off if it happens again,” he added, now grinning madly as he made an uneven saunter out the door.

Qui-gon stared, open-mouthed after his former Padawan. But just as he made to follow, a scaly limb grabbed him by the shoulder.

One of six limbs.

“Haven’t seen him this bad since some business on Rattatak,” the bartender clicked, his jaw far too close to Qui-gon’s ear for comfort. “You know about any of that?”

Rattatak? What had Obi-wan been doing on that isolated, unforgiving crag?

“No,” he managed to respond. “I was…” Dead. “…on an extended mission. Very far away.”

Very extended, Qui-gon, you fool.

The Harch hammered at his shoulder twice, a gesture Qui-gon thought was supposed to be comforting.

“Well, I’m glad there’s someone looking out for him. First time I’ve seen him in here with a friend, you know? Gods knows he needs it, poor lad. War must be taking its toll mighty hard on him.”

Qui-gon grimaced. He doubted that he counted at all as “friend” right now, and the bartender’s observation only compounded his own worries. Qui-gon pulled at the collar of his tunics. It was becoming difficult to breathe in the hot and humid interior of the bar.

Possibly noticing his discomfort, the Harch gave him a final pat on the shoulder before scurrying back to his place behind the counter. Qui-gon stood motionless, uncertain of what exactly he should do, beyond emulating his student and grabbing the nearest bottle to hole up in a corner booth.

Nothing comes from indecision, Master Dooku would always say. Well, this would certainly lead to something - possibly a broken nose, Qui-gon rued as he marched out the door.

A slight breeze played on the Jedi’s face as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Qui-gon was grateful to be out of the bar, the cool night air already doing wonders for his tattered nerves. The corridor was no better lit than the bar itself, with most of the overhead lights out of commission, and the red emergency exit lights gave the area an eerie, portentous glow.

Where is he, Qui-gon thought, now more than a little annoyed. Obi-wan was obviously drunk, and who knows where he could have gone. Really, it was irresponsible for a Pad -

But he isn’t.

“Not for quite some time,” a familiar voice called from a dark corner.

Qui-gon stepped forward, tentative. A shadow fell over a series of posters on the wall of the former floral shop. Advertisements for certain corporeal services, shady loan agencies, invitations for modeling that were too good to be true. This wasn’t a seedy part of Coruscant, per se, but it certainly wasn’t the most reputable one, either, and Qui-gon wondered where Obi-wan picked up this particular penchant of hanging around dive bars and dark alleys.

Probably from me, he thought wryly.

“No, Obi-wan. You aren’t a Padawan anymore. Far from it, from what precious little I’ve gleaned about you in the past twenty-four hours.” And Qui-gon doesn’t mean to sound so acerbic, so bitter, but Obi-wan hasn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, hasn’t shared a scintilla of goodwill, not even the shade of a smile at the fact that Qui-gon was alive.

No, Qui-gon got punched for his efforts.

“How nice of you to notice,” Obi-wan slurred, waving his arm in an exaggerated motion. “What gave it away? The beard? The chaos in the galaxy at large? My former student - oh,” Obi-wan fixed him with a vicious stare, his tone turning to absolute acid, “I mean to say your former Padawan, right? After all, that was the intention, was it not? Your old student, now with a student of his own?”

Obi-wan took a large swig from the bottle, lurching to the side.

“My, my how time flies when you’re dead.”

Qui-gon cringed. This was not what he envisioned, not at all how he had wanted this conversation to go, and now it was spiraling beyond his control, Obi-wan’s acrimony towards him teetering toward utter loathing - beyond what he could have possibly imagined. 

“Actually, Obi-wan, all I needed to do was read the date on the holopaper,” he replied, hoping his tone was even, that it betrayed none of his own growing feelings of discontent, that his placid demeanor would be an antidote to Obi-wan’s increasing and uncharacteristic bellicosity.

And it seemed to work - after a fashion. Obi-wan’s eyes widened - unfocused, his pupils far too dilated. And then he threw his head back and laughed, rough and wild, and Qui-gon watched in horror as Obi-wan brought the bottle to his lips again.

“So. I suppose you’ve caught up on the spiraling disasters of the galaxy, then?” The slurring was becoming more evident, Obi-wan’s normally refined, polite manner of speech devolving with each sentence.

“After a fashion.” Qui-gon forced his voice into a breezy easiness, as if they were discussing the weather. “There is war,” Qui-gon admitted, “There is suffering and destruction. The exact circumstances are still a mystery to me.”

To be honest, he hadn’t even needed to read the news to know that much. The discord in the Force - the way it wept, had contorted, had been torn, rent from the inside out - that had been all he needed, the way it had nearly bowled him over, so oppressive was the dark shadow when he came to in that dark and dusty warehouse.

“Well, let me fill in the gaps, then,” Obi-wan said, leaning his hip against a grimy cargo box. “A delightful turn of events you’ve missed here. Padawans trained to kill. Jedi Masters,” Obi-wan paused to point at himself in dramatic fashion before flipping a jaunty little salute in Qui-gon’s direction, “made Generals. The Council! Which now includes me, by the way - at the beck and call of every unsavory politician this side of Coruscant.”

Qui-gon’s chest tightened. He had feared something like this, but couldn’t imagine what had pushed Master Yoda over that cliff, what could possibly have caused the Council to go to such extraordinary lengths to placate certain factions of the Republic government. 

And Obi-wan, on the Council, for kriff’s sake! Qui-gon shook his head. He would have to meditate on that piece of information later.

Then there was Obi-wan himself, who looked tired, bordering on haggard. And while the shock of the day and excessive consumption of alcohol was no aid, Qui-gon could see the sheer fatigue etched in the creases in his Padawan’s brow, the premature crinkles near his eyes, the bitterness which crept into his voice, born of some deep metaphysical wound.

“Tell me, Qui-gon,” Obi-wan had perched himself on top of the cargo box, arms crossed, one hand holding his chin. It was such an Obi-wan posture, and it nearly sent Qui-gon to his knees. His Obi-wan, not the man who exuded such sadness, such naked hostility behind his powerful Jedi Master persona.

“Did you speak well of me?”

Qui-gon’s jaw nearly hit the ground, and he brought a hand to the back of his own neck to protect himself against the emotional whiplash this conversation was giving him.

At least we’re talking, Qui-gon thought, even if Obi-wan is three syncloths to the Tatooine sandstorm right now. Plus, he hasn’t tried to punch me. Yet.

“I always spoke well of you, Pad - Obi-wan,” Qui-gon replied, hedging his bets in a game where the rules were everchanging.

Obi-wan snorted in response, laughing at some inside joke with himself.

“Let me rephrase the question then. Did you speak highly of me to Dooku?”

Qui-gon grabbed the edge of a nearby wall to steady himself.

Dooku? What in nine Corellian hells does my former Master have to do with this all?

“I - I did. I mean, the last time we spoke - it was quite some time ago, Obi-wan, and we weren’t all that close. But yes, I did speak very highly of you. About your intellect, your political savvy, your acerbic wit, your dueling skills in the Ataru form - “

“Soresu,” Obi-wan interrupted, all humor drained from his voice. “Soresu form.”

Qui-gon quirked an eyebrow. Something else to be unpacked at a later time. “Yes, well, what I mean to say is that I had plenty to say about you. I was - and am - very proud of you, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan stared in his direction, his expression gone suddenly blank.

Damn it, thought Qui-gon, this isn’t working. He took a large breath.

“And perhaps,” Qui-gon added quietly, “I would have done well to express that to you more often, it seems.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two men. Qui-gon willed himself to reign in his whirling emotions, his tense desire to have Obi-wan acknowledge him, to give some kind of validation that all their time together hadn’t been for naught, hadn’t culminated in…in this.

Obi-wan returned Qui-gon’s plaintive look and for a moment, Qui-gon could swear he saw Obi-wan’s eyes soften, could feel the ragged tension in the Force abate just a bit.

But it disappeared in an instant, the now-too-familiar hardness returning to Obi-wan’s eyes as he drained the rest of the bottle in his hand.

“That explains a few things about Dooku, I suppose,” he muttered darkly.

Cold disappointment flooded through Qui-gon. He hunched over, defeated, taking a seat on another pile of cargo boxes. This was it, then. Returned to life to face the rejection of the one man he was certain would be pleased to see him, the one person who Qui-gon knew he had failed, and needed to make it up to.

Qui-gon rubbed his face with his hand.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he uttered miserably.

“Happy?” Obi-wan responded. The Force stirred, not unlike it had right before Obi-wan had launched his fist into Qui-gon’s face. 

“Bic ni skana’din,” Obi-wan hissed, gripping the empty bottle with whitening knuckles. 

“Damn it all!” he yelled a second later, chucking the bottle at the wall, where it broke into a thousand pieces. “Happy?!? Yes, of course I’m kriffing happy, Qui-gon!” Obi-wan exclaimed, the seal to his pent-up frustrations now broken. “I’m also confused, angry, and - I can say this since I’m kriffing drunk - terrified!”

“You waltz right back in here, like nothing ever happened! And now what? Will you take Anakin under your wing like you always intended? Fix all my teaching mistakes, which I assure you are plenty. Will you go and convince Dooku to return from his sojourn to the kriiffing Sith? Tell him, ‘I’m alive, it’s okay, the Jedi weren’t complicit in my murder, they didn’t ask you all most affected to keep your mouths shut and lie for years!’”

Qui-gon froze, something unnamable clawing up from his gut. The world tilted on its axis until it fell, all the way down and back again, until everything inverted and black was white, good was evil and nothing was what it seemed.

Dooku, a Sith?

Obi-wan made a frustrated gesture, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper, not content to leave Qui-gon be. “Maybe then he’ll stop harassing me to join him, will stop invoking your memory every time we meet, will stop playing mind games with me because there’s an awful part of me that knows he’s kriffing right.“

And the Force was stirring, uneven waves growing higher and higher as Obi-wan now came to face-to-face with Qui-gon, his gestures wild, voice growing steadily in volume.

“But why stop there, why not go and avenge your own death since I couldn’t. Go find the Sith - whose name is Darth Maul, by the way - who is very inconveniently still alive and has spent the last year haunting me, killing innocents in my name in some bizarre revenge scheme, gutting Satine in front of my very eyes ALL BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T WAIT TEN DAMN SECONDS IN A REACTOR SHAFT ON NABOO!”

Obi-wan grabbed Qui-gon’s tunics, pushing the man hard into the nearby wall. Qui-gon’s head made a sickening crack as a jolt of pain traveled down his spine. Qui-gon prepared himself for another fist to the face, and this time he couldn’t even blame Obi-wan. Oblivion would be kinder than this reality.

Obi-wan released him with a scowl, weaving under the influence of emotions and alcohol, fists clenched and the Force was a maelstrom and then -

Obi-wan collapsed onto his knees and vomited.

Qui-gon remained frozen, watching the sorry tableau play out in front of him. Strained retching alternated with half-broken sobs as Obi-wan’s body fought the effects of the alcohol, of his outburst. After one final heave, Obi-wan sighed, eyes rolling in the back of his head and he passed out on the ground.

The sound of Obi-wan’s body hitting the pavement broke the spell. Qui-gon rushed to his former Padawan’s side, gathering the man in his arms, muttering long-forgotten words of comfort, phrases that brought to mind the phantom of a twelve-year old boy with bright ginger hair. 

Qui-gon sat Obi-wan against the wall. Damp hair clung to the younger man’s forehead, and Qui-gon pushed it away, not caring about the vile mixture of sweat, vomit, and cheap alcohol that permeated his senses as he pulled the younger man closer.

In life - well, his previous stint at life - Qui-gon had been no healer, but now he placed a palm on Obi-wan’s head, using his still-paltry Force reserves to send a cool flow through his Padawan’s body. The effect was instantaneous - Obi-wan’s breathing evened, his pulse steadying, no longer erratic, skipping and hopping in frenzy. It would do nothing for the massive hangover the man would have tomorrow, but at least he could rest in some degree of comfort now.

The terrible deluge of accusations and confessions threatened to rise from Qui-gon’s gut, to reach out and rend him to pieces. Qui-gon took a shaky breath,  carefully swallowing each one. The taste was sour and unpleasant, like a terrible medicine. Qui-gon would not release these thoughts into the Force - no, not yet. Not before the wounds they both carried were drained, the infections treated, the connecting tissues grown anew.

He owed this much to Obi-wan. 

But for now, rest. He called Ahsoka on the communicator, informing her of their location and providing a delicate, mostly-truthful explanation of Obi-wan’s state. The young Togruta had a good head on her shoulders, and Qui-gon already sensed she would grow to be a fine Jedi Master, a testament to both Anakin and Obi-wan’s instruction. Even though Qui-gon had only known her for a few scant hours, he trusted her discretion in this situation.

Qui-gon sighed, a wave of fatigue crashing through his body as the adrenaline of the confrontation waned. He wrapped an arm around the crumpled form of his former Padawan, resting Obi-wan’s head on his own shoulder, threading his fingers through the man’s hair.

“I am so sorry, Obi-wan,” he whispered to the unconscious Jedi in his arms.