#fic: the impracticality of attractive best friends

[nicolewrites]

the impracticality of attractive best friends

@mishspelled​ why am i like this

Rating: G+ Genre: Friendship, Romance Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea Words: 5,054

Ingrid is acting weird. Sylvain is determined to find out why.

AO3

Something is wrong with Ingrid. She’s been avoiding him for like four days and in the middle of a war when they’re supposed to be close companions that can watch each other’s backs, it makes Sylvain nervous. She still talks to Felix and Annette and Mercedes just fine. She even eats with Dimitri and the Professor one night, but she is certainly not talking to him.

The first instance of Ingrid being weird is when he finds her and Ashe in the library. They’re laughing together over some knightly tale which Sylvain is sure that he has read at some point or other in his life: he is friends with Ingrid after all. He approaches them quietly, making sure that he is sneaking up on Ingrid.

Ashe perks up when he notices Sylvain and he raises a hand in greeting. “Hi, Sylvain!”

Sylvain grins in return. “Ashe, Ingrid,” he greets.

Ingrid’s shoulders tense. She turns slowly to face him. “Hi,” she says shortly.

Sylvain pulls out the chair next to Ingrid and sits down next to Ingrid. He drops his arms onto the top of the table and rests his chin atop them, lowering his head to the height of the table. Ashe and Ingrid are both staring at him and he smiles at them.

“Don’t mind me,” he says lightly.

The corner of Ashe’s mouth twitches and his gaze darts to Ingrid, but then he drops his eyes back to his own book, reading the next passage aloud. Ingrid shifts next to Sylvain and her knee slides away from his where Sylvain hadn’t even registered that they were touching. He lolls his head towards her and sees that her ears are pink and her gaze is fixed determinedly on Ashe as their friend reads about Loog.

Slowly, Sylvain catalogues Ingrid’s reaction. She had tensed when he had shown up. Her ears are pink. She isn’t looking at him. She hadn’t seemed to want to touch him where their legs had been brushing. It really isn’t a typical Ingrid reaction.

He turns his own eyes to Ashe and, out of the corner of his eyes, he just barely catches the flicker of her gaze as Ingrid steals a tiny look at him. Sylvain presses his chin further into the cradle of his arms to hide a smile.

He’s not exactly sure what’s wrong with Ingrid, but from his perspective, it doesn’t seem to be an entirely bad thing.

-

The second instance of Ingrid being weird takes place in a small war meeting.

Dimitri and the professor have really synced up their plans since Gronder and the retaking of Fhirdiad, but that doesn’t make the impending task of taking Fort Merceus any easier. The battle map that they have of the fort, a parting gift from Claude and his spy network, is out-dated and there is no way to predict who will be present at Fort Merceus when they lead an all-out assault on the most protected Empire fortress. In retrospect, their plan is really quite stupid.

Sylvain points out a side gate over a lower part of the wall at Fort Merceus. “What about here?”

Dimitri taps the point on the map and frowns. “It’s not an ideal entry point for anyone except flyers, really.”

Sylvain looks at Ingrid. She is looking at the map too. Her mouth is set in a thin line and her green eyes are narrowed as she analyzes the proposed entry point.

“You could probably get two battalions over that point before enemy archers regrouped,” she points out.

“Yes,” the professor agrees. “Sylvain, how are your wyvern skills?”

He blinks at the professor. “Uh, I suppose they’re up to par. I don’t usually have a flying battalion though,” he points out.

She waves off the concern. “That can be fixed.”

“Professor,” Ingrid cuts in. “What about Seteth? He’s already established as a Wyvern Lord and he has the battalion already trained. We’ve taken on the aerial missions before.” Her eyes scan the map for something almost desperately and she relaxes after a second. “Here,” she says, tapping the other entry point, “you’ll need as many mages as you can over here and Sylvain has the Reason skill and the mobility on horseback.”

Sylvain studies the map. She makes a fair point. Having mages at that specific chokepoint would be incredibly helpful, as Ingrid had pointed out, but it is also extremely far away from where she, and Seteth in her proposal, would be deployed. Sylvain can’t help but feel a little hurt that she’d rather fight alongside Seteth than him, one of her oldest friends.

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees. “Sylvain, I do think that perhaps you should stay and watch mine and Dedue’s backs here.” He nods to Ingrid. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

The professor’s face is a schooled neutral expression, but her eyes land on Sylvain and he reads the summons in them without words. He rises from the table and nods to Dimitri and Ingrid before excusing himself. The professor trails after him and Sylvain waits for her just outside the Cardinal’s Room.

“What happened between you and Ingrid?” the professor asks as soon as the door closes behind her.

Sylvain blinks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about."

She looks unimpressed. “Sylvain, what did you do this time?”

He holds his hands up. “No! Really! I didn’t do anything. She’s just been acting strange lately.”

Something clicks for the professor and she sighs, an affectionate smile edging up her lips. “Right, well, you should sort that out. You two are one of our best pairs out there.”

Sylvain stares at the door to the Cardinal’s Room. “I don’t even know what happened,” he argues.

She pats his arm reassuringly. “You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She turns to reenter the meeting room but pauses. “Thanks for the catch on that aerial entry point.”

Sylvain can only stare stupidly as the professor reenters the war meeting. At least he has confirmed his suspicions that Ingrid is acting strangely around him at the very least. He really hopes that whatever this is can get sorted out shortly.

-

Sylvain absolutely doesn’t intend to get into a conversation about marriage with Lorenz and Ferdinand, but they had brewed Seiros Tea and he isn’t stupid enough to pass on one of his favourite blends when Ferdinand is doing the brewing.

So he finds himself sitting in the courtyard as Ferdinand and Lorenz casually discuss the stronger hints of flavour in the tea, zoning out and staring towards the stable.

Marianne and Ingrid are both in the vicinity, grooming their mounts and chatting blindly about something or other and Sylvain finds himself watching them instead of listening to Lorenz drone on about the subtleties in the Almyran herbal flavours in the Seiros tea. Apparently, his distraction is unfortunately noticed and the other two noble’s attentions are snatched by Ingrid and Marianne as well.

“Two beautiful flowers, aren’t they?” Ferdinand says, a smile on his face. “And masters of equestrian arts.”

Sylvain stares at Ferdinand incredulously. “Hold on, what?” he questions.

Lorenz laughs, placing his teacup down. “Oh come now, Sylvain, I’m certain you’ve noticed the plethora of beautiful and eligible young women that frequent the monastery now. Half of them are courting your King after all, but it is undeniable that Marianne and Ingrid, with their titles, have a better chance than most.”

Sylvain blinks like an idiot and looks back over at Ingrid and Marianne. “Courting Dimitri?”

Ferdinand clicks his tongue. “No, no. Not Marianne for certain. There is no way she desires that sort of attention, but perhaps a smaller title might interest her.” His gaze softens a bit and Sylvain notices that Lorenz’s grip on his teacup tightens.

“I could certainly see Ingrid pursuing Dimitri,” Lorenz says, changing the subject off of Marianne, who Sylvain is now almost entirely convinced that Lorenz is enamoured with. “You all were childhood friends, were you not? That would be a most beneficial pairing for her house and it would be an easy match for His Highness as well.”

Sylvain frowns. “Dimitri and Ingrid?” He can’t really see it. Ingrid has only really ever treated Dimitri like a prince, not a potential spouse.

“Yes,” Ferdinand agrees. “Dorothea was telling me about the unsavoury suitor types that Ingrid has had to deal with in the past. I would have suggested Felix, but I suppose he’s already off the table isn’t he.”

Sylvain stands up, feeling uncomfortable. He’s not sure what’s worse between the allusion to Glenn and Ingrid’s engagement or the thought of Ingrid courting Dimitri.

“Speaking of Felix,” he excuses, “I do have to run.”

Ferdinand nods, completely oblivious, but Lorenz’s eyes narrow the tiniest fraction in suspicion. Sylvain stares down the Gloucester noble and takes a pointed glance at Marianne, daring him to voice his doubt of Sylvain.

Lorenz lifts his teacup back up and takes a sip to hide his annoyed expression.

-

Sylvain is on edge every time that Dimitri gets within a hundred paces of Ingrid for the next three days. Dorothea gives him a weird look over dinner and he quickly stops staring at his childhood friends where they’re eating with Ashe and Dedue. He stares down at his own meal, poking it with his fork.

“What is wrong with you?” Dorothea asks, not pulling any punches because of course she doesn’t.

Sylvain blinks at her. “What?”

She waves at him, gesturing to his whole body. “You’re all mopey and tense today. It’s like someone has been walking around poking you with a stick for three days.”

She turns and glances over her shoulder in Ingrid’s direction where Sylvain had been staring. Her head snaps back to him, her dark hair fanning out in the motion as she raises an eyebrow.

“No,” Dorothea says, a wicked grin spreading over her face.

“What?” Sylvain questions. “What are you on about?”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for Ingrid.”

Sylvain stares at her blankly. “Excuse me?”

Dorothea smirks at him. “Oh my god, of course you do.”

Sylvain frowns putting his fork down so that he doesn’t drop it on the chance that Dorothea makes another outlandish claim. “No, I’m just trying to figure out why she’s been acting weird.”

Dorothea’s expression slackens into disbelief. “Oh,” she says.

They sit for a moment in silence, just staring at each other. Sylvain drops his gaze and picks up his fork, spearing a piece of pheasant. Dorothea sips from her goblet and the awkward silence lingers just long enough that Sylvain finally thinks of something just as horribly embarrassing for Dorothea as that last exchange had been for him.

“So, Ferdinand mentioned that you’ve been talking a lot.”

Dorothea’s head snaps up and her green eyes narrow so quickly that Sylvain is surprised she doesn’t reach across the table and stab him with her dinner knife.

“Not. Another. Word.”

Sylvain grins and takes a sip of his own glass. “Aw, come on. Don’t women love a man who is sensitive about his love of horses.”

Dorothea sneers. “Same way that you noblemen seem far too interested in a woman’s ability to love her horse with her entire heart.”

Sylvain pauses and lifts his goblet to her. “To our friends, the ultimate horse-women.”

Dorothea sputters at his classification of Ferdinand, but she taps her cup to his and they both drink heavily. Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the taste of the wine. “God, where did this even come from?”

Dorothea laughs, her head tipping back and her smile widening. “Claude, if I remember correctly. He offered the army Derdriu’s stocks.”

Sylvain scoffs. “Of course he did.”

-

The Ingrid weirdness does not, unfortunately, disappear with time. Instead, there are now six days until they march for Fort Merceus and Ingrid has started leaving rooms when he enters them. Sylvain just wants everything to go back to normal.

He corners Dimitri and Dedue first. They’re in the greenhouse, but Dedue has notably told Dimitri that he is not allowed to touch anything, so he’s just sitting on the edge of one of the gardens chatting quietly with his retainer.

“Your Highness! Dedue!” Sylvain greets brightly, walking into the greenhouse.

Dimitri turns to him immediately, but Dedue is hands deep in dirt and does not turn. “Hello Sylvain, what can we do for you?” Dimitri asks.

“I had a question for you actually, Your Highness,” Sylvain admits.

Dimitri looks surprised. “Oh, yes, of course. What is it?”

“Is Ingrid being weird to you as well?”

Dimitri stares at him. “Ingrid? Being weird?”

Sylvain realizes his mistake. Dimitri is one of the most socially oblivious people he has ever had the opportunity to know. He scratches the back of his head and prepares to backpedal out of this conversation to pretend it had never happened. Dedue brushes his hands off and stands up, turning to face Sylvain.

“Is this about her avoiding you and changing her assignment with Ashe or Annette or Mercedes whenever you two get partnered up for something?” Dedue asks.

Sylvain snaps his fingers and points at Dedue. “Yes! That!”

Dedue’s lips tilt into the tiniest smiles as he is obviously amused by the situation. “No, Sylvain, I believe that is only around you.”

Sylvain frowns. “Damn.”

“I think Ingrid and Mercedes and Annette were going to the Knight’s Hall,” Dimitri offers as if that solves all of Sylvain’s problems.

Sylvain nods. “Right, well, I’m going to go ask Felix.”

“I imagine you’ll get a similar answer,” Dedue says right before Sylvain leaves the greenhouse.

Sylvain decides not to dwell on that idea.

-

Felix is, of course, at the Training Grounds. He seems to be in some kind of strange sparring stand-off against Raphael and Lysithea. Sylvain pauses in the door of the Training Grounds and stares as Felix takes off towards Raphael, swinging his training sword with brutal efficiency.

Raphael blocks the blow on a training axe and uses his brute strength to shove Felix back. Lysithea then waves a hand and casts a spell, catching Felix loosely in a cage of Dark Magic. Felix groans in irritation and cuts the spell back.

Lysithea rolls her eyes and folds her arms. “You leave yourself wide open doing that.”

“Well, he’ll have back up on the actual field,” Sylvain chimes in.

The eyes of all three of his friends turn towards him.

“Oh, hey Sylvain,” Raphael greets brightly. “We were running some different drills.”

Lysithea huffs. “Apparently since Hubert uses Dark Magic like me, I’m the only one capable of helping out here.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “That was Raphael’s idea,” he reminds.

Raphael just grins his big dopey grin. “Hey, we gotta be ready, right? Hubert and Edelgard will be tough opponents when we get to the capital.”

Sylvain chuckles at Raphael’s endless optimism. “Right. Can I borrow Felix for a moment?”

Felix sheaths his sword and walks over to Sylvain. Sylvain turns so that Lysithea stops staring at him and throws an arm over Felix’s shoulders. Felix immediately shrugs it off and Sylvain smiles at the familiarity of their antics.

Keeping his voice low, he asks, “Is Ingrid being weird around you too?”

Felix just stares at him.

Sylvain frowns. “What?”

Felix grabs his arm and twists it just until the point of pain. Sylvain jerks his hand back, shaking it out and scowling at his friend.

“What the fuck, Felix?” he demands.

Felix scoffs. “Knight’s Hall.”

And then he’s turning around and walking back over to Raphael and Lysithea to resume whatever strange training regiment the three of them have developed. Sylvain stands there for a moment. He supposes that if Dimitri and Felix don’t have answers for him, his next best bet is probably Ingrid herself.

-

It’s mid-evening by the time that Sylvain arrives in the Knight’s Hall, but it isn’t any cooler than it had been in the afternoon. The torch sconces outside are lit and there is faint chatter that he can here from inside which means he is probably correct in assuming that at least one of his old classmates is still here.

He pushes open the door and is immediately assaulted by the image of Ingrid absolutely brutalizing a training dummy with a training lance. Sylvain stands there for a second just watching her smooth motions and the rippling muscles in her back, arms, and legs as she spins and jabs and tears into the dummy in absolutely brutal fashion.

Sylvain scans the rest of the Knight’s Hall and sees Mercedes and Annette sitting by the fire, flipping through tomes and exchanging whispers here and there. Ingrid seems so completely preoccupied with her training routine that she doesn’t even notice him. Sylvain redirects to the fire pit, plopping onto the couch next to Annette.

Annette jumps and snaps her book closed on her hand. Her brow twitches and she slowly reopens the book, shaking out her finger. “Hi Sylvain,” she greets.

Sylvain steals a glance back at Ingrid who has finished tearing up one dummy and is moving onto the next one.

“Why is she acting like Felix?” he whispers to Annette. “She’s not usually like this.”

Mercedes and Annette exchange a knowing look and Sylvain narrows his eyes as he looks between the two mages.

“She’s frustrated,” Mercedes offers as if he’s supposed to believe that’s all it is.

Sylvain sighs. “Fine, but why is she treating me like I’m horrible to be around right now? She’s not doing it to anyone else.”

Mercedes pats his arm and Sylvain feels pitied and a bit stupid. “She’s had a frustrating couple of weeks.”

Sylvain looks at Annette who is, historically, the worst liar he has ever met in his entire life. “Annette?”

Annette gives him a tiny grin which tells him that she knows something he doesn’t. “Why don’t you spar with her? Maybe that will be better for her frustration than destroying every training dummy we have.”

Sylvain pauses. It’s a reasonable suggestion, but Annette’s little smile still makes him nervous about anything related to Ingrid. Mercedes smothers a tiny giggle into her hand and Sylvain realizes that he is really not going to get anything out of either of them, so he stands up, heading towards Ingrid.

He picks up a training lance from the weapons rack and steps in front of her, catching her next blow and blocking it from hitting the training dummy. Ingrid immediately stumbles back, her eyes wide.

“Sylvain!” She looks completely startled to see him. “When did you get here?”

He chuckles and makes a loose, light jab towards her which she blocks instinctually. “A few minutes ago. Thought you might prefer a sparring partner to a defenceless dummy.”

Her lips purse, but she strikes back at him with a wider swing. “Fine, but you had better keep up.”

Sylvain grins and counters. He steps forward and she retreats, light on her toes, before she spins around him, trying to get behind him. While once Ingrid might have wiped the floor with him thanks to his lackadaisical ideas about training, he has seriously picked up his training during the war. He has her beat in the physical strength area, but Ingrid is seriously quick and it’s only years of training against her and Felix that allow him to read her movements well enough to block most of her strikes.

Still, Ingrid is coming at him with a vigour she doesn’t normally bring while training and Sylvain is quickly forced on the defensive. He locks the shafts of their lances together and slides in, closing the gap between them allowed by their weapons and Ingrid’s eyes blow wide with alarm. He’s not Felix, so he has no experience with grappling, but her lesser strength has her at a disadvantage here.

Sylvain, unfortunately, is momentarily very distracted by the candlelight flickering in her green eyes and she frees her lance, dropping the tip and sweeping his legs out from under him in a quick, fluid motion. The training lance catches in the material of his shirt as she draws it up to point at his chin and there’s a ripping sound as it catches on the ties of it.

Sylvain and Ingrid both study Sylvain’s now ripped shirt. From the fires in the sconces around the Knight’s Hall, the fire in the fireplace, the warm evening, and the exertion from the workout, Sylvain’s next action is done without thinking.

He pushes aside the tip of Ingrid’s lance and sits up. He strips out of his ripped shirt and stands up, kicking his lance back into his hands as he turns back to her, now shirtless. Ingrid’s lance is still pointing at the ground as she stares at his stomach blankly. Sylvain raises an eyebrow and she quickly turns her head away, her cheeks flaming.

“Round two?” he suggests.

There’s a smattering of laughter from over by the fire as Mercedes and Annette giggle at the scene.

Ingrid doesn’t give him the courtesy of a warning before she’s swinging her lance at his shins. She follows the blow with a slicing upward strike that Sylvain only barely deflects. His own weapon rattles from the force of catching her blow and he steps back. Ingrid follows, staying her course of what appears to be “incapacitate Sylvain as quickly as possible”.

Her blows are quick and rapid and Sylvain is barely agile enough to block half of them. When her lance's shaft smacks across his ribs hard enough to bruise, he lashes out with one of his feet to get her back. Unfortunately, the only thing he succeeds in doing is unbalancing himself as she hooks his foot with a grappling move he has only ever seen Felix use and takes him down.

Sylvain lands hard on his back in the sand, but Ingrid is not proficient in grappling and doesn’t realize that she has actually given him an advantage. Sylvain jerks his lance along the sang, sweeping her own foot and she comes crashing down after him, landing on top of him. She hadn’t been expecting the blow, so her weapon goes skittering away as her hands land square on his chest. Her legs slide around his hips and then Ingrid is sitting on top of him on the floor of the Knight’s Hall.

Sylvain stills, his chest heaving from exertion. Ingrid is gaping at him, but she isn’t moving off of him and Sylvain’s attention is unintentionally drawn to the iron of her thighs around his torso and the corded muscles of her forearms where she braces against his chest. Since they’re sparring, and Sylvain is still holding a weapon, he rolls, forcing her over.

Now he’s pinning her in the sand and he slides his lance up under her chin, effectively ending the duel. He expects Ingrid to laugh and shove him off because it’s so like them to devolve into grappling while sparring, but instead, her whole face turns incredibly red.

Sylvain pauses, staring down at her. She’s embarrassed? It doesn’t really compute why she’s embarrassed unless that she’s really ashamed to have lost to him.

There’s a scuffle of movement behind them which Sylvain dimly registers as Annette and Mercedes running out of the Knight’s Hall. He’s still staring at Ingrid like an idiot.

The redness in her face doesn’t fade, but she does shove him this time and he flails and falls back onto his ass. Ingrid doesn’t stand up, but she does curl her knees into her chest and bury her face her hands. Sylvain doesn’t get up either and just blinks at her.

“Ingy?” he says, testing out a nickname from back when they were children. “What’s up?"

“Nothing!” she squeaks out, lying worse that Annette normally does.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain says, growing more serious and a little more concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She drops her hands and tries to glare at him, but the lingering redness in her face makes it charming and endearing instead of intimidating like a normal Ingrid glare. “Nothing,” she says again.

Sylvain sighs. He stands up and dusts his hands off on his pants. He offers her a hand up and she takes it. He pulls her up and she stumbles into him before springing away as if he had burned her.

“Can we talk about why you’re being weird? We have an important mission ahead of us,” he begins, trying to defuse the situation.

Ingrid rounds on him, blushing again. “Oh my god, Sylvain, do you have any idea how attractive you are?” she snaps, obviously without thinking.

Sylvain feels his jaw drop. “Uh,” he stutters dumbly.

He knows he’s an attractive guy as the amount of female attention he had flirted with when he had been younger had been a very good indication of the fact that he is at least good looking. He had just never realized that Ingrid had noticed.

She spins away from him, burning her face back into her hands and groaning.

Sylvain’s eyes skim over her and he takes in her small, wiry form. She’s the picture of a lady knight and she’s an absolute badass. Sylvain’s brain immediately burrows into the ground as he remembers the feeling of her strong thighs caging his torso. Her hair glows gold in the firelight and her shirt clings to her from the sweat accumulated during her workout.

Ingrid is, as Ferdinand had unfortunately pointed out, incredibly beautiful.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks. “Because you think I’m attractive?”

She turns back to him, glaring, but she is still red. “If I say yes will you leave me alone and we can pretend this entire conversation never happened?”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. That’s one possibility, but he kind of likes the idea that he can fluster Ingrid. He smirks at her and steps towards her. Ingrid tenses, but to her credit, she does not run away from him immediately.

“There’s nothing wrong with finding your best friend attractive is there?” he asks.

Carefully, with motions as though not to startle a skittish animal, he places a hand on her waist. Ingrid watches him do it, looking mildly alarmed. He steps closer to her again and the adorable blush creeps up her neck.

“Sylvain,” she warns.

“I mean we have a two-sided problem in that case if it is a problem.”

She blinks, processing his words. “What?”

He grins. “You’re hot, Ingy.” The childhood nickname feels weird paired with the compliment about her physical attractiveness, but he doesn’t regret it.

Ingrid’s foot kicks out and then Sylvain is falling to the ground again. He pulls on her as he goes down and she lands square on top of him again, this time settled over his hips. She presses an arm against the top of his chest to keep him down in the dirt.

“Shut up!”

He laughs. “I’d say you won round three, but you know,” he taps her hips with his hands, “I count this as a win for myself.”

Ingrid swallows visibly and then she leans down and kisses him. The kiss is hard and slightly awkward because she’s still pinning him to the sandy floor of the training pit and then because she jerks away after a second, flailing back as if she had just realized what she had done.

Sylvain grins lazily and tightens his grip on her hips so that she can’t run away from him. “That’s one way to shut me up.”

She bites her lip, looking uncertain, and loosens her grip on him. “Sylvain,” she starts.

He shakes his head. “Hey, you’ve been avoiding me. Can I talk first?”

She nods slowly and he rubs his thumbs over her hips, trying to be reassuring, but Ingrid just shivers at his touch and his mind almost immediately starts to wander back to the thighs of absolute steel bracketing his hips.

“I think you’re amazing,” he offers. “You’re badass and beautiful and you’re one of my best friends, Ing.”

She steals a glance at his hands on her hips and then looks back at him. Her green eyes sparkle and Sylvain’s heart flutters. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks quietly.

“I do,” he agrees.

Ingrid’s hands loosen until they’re more of a touch than a pin and she shifts, her hips pressing into his. Sylvain’s hands tighten unintentionally and Ingrid freezes.

“Sorry!” she squeaks.

He feels himself flush a little. Ingrid continues on her previously decided path, leaning down as her hands flatten against his bare chest until she can kiss him lightly, almost hesitantly. Sylvain tips his chin up into the kiss and she responds by putting a little more force into the gesture.

Sylvain releases her hip and cups the side of her face as he kisses her back. Her lips are slightly chapped and warm and she tastes like the spicy meat they had had for dinner that night. He tightens his grip on her and considers trying to roll her onto her back, but then Ingrid’s hand shoves him down against the sand again as she runs a hand over his stomach. Sylvain grunts and deepens the kiss.

She opens her mouth to him without thinking and arches into the hand that he buries into her hair and the one on her hip. They kiss blindly and stupidly for a while until Ingrid tears back to breathe, her chest heaving as she stares down at him.

“Uh,” she stutters.

“Do you want to go for dinner with me tomorrow?” Sylvain asks before she can dig herself a hole. “On a real date,” he clarifies, just to be certain.

Ingrid’s awkwardness fades into a shy, cute smile. “I’d like that.”

She doesn’t move off of him and Sylvain glances down at their situation. She’s still basically sitting on top of him while he’s shirtless. There is no one else in the Knight’s Hall and there probably won’t be tonight since it’s getting later now.

“One condition,” he continues, his thumb tapping her hip lightly. She raises an eyebrow. “Kiss me aga-”

He doesn’t get the words out before she swallows them with a hard kiss.

[kindahoping4forever]

I’d Rather Be In Love // An Ashton Irwin 5 + 1 Fic

I had been feeling a bit off creatively so while I was on my Tumblr break, I started playing around with the 5 +1 fic format, mainly as a writing exercise; coming up with the overall “theme” and then thinking of the vignettes that would fit in with it is actually a pretty cool brainstorming activity. I don’t know what it was about this particular idea I had but once this popped into my head, I couldn’t stop writing and finished it in about a day. It’s a bit of a departure stylistically (and tonally?) for me so I was wayyyy needy and insecure about it so thank you (as always) to @cal-puddies​ for encouraging me and to @ashtonangst​ for hyping me up when I needed it.

Description: Five first times and one last time with Ashton

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash (I mean), implied smut (it’s only implied, I know, I’m shocked too), mild angst, a lot of fluff (I know, I’m shocked too)

Word Count: 3,707

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

The First Meet

“I’d get comfortable if I were you, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes and haven’t seen a bartender yet.”

You’re not usually the type to talk to strangers in bars and you’re especially not the one to break the ice but there was something about this man that had you feeling bold. You’d been sitting at the back bar, people watching, waiting for your friends to arrive and he caught your attention as soon as he walked in. Hair slicked, perfectly styled save for one stray curl dangling in front of his eyes, crisp leather jacket and black jeans matched with a pressed button down shirt, impractically left unbuttoned enough to reveal a variety of necklaces and an alluring amount of chest hair. You never realized you found chest hair attractive until now. Huh.

He fixes his eyes on you and any nerves you were feeling are immediately drowned in a sparkling sea of hazel coloring and amused curiosity. “Is that so?” He replies in a voice tinged with an accent you can’t quite place. “This kind of thing happen here a lot?”

You grin, impressed by his smooth way of asking “do you come here often?” without actually saying the unoriginal phrase. “I’m a regular, can’t say that I’ve seen it before,” you eagerly take the bait. “The guy served me and a few others, dipped and hasn’t been back. The big crowd is always at the main bar at the front of the house, which is why I like to sit back here at this one.”

“I came back here for the same reason,” he smiles, sitting on the stool next to you, listening intently to your story.

“Smart man,” you flirt, trying not to think about how he’s now close enough you can smell his cologne.

You’re not sure how long you sit and talk with him - it feels like both a fleeting moment and a lengthy dream. You learn his name is Ashton, he’s a musician and like you, he was here to meet friends who ended up cancelling at the last minute. He asks you about your evening, your job, your life; you’re surprised at how easy it is to talk to him and how actually interested he seems in your answers.

After a while, Ashton looks around the bar and with still no barkeep in sight, he turns to you with a mischievous gleam in his eye and advises, “Keep a lookout?”

You watch enchanted as he confidently strides behind the bar and makes himself a drink. You raise an eyebrow at him and he holds a finger up, telling you to hold on; he reaches into his jacket and pulls out some cash that he leaves under a glass next to the cash register. “I’m thirsty, not a thief,” he explains as if this sequence of events were a totally normal thing to watch happen.

He sits his glass on the bar in front of where he was sitting and then stops to evaluate you for a moment; you feel yourself blush under his gaze. “Whiskey girl,” he declares, letting out a surprisingly adorable giggle when your shocked expression tells him he’s guessed correctly.

He serves your drink and casually comes around back to his seat, no one any the wiser. “Impressive,” you compliment, raising your glass to his. “Bartending skills aren’t too bad either.”

Ashton chuckles and you think to yourself you can’t imagine ever tiring of the sound. “To our friends and their flaky ways," he toasts. You clink glasses and his eyes never leave yours as you take your sips. He leans in and his hand grazes your arm; the feeling is so electric you nearly jump. "Glad they didn't show up, I think I'd rather spend my time with you."

————-

The First Time

"Should we take this to the bedroom?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

You snort at his cliched response and then gasp as he stands up from the couch, lifting you off his lap and locking your legs around his waist in one swift motion.

You were quite proud of yourself for not going home with Ashton that first night, even after talking at the bar until closing. You’d met him for drinks a couple more times that week and tonight when he asked you if you wanted to split some food at the bar, you figured that was dinner adjacent enough that this was essentially a date and you could reasonably justify inviting him back to yours.

You resume kissing as he starts down the hallway, accidentally bumping your back into the wall more than once. He briefly pulls away from your lips, muttering against them, "I have no fucking clue where your bedroom is located."

You affectionately snicker into his neck while pointing him in the right direction; your laughter sets him off and by the time he reaches your room, you're both giggling wildly. He drops you down onto the bed and you start wrestling with each other’s clothes. You immediately reach for his belt buckle but he grabs your hand and sternly warns, "The giggle train stops here, sweetheart, once the clothes come off, it's serious business."

This, of course, only makes you laugh more until you feel his lips on your neck and suddenly things feel a lot less hilarious.

Your hands and mouths eagerly get well acquainted with each other; you feel like you might burst into flames if things don’t progress sometime soon but you also feel like you could live off his exploratory kisses and surprised gasps if you had to.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling as he raises himself up from between your legs, hair goofily out of place thanks to the way you were tugging at it. Despite your best efforts to hide your amusement, he notices and playfully bites at your neck in protest.

“What did I say about your attitude, missy?” Ash taunts, smiling against your skin. “I’m putting in some of my best work here, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

You pull his face towards yours, kissing him deeply and hungrily. “Guess maybe you should try harder,” you tease, putting the emphasis on the word harder, reaching down to palm him.

He groans into your mouth and ruts into your hand. After a few more minutes of teasing, you pull away and direct him to the condoms you keep in your bedside table. You both get yourselves situated and when he finally enters you, you say a silent prayer of thanks to your friends for ditching you that first night.

He’s as attentive and communicative in bed as he is in conversation and your chemistry easily translates into one of the best first encounters you’ve had with someone. In the afterglow, you and Ashton lay there, catching your breath, joking and talking as if you’ve been lovers for years. You’re taken aback by the familiarity and fondness you feel but it doesn’t make you as nervous as you thought it might.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and when you return, Ash is looking around the room, collecting his clothes that were strewn about.

Without thinking, you blurt out, “You’re welcome to stay the night.” Not wanting to be That Girl, you quickly try to save it. “It’s pretty late, I’m sure you’re tired, probably just want to crash… so… it’s cool if you’d like to do that here. Or, you know. You can go home. That’s cool too.”

He smirks at your obvious panic, walks over and kisses you. “I’d rather stay.”

————-

The First Doubt

“Is it weird I haven’t met your friends yet?”

Ashton’s quiet and it takes you a few seconds to scrounge up the courage to turn and face him; the question had been on your mind but you didn’t mean to let it out on a post-dinner car ride like this. It just happened.

"I don't know… is it?" He glances over at you before turning back to the road. "I'm not being an ass, that's a serious question. Is it? I just hadn't thought about it."

“You’ve met my friends?” You weakly offer, losing your nerve to have the conversation.

He makes a face. “I mean, just a couple of them,” he counters. “And that wasn’t even on purpose, that was just me not leaving your place in time before the brunch brigade showed up.”

You chew your lip, trying to think of how to word your concerns. “It’s just… we’ve been seeing each other for a minute and I think it’s going well -”

“It is,” he interjects, reaching over to grasp your knee reassuringly.

You lace your fingers in his, holding them in your lap. “I guess I was just thinking about it because of the other night when you made plans with me but forgot you had plans with them and I know they didn’t mind postponing but I wouldn’t have minded if they had just hung out with us,” you shrug.

“That option didn’t even cross my mind,” he admits quietly, eyes focused ahead.

“That’s kind of what bothers me,” you say, forcing a laugh so you don’t sound quite as pathetic as you feel. “Do you not think we’ll get along? Are you afraid they’ll embarrass you in front of me? I can’t think of anything I’d do that might embarrass you, but…”

“Baby, no,” he insists, giving your hand a strong squeeze. You smile to yourself - it happened so naturally, he might not realize it, but it’s the first time he’s called you “baby” outside of bed. The car pulls up to a stoplight and he turns to look at you. “You’re not even a little bit embarrassing, they’re definitely going to embarrass me but there’s nothing I can do about that and I do actually think you’d all get along.”

The light turns green and satisfied with his comfort, you’re prepared to drop the topic; it’s quiet for a couple minutes and then Ash is talking again. “If you want me to set something up, I can do that,” he thinks out loud. “I honestly just haven’t thought about it because when I think about wanting to spend time with you, I want to spend time with you… don’t tell anyone, but I like you a lot better than them.”

You grin and lean across the car to kiss his cheek, giving his hair a good tousle. “This is actually probably something that would qualify as embarrassing, huh?” You giggle, trying to finger brush his hair back into place. “Probably shouldn't do that around the boys.”

He flashes you a beaming smile and a light-hearted shrug. “I mean… I’d rather you didn’t.”

————-

The First I Love You

“Oh good, you're here! Can you reach that container on the top shelf with the blue lid? I don't know where the step stool went."

"Happy to see you too," he jokes. "I knew you were only dating me for my height."

"Please, you're not even that tall," you jab, pecking his lips lightly as he hands you the item you requested.

Ash looks around your kitchen, overwhelmed at the mess; he's glad he arrived early so he can help you get things in order. It was his turn this week to host game night for his (and now your) friend group and you offered to hold it at your place; when you insisted on also providing the food, he never imagined you'd go all out like this.

He lightly smacks your ass before peeling off his jacket and walking over to the sink, to turn on the tap and start washing your collection of dirty dishes.

"You should really let me buy you that dishwasher like we talked about," he declares. "Save you so much time and energy, babe."

You press a kiss to his neck tattoo and then hoist yourself to sit on the counter to continue your conversation. "And like I told you, I wouldn't use it enough to justify it," you insist. "My lease will be up next year and I really only need it when I have people over, which is never."

"Well with the way everyone's feasting tonight, I'd say that's definitely going to change," he chuckles, handing you a bowl to dry. "What's on the menu tonight?"

You happily rattle off the list of food you'd spent the day preparing: homemade pizzas for dinner, dips and salsas for snacks, various cookies and mini cakes for dessert. For most dishes, you'd provided both vegan and non-vegan options and had placed them in specifically colored containers to keep track.

Ashton stops the sink and comes to stand between your legs; you look at him curiously as he takes the plate you're drying out of your hands and sits it aside.

"It's really sweet that you went to so much trouble," he says thoughtfully, playing with the hem of your lounge shorts. "You know you didn't have to."

"I know… But I wanted to," you pause a second, evaluating the large stack of containers on the counter opposite you. Your eyes widen and you start rambling, "Oh god, I'm trying way too hard, aren't I? I didn't even think about it, I just went for it, how embarrassing, they already like me, why did I do this? We can stash this stuff and just order something, like normal people would, Jesus Christ, who makes pizza from scratch for game night, I cannot believe ---"

Your rant is cut off by your boyfriend's lips quieting yours. It's a sweet kiss; passion-filled but soft and ultimately reassuring. He laughs softly against your lips, "I love you."

You pull away to study his face, you're not sure why your first instinct is to ask if he's joking but judging from the fondness in his eyes, you know he's not.

He senses your uncertainty and doubles down on his statement. "I love you and I love that you care enough about something as stupid as game night to do all this." He kisses your forehead. "And everyone else is gonna love it too."

You pull his chin towards you and kiss him slowly, deliberately, joyfully. When you're done, you pull him close to you, wrapping your arms around his broad build, burying your face in his neck. "I love you too, by the way," you share.

“Glad to hear it,” he responds. You can hear the smile in his voice. Suddenly, he’s hooking your legs around his waist and lifting you off the counter, carrying you out of the kitchen towards your bedroom.

You giggle, “Ash, what are you doing? Everyone’s gonna be here in less than an hour, we’ve got to set up!”

He shakes his head. “They can wait, I'd rather show you how much I love you.”

————-

The First Fight

“I honestly didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

“It’s just wild that you thought this would be uninteresting to me."

You take a deep breath. “I never said I didn’t think you’d be interested, I said I didn’t see why you were so upset, seeing as it wasn’t going to affect you at all,” you state as calmly as you can.

“My girlfriend moving across the country sure as fuck sounds like something that would affect me,” Ashton snipes.

“For a few months, during most of which you’ll be on tour,” you emphasize, patience beginning to wear. “Also love how you only ever call me your girlfriend when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”

“There’s no way you actually just used that phrase right now, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He huffs and begins pacing around the room while you sit on the couch, shaking your head. He borrowed your computer while you got ready for your date - which would have been fine except you’d left your email logged in, making him the inadvertent audience to new messages in a thread titled “NYC housing options.”

“You don’t even like your job,” he says incredulously.

“No, you don’t like my job,” you clarify.

“I don’t like how stressed and upset it makes you and I don’t understand why you’d want to devote months of extra hard work and more training for something that doesn’t even fulfill you,” he says matter of factly.

“The doors this could open for me have the potential to make my job more fulfilling - ” you start to explain.

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you just do something fulfilling in the first place?”

You purse your lips, getting angry. “Well, we can’t all be pure intentioned virtuoso artists like you, Ash.”

“Don’t be mean, I’m just trying to understand what’s happening,” he says, exasperated and scowling.

He sits on the opposite end of the couch, running a hand through his hair. You can tell he’s not just mad, he’s hurt. You’ve had fights before but they were trivial and easily resolved; this was something else entirely.

You inch closer to him. “I promise I wasn’t intentionally keeping it from you,” you say carefully. “I legitimately thought since it wasn’t a done deal that it didn’t matter. I’m just being considered for the program.”

Ashton toys with the rings on his fingers, avoiding your eyes. “But why wouldn’t you have told me it was even a possibility, why wouldn’t you have wanted to celebrate that your boss thought of you for this? If it’s something that exciting and important enough to you that you’re considering upending your life for it, why wouldn’t you want to share that with me?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “...I guess I just didn’t think it was that serious.”

“It’s serious enough that you’re already looking at apartments,” he notes, jaw clenching.

You’re silent; he has a point.

You exhale slowly. “I think part of me was maybe afraid that something like this might happen,” you share quietly.

“So then you did keep it from me,” he accuses.

“No, I think I was just… procrastinating?” You lamely defend.

Ash is cool and eerily reserved as he responds, “Just to be clear: I’m not upset about your offer, I’m upset that you clearly don’t care enough to include me in the important parts of your life. I share everything with you.”

You blink in disbelief. “That’s not fair, you’re not listening to me at all.”

He shrugs, disinterested. “Tell me where I’m wrong.”

“Tell me you’re not just mad that I’ll be too busy to follow you around on tour like some starry-eyed groupie,” you toss out, irritated.

He scoffs, “At least the groupies are honest about what they want from me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your hot, angry tears from falling; you refuse to let him see you cry. “You should leave,” you announce flatly.

“Gladly,” he agrees darkly, standing up. “I'd rather be anywhere else.”

————-

The Last Night

“Thank you for being here for this... you didn’t have to be."

“Of course I did, don’t be ridiculous,” Ashton says. “I want to help plus it'd be kind of shitty for me to let you do all this on your own.”

You shake your head appreciatively. “Yeah but going from literally stepping off of a tour bus to loading all my stuff into a moving van is a lot.”

“Well I didn’t literally do that, I drove my own car here,” he jokes.

“You’re the absolute worst,” you deadpan.

“I’ve heard that before,” he grins.

You stick your tongue out at him and then yelp as he grabs you by the waist, wrapping you in his arms, pressing an absurd amount of kisses to your face.

Giggling, you escape from his embrace and go back to stacking the boxes left in the room, making sure everything is correctly labeled and sealed with tape.

"What room do you want this sorted into?" Ash asks, holding up a bag filled with various tubes of lotion.

You squint, trying to see which products are inside. "Uh… that can be bathroom," you direct, pointing to a box to his left.

He holds up a stack of plastic novelty cups. "Kitchen?"

You shake your head. "I actually use those on my desk - that box is over here." He passes them to you and you blow a kiss in response.

You both quietly continue organizing but you keep feeling Ash's eyes on you, studying your demeanor. Finally, he asks, "So… last night in your very own LA apartment… how are you feeling?"

You honestly hadn't stopped to ask yourself that question yet so you use this moment to take a break and ponder your feelings. You flop yourself onto the bare mattress that’s been left in the middle of the room for you to sleep on and stare at the ceiling.

"...Fine? I mean, it's weird," you share, sorting through your thoughts. "Obviously I've lived other places but this… y'know… this move feels different."

He smiles softly at you and sits on the edge of the mattress. "That's because it is," he states. "Bigger milestone, bigger plans…" He mindlessly digs through a box by the bed, you reach out and lightly rub his back.

"Definitely bigger as far as how much I'm moving - how do I have so much stuff?" You joke, gesturing around the room.

He snorts. "I was thinking the same thing," he teases. "See, I should've asked you to move in with me as soon as you got back from New York last year. You could've made do with just what you had in that small ass apartment, problem solved."

You laugh heartily, your exhaustion and excitement making his joke a lot funnier than it actually is. You check your phone for the time and sigh. "Think we should call it, babe. We can finish up in the morning."

He sets aside the box he was looking through. "Well we already packed up your TV and stereo, what do you want to do for the rest of the night? It's still kind of early," he shrugs.

“What’s the opposite of christening a place?” You coyly ask, striking a pose. “Because I vote we do that.”

Ashton smirks, moving to lay beside you on the bed. “Nothing I’d rather do.”

————-

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[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

I have spent some time writing and rearranging this chapter - so much so that when it went way over 4K I realised that it would be better to split it into two shorter chapters. Recent interest in Netflix’s Bridgerton has brought a lot of interest to this period.

I must make some comment about Regency costumes as I understand it from various articles I’ve read. I’m perfectly happy to be told I’m wrong, but I’m not trying to be super accurate, just have a little fun. Knickers or drawers were most probably not worn, as these became more popular in Victorian times (most likely split crotch to make it easier to go to the bathroom). This sounds kind of impractical, but they still wore long chemises and petticoats, and well born young ladies probably had many such garments that were regularly washed for them. Corsets were not quite as restrictive as later times, but they still pushed the bust up and put it on show, particularly in the case of fancy ballgowns - after all, at a ball, young ladies were trying to attract a husband. 

I chose to set my fic in Scotland, but again it’s not terribly authentic, as rather than Dukes and Earls there would have been Lairds and the various clans. However, society in Edinburgh may have been a little more like London - and - my fic, my AU! Also there is a lot written about Regency England, and not so much about Scotland unless you want to go delving into Sir Walter Scott’s novels - and maybe I will sometime soon.

As I’ve probably made all too obvious, most well born young women had no sex education at all, and may have relied on romantic novels (which were in their infancy, but they were available) and perhaps observing animals. They were kept in ignorance so that they would be innocent and unsullied on their wedding night. 

Word count 2638

A/N This chapter is a little suggestive rather than explicit. Basically the first part concerns the MC undressing whilst wondering what her wedding night will be like, and in the second part she asks a married friend all of her burning questions, and gets some frank answers. No under 18s please.

12a Underwear and Undercurrents

It was but a few minutes before Lizzie had gone upstairs with Morag, checked on her sister and retired to her room with a candle. She kicked off her slippers and went to her dressing table to unfasten and brush her hair. She had told Jane that she would undress herself that night, and reached to the back of her dress to fumble with the lacing. It was not easy, but it occurred to her that she should not be helpless, always depending on a maid to dress and undress her. 

She wondered what might happen when she was wed at last and alone on her first night with her husband. Surely the very first thing she might do was to undress. Would she do that in private, or would John be present? Would she undress herself, or would he assist her? Would she slip into bed in her nightgown or would other things happen? The thought sent her pulse racing as the laces loosened and she pushed her dress smoothly off to step out of it elegantly.

She hung her dress up carefully, wondering if on the night it would lay forgotten and discarded on the floor. She stood facing the looking glass in the dim candlelight in her chemise, corset, petticoat and stockings with a critical eye. If she were to undress herself, perhaps John would watch her, she thought with a thrill. Who should disrobe first? Would he take his clothes off himself, or would he ask her to assist? She knew little of the morning dressing routine of gentlemen or of what they did when retiring for the night, but John had a manservant - surely he assisted some of the time?

Perhaps she should practice for the instance of having no maid to assist her, and presume that John would be present and watching. Pushing down the flutter in her belly, she paid it her full attention. She should be graceful and poised – no stumbling or fumbling with strings, bows or buttons, no grimace at any mistake, major or minor. She should not appear too coquettish or unladylike. What should come next after her dress?

‘Stockings’ she whispered to herself. She pulled up her petticoat and ran her fingers along her legs to peel the first  elegantly down. Her breath hitched as she brushed her thighs and bit her lip in concentration. When both were removed, they were hung on the back of a chair, leaving her in her stays, chemise and petticoats, and again she contemplated what to do next.

‘Off with the stays’ she muttered. The one she wore that day was not the tight laced corset that underlay her best and finest gowns, but not as soft as one she might wear at home on a warm summers day. She would not have had a chance of getting out of her formal wear unaided, and she still had to contort herself a little to remove what she wore that night. There was no way she could do it elegantly without a great deal of practice, she thought, but perhaps John would aid her, should she need him to do so. That thought made her feel a little hot, and she took a deep breath.

She reached around awkwardly to unfasten the laces and sighed in relief as she was able to let it drop over her hips and step out of it. She still wore her loose chemise and petticoats. What next? That was easy, for she could not imagine standing before John without her petticoats. She elegantly removed and folded her chemise, putting it aside with her other garments. She stared at herself in the mirror, breasts bare, and could not help but blush. She shook her head. Why should she be ashamed of her body? She was sure John would appreciate her, whatever shape she had. After all, he had been married before and had assured her that his previous wife had enjoyed being intimate with him. She was not entirely sure whether to be grateful that he had experience, or to worry that she would not measure up to expectation, but she put that aside for now.

She took a deep breath and unfastened the drawstring on her petticoats, which fell easily to the floor, leaving her naked. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning round in the flickering light. She realised with a shock that she had never done so before. Her girlish straight lines were developing into the curves of a woman, and she felt as if she looked at a stranger. Her breasts were small and rounded, her waist slim with a little softness about her belly. She had coarse black hair at her mound, her buttocks were round and firm, her legs strong and slender, her ankles trim and her feet delicate. She frowned as she realised that she knew little of what would come next, and her imagination could not fill in the blanks beyond kissing and touching each other as they already had. She could barely picture what John’s appearance without clothes would be, beyond having seen bare chested labourers in the fields around the family farm. She was not even sure if what came next would occur in bed or out of it.

Sighing heavily, she bent to pick up and fold her petticoats, and went to the bed where her nightdress lay ready for her. She slipped the garment over her head and pushed her arms through the short puffed sleeves. The hem of the long cotton garment fell to her ankles, and she blew out the candle and threw back the bedcovers to climb in and draw them over her, certain that it would take some time to fall asleep. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for a while, but before long she lay on her side, curling into a ball to imagine herself held safe in John’s arms, and fell deeply asleep in an instant.

------

The following day was warm and bright, and after breakfast she and John went out for a walk, accompanied by Tom and Dorothea, and Amelia tagged along. Before lunch they went back in to play cards and practice playing the piano, for more guests were to arrive the following day, and after that there was to be a ball to introduce her to the local nobility.

After they had taken their luncheon, Sir James, John and Tom declared they would go out shooting game. Dorothea drew Lizzie aside and proposed a walk alone with her. She agreed readily, and the two women set off outside, leaving Amelia and Lady Charlotte to keep Lady Margaret company. The afternoon was overcast but still warm, and Elizabeth wore a simple pale blue dress and matching bonnet, should the sun come out and threaten to redden her complexion.

‘My dear Lizzie, it comes to my mind that you have no older sisters’ Dorothea said ‘Do you have any married friends to hold confidence with?’

‘I fear I do not. My closest acquaintance has but recently acquired a beau. She will be here for the Ball and I look forward to seeing her. I’m sure you will like her.’ she replied as they strolled through the rose garden.

‘Perhaps I may, but I was thinking that I can be your confidante and answer any questions you might have about married life’ she smiled ‘I was lucky to have good advice to prepare me for my wedding night, but not all are so fortunate’ Elizabeth grew wide eyed.

‘That would be most welcome. Mother has told me little, and although John has revealed a few details to me, I would hear from one of my own sex as to some particulars. My previous fiancé did not so much as hold my hand before I discovered his unsuitability.’ The two women came to the little arbour where she had stopped to kiss John only a day or so ago, and they sat together, shielded from prying eyes and ears.

‘Please Lizzie, ask me anything, do not be shy. And Call me Dottie, if you will’ Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude and tried to marshal the many questions that flooded her mind. She frowned in concentration.

‘Well Dottie, John says to me that there are ways of ensuring that we will not have children straight away, but it puzzles me. I dare not tell him that I know not what causes the bearing of children’ Dorothea nodded sagely.

‘It is so for many genteel ladies. We are prevented from being alone with men outside our family, and many mothers feel it indelicate to go into details.’ Dottie assured her. ‘The lower classes are much more informed than we, for they do not have estates to pass down to their heirs and bloodlines do not matter to them’

‘But lowborn and highborn alike, we all bear children. How does it come about?’ Dotty took Lizzie’s hands in her own and squeezed them gently.

‘Let me first say that you are fortunate, my dear. You have a treasure in John. He clearly loves you, and he is a considerate and honourable man. You may have seen young women of your acquaintance married off to older richer men’ She grimaced in distaste. ‘In some cases, a man cares only about his wife bearing him an heir and ignores her feelings and sensibilities’

‘Of course I know something of that.’ Elizabeth replied ‘I had a cousin who married a Lord some twenty years her senior. She bore him a fine boy, but a year later died in giving birth to a girl. It scares me to think of her passing so young.’

‘That is a danger, to be sure. I have been married a year now, and my mother constantly asks when I will come to be with child. We have tried, but so far have not been successful. I am not sure whether it is a blessing or not’

‘So you have tried? May I ask...’

‘Of course, I was coming to that. Lizzie, may I ask you something personal?’

‘Naturally, Dottie. I have asked you to be frank, so I must be also’

‘Do you – touch yourself when you are alone in your bedchamber?’

‘I – I am not sure what you mean.’ Lizzy felt herself grow hot with embarrassment.

‘Before you sleep, do you explore your body? Does thinking of John inspire you to…’

‘Oh – Mama said once that it was not seemly’ Lizzie mumbled awkwardly. Dotty sighed.

‘That is a shame. Lizzie, I charge you that if you want to be prepared for your wedding night, you should know more about yourself so that you may direct John. Some women discover things about themselves that are very useful when they marry.’

‘What should I do? I do not want to disappoint my husband’

‘Rest assured you cannot disappoint, but you can be more prepared, more aware of your sex.’ She patted her hand ‘How do you feel when John kisses you? You certainly seemed to enjoy it last night’

‘I – yes, it makes me feel – dizzy. I have told him how it makes me tingle’

‘Is there a place where you feel it the most?’

‘Yes’ she lowered her voice ‘between my legs, and there is warmth where I feel the ache on my monthly cycle’

‘That is good, Lizzie. The place where you bleed – your sex - is the place in to which John must place his seed in order for you to have a child’

‘Oh!’ she looked astonished ‘I had wondered, for those that bleed in the romances I have read are in turn relieved or devastated that it signals that they will not bear a child – but of course, it makes sense. But how does he plant that seed?’

‘You have seen pictures and sculptures of naked men, have you not?’

‘Of course, but I don’t see how…’

‘It would be improper to depict men in the state they achieve in order to plant their seed.’ Dorothea smiled ‘Though who decided that, I know not, and there are gentlemen who are rumoured to have art that depicts such things, and titillating depictions of unclothed ladies.’ She moved a little closer and lowered her voice, though they were quite private. ‘When a man desires a woman, and in other instances, his member becomes hard, and often it also grows larger. Then it is possible to enter or penetrate a woman’s sex and plant their seed’

‘That sounds – uncomfortable’ Elizabeth said dubiously, her head reeling at the thought.

‘That depends on your partner’ Dotty assured her ‘I am certain that John will make sure you enjoy it, for it can be the most sublime and heavenly experience. The first time can indeed be painful, but only for a short instance.’

‘Romantic novels would have us believe it is highly pleasurable. Is it really true?’

‘Not always, but very often if you have a considerate partner’ Dotty laughed. ‘What you can do to prepare yourself is to explore your sex when you are alone in your bedchamber. You can discover where you like to be touched, and how. Of course, it is somewhat different when your husband touches you, but it can be better if you direct him as to what pleases you.’ Elizabeth nodded, taking it all in. But still she had questions.

‘You mentioned seed – what is it?’ she asked, and this time it was Dottie’s turn to look uncomfortable. She considered her words carefully before she spoke.

‘His seed - is rather like milk or cream, thick and white, and shoots from his member at the climax of the act. There is a great deal of pleasure for him, after which he grows soft again. You will have a similar climax which they say is essential for bearing children, and necessary for your health. You say that John has inferred that you may delay having children. He most likely means that if he withdraws his member before he emits his seed, you may remain childless, as it will not reach your womb to bear fruit.’ She patted her hand ‘There are other things you may do that give you both pleasure without penetration and emission of seed, but I will leave you to discover that for yourself.’ Elizabeth frowned, almost overcome at the bombardment of information, but relieved that she knew more of what was to come upon her marriage to John.

‘This may sound silly – but what is special about marriage that facilitates the creation of a child?’ Dotty laughed.

‘Nothing at all my dear, one does not have to be married to have a child. That is but a ceremony. It is a piece of paper, a contract made between you and your husband and sanctified by the Church and by law. Without that, any two people of any rank in society may have physical relations in this way.’ Elizabeth drew a deep breath.

‘You have opened my eyes, Dotty. I am so grateful to you for telling me what I need to know. Why it is all kept so secret I cannot fathom’ Her friend patted her hand.

‘You must show no sign of knowing these things, save to your fiancé. In turn you may instruct your sister before she is wed – but only if you are certain of her affections. It would not do to have such knowledge without a serious and certain offer of marriage. Now Lizzie, unless you have more questions, perhaps we should continue with our walk’

‘I have much to think about indeed, and I think that is enough for now’ Elizabeth rose, and they continued their walk, speaking easily of trivial things before returning to the house to prepare for dinner.

@sirbeepsalot​ @camillemontespan​​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

chapter 1 --- next chapter 

Harry Potter fic masterlist

Set in the course of his Sixth Year, this story follows Slytherin's finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.

Sixth year had started nicely: Blaise had been asked to join the Slug Club, and his mother had yet to find a new disposable rich husband and was leaving him the space to do whatever he wanted. Despite Draco's father being thrown in Azkaban and the sudden sulkiness of the blonde boy, the atmosphere wasn't much tenser than usual.

Sure, Draco probably was going to kill someone by the glares he gave and might have punched Saint Potter on the train, completely justifiable, and The Dark Lord had officially risen, sending everyone in a constant state of panic; but things were not that erratic, especially for a Slytherin Pureblood like him. The world was his oyster.

Which was why he was about to kick Pansy Parkinson off the Astronomy Tower.

They had agreed upon a seating chart that allowed all of them to maximize their brain capacities in order to gain as many House Points as possible. Since Draco was the Slytherin on top of every class, damned little miss perfect Granger and her habit of beating his friend up on the podium, the settlements revolved around the blonde and each individual strength. Pansy got Charms, her silver tongue finally useful on an academic level and not only on dark corners with older students; Theodore had Potions, his natural talent ready to expose himself in front of Slughorn, who had decided to keep him out of the little impromptu meeting on the train and to whom Theo had sworn vengeance; he would get Transfiguration, being the most skilled at changing various things in different states almost flawlessly and also due to the fact that he was the best behaved Slytherin. Amongst the members of Draco's Inner Circle anyway: Crabble and Goyle were bullies and lost causes, Millicent was as dull as a wall, Theo was too impulse, Draco was, well, Draco and Pansy was, for lack of a better word, a bucchinara. Only Blaise was polite and respectful and tried to keep his personal vendettas hidden and managed to deal with them without a fuzz, and that, plus his innate aptitude for Transfiguration, meant he went along with Professor McGonagall pretty smoothly.

Which meant that Transfiguration was his.

The other classes were not as important and therefore their seatings could be random, but for those they came prepared. Slytherin was going to win the House Cup that year, unless Draco revealed that he was already a marked Death Eater, which would've made them lose a shitton of points but nothing more. After all, no one had ever been expelled from Hogwarts during Dumbledore's Reign and Blaise was positive it would never happen.

But he was about to get his first detention of the year, possibly, if that bitch didn't move. That would have not been a great way to start, but deep down he was sure it would've been worth it. "Pansy, move your white ass off that chair at this instant" he said through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips and avoiding creasing his flawless smile. 'Rule number one' his mother had taught him, 'always appear kind and gentle and then stab them in the back and get them coins.'

"Why would I do that, Zabini? I'm comfortable here" claimed the annoying girl that was very close to getting hexed, leaning back with a lazy smile on her face.

Blaise had many great qualities, but he also had no room in his body for bullshit. 'Rule number two: never hit first but obliterate them after they start. And don't forget, never ruin a manicure.' He mentally counted to ten, trying to calm himself before he did something he might've regretted, "We agreed yesterday on this" he said, slowly losing his patience. He had very little disregard for those who didn't appreciate his careful planning.

Pansy gave him a poisonous smile, her bold red lips giving her extra points in the vicious department. "Change of plans, pretty boy" she said, voice saccharine and melodious that managed to hide perfectly her true nature.

'Rule number three' his mind recalled 'do not have witnesses nor explicit motif in case you do remove someone from this Earth'. That threw a wrench in his immediate future.

Breathing deeply inwards and closing his eyes, he imagined the petite girl being slowly entrapped in a Devil's Snare and painfully dying. It made him feel instantaneously better. When he opened his eyes again, unfortunately, one of his main causes of stress was still there, now joined by Draco, who took the golden medal in the 'giving Blaise headaches' category. His roommate was puzzled by the sight but decided not to complain and chose to poke holes into Saint Potter's head with his consistent stare.

Blaise wondered, not for the first time, what would've happened first, a make-out session in a broom closet between the Saviour of the Wizarding World and his friend, or a murder. Things would be less boring around Hogwarts if either event happened, even if the school was not boring to begin with.

One of the many topics he didn't agree on with Draco, especially this year, revolved around the blonde's complete annoyance to school life, despite maintaining stellar markings. Hogwarts was full of life and joy and unexpectedness.

Which was why Blaise didn't exactly want to start the year with a detention. "Very well" he said eventually, scanning the room for a proper desk to sit at. He would've avoided Gryffindors as if they carried the Plague, of course, but it seemed that the only empty chair was alongside one of them.

"Holy burning hell" he thought to himself, scolding his face into a bored and superior expression as he carefully watched Neville Fucking Longbottom casually reading his textbook with a Muggle pencil behind his ear. Blaise hadn't had all the time in the world back at the Hogwarts Express to see anyone other than his close friends, too much preoccupied to make a good first impression with Professor Slughorn to care about his fellow classmates, let alone someone as insignificant as 'Schlongbottom', as the other Slytherins called him.

"Boy oh boy, have I made a mistake!" his mind screamed.

He used to be lanky and chubby, but he must have definitely worked out during the summer, for he didn't look that way anymore. Under the shirt and vest, it was possible to see the beginning of some seriously well-kept muscles and, despite his slouched position, he an aura of confidence that he was missing the previous year. "Fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry surely left its mark, uh?" he wondered as he watched the Gryffindor move his head to talk to Weasley. There were so many of them that Blaise couldn't be bothered to keep notice of them all, but he recognized the one into his year as a general individual, blending the remaining white boys into a general identity.

He was almost immediately broken from his mind and brought to reality: "I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes" Draco snickered as he also noticed the only empty spot in the classroom, drawing also Pansy's attention to his misery. The witch gave him another vicious smile, before slowly and purposefully turning into her seat as Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. She had won that round, but Blaise was positive the unexpected outcome would see him victorious as well. 'Rule number fifteen, ogling a hot person is a great past time.'

Unbothered on the outside, he moved lazily towards the Gryffindor, noticing the surprise on the boy's face as he moved the chair next to him and took his place silently. Immediately he tensed, waiting for Blaise to attack him as his roommates had done many times, and it almost pained him to see all the confidence disappear under a cautious mask. But he had to give it to him, Longbottom didn't even flinch as he unceremoniously dumped his textbook and notebook on his side of the desk. He would've gotten a lot of dirty looks from his friends if he was somebody else carrying a Muggle object, but since he was Blaise Zabini no one said anything. After all, countless meters of parchment were as impractical as eating soup with a fork.

He also didn't miss the slightest nod of approval to ever been given him, directly from Professor McGonagall herself, before she began her first lecture of the sixth year.

And with that, they started.

***

Two hours later and with six pages of notes and the tiniest smidge of ink from a Muggle pen on his hands, 'I'll be damned if I have to write every day with a messy quill", the lecture was over. Professor McGonagall had done a brilliant job as usual, with her being the most competent, if not the only, teacher in the school, but one thing was absolutely clear as day to Blaise: the recently very attractive Gryffindor boy seated next to him was absolutely useless at Transfiguration. His grandfather would've used the word chiavica with a disapproving look at his way and forced him to sit and eat twelve different dishes, as if that would've made him improve.

The problem wasn't that he lacked the proper concentration and magical talent, but rather that he wasn't as passionate about the subject as Blaise was. The boy had also taken countless notes, writing them at the corners of his book in a minute calligraphy with his Muggle graphite, and he seemed to grasp the general concept, yet failed almost comically at properly producing the magic.

Needless to say, the Slytherin dreaded the day his favourite teacher would give them a project to be done in pairs.

Not a single word had been uttered between the two boys, as it should have been. They had no communal interests nor any shared group of acquaintances, even if they were both Purebloods. Their Houses were rivals, their roommates were arch-nemesis, and yet here they both were, seated in silence next to each other.

But there had been guarded glances from both sides, of that he was sure. He looked at the Gryffindor with fretted disinterest, desperately trying not to get caught staring at the hot guy next to him like a creep, while Longbottom looked occasionally back with something akin of fear and disdain. He wasn't really surprised by the reaction and couldn't really blame him. Blaise wasn't sure if his family had remained neutral or had been hurt at the hands of Death Eaters before Saint Potter saved everyone, but nevertheless, the Slytherin house suffered an image decline due to their notorious works. The House reputation was turbid and getting dirtier by the hour, with all the alumni tarnishing the good name of their former house with their debauchery. Of course, not all Slytherins were evil, but it was the fucking coincidence of the majority of those evildoers being Slytherins that gave way to all the hate.

"You're just giving into the stereotype" he had ranted at Draco on the train, after the blonde told him the news, "and yours is such a bloody shitton of bullshit l cannot tolerate anymore!"

And just like that, the class was over and students packed their bags to migrate into their next lecture. He had now a free period, as the majority of his friends took Divination for reasons unknown to him, and decided to make it count as much as possible by staying in the library before going to 6th year History of Magic.

After signalling a little goodbye to his housemates, he turned around to the pretty useless boy next to him to begrudgingly salute him as well and perhaps ask him to trade place with someone less inept at the subject, only to find said incredibly tall and gorgeous beefcake standing in all his height with a bag draped over his shoulder. Despite the sudden tough exterior, he had a kind and polite smile and a softness in his voice that Blaise would've never guessed. "Apparently we have to seat next to each other now" he said with a shy tone, and then immediately went to nervously bite his lips. Blaise was dumbfounded, unable to form words at the sight hovering over him. He definitely wasn't the lanky boy he remembered.

Unsettled by his lack of response and probably taking his silence as a sign of disgust, Longbottom let out a shaky laugh, trying to ease the tension. Bringing a hand up to scratch his neck. "Look, I get it if you want to switch" he began, looking down at his shoes, "but I don't think Professor McGonagall would let us."

That brought him back on Earth. He had not mistaken the look of approval the Professor had given him and he'd be damned if he ever let down the best teacher Hogwarts had ever seen over something so futile as a seating partner.

Also it didn't hurt that his deskmate was a bloody vision, incompetent maybe, but most definitely his type. And now more than ever he needed to know for which team this asshole beat for.

"Yeah, no. I know, it's fine or whatever" he stuttered nonchalantly, knowing that he sounded dismissal while on the inside he was a bubbling mess. Trying to regain his composure and to remember his reputation, he spat out with as little venom as possible, "I guess there could be worse of you lot to sit next to."

"Wrong. Fucking. Thing. To. Say. Genius" his mind yelled as he internally cringed at his choice of words while maintaining a disinterested exterior. He saw the exact moment Longbottom's face went from kind and polite to pissed off. In all the years they had spent at school together they had never really talked or acknowledged each other's existence, not as much as he had with members of the other two Houses, yet Longbottom would've never stroke him as the type of person that could get angry.

"That's cause you never spoke to him until now. Stop thinking with your dick" his brain fired as he rose from his seat and stood a few centimetres short of the Gryffindor. He had to admit that it was incredibly hard to stop thinking with his dick at the moment, but managed to maintain a neutral expression.

"Yeah, well. I guess so too" replied rather childishly the other boy, folding his arms over his chest and giving him what must've been his best glare.  "I was trying to be polite, but I guess there is no way for a civilized conversation or partnership with you lot" he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Now it was Blaise's turn to appear pissed and he mustered his worst killing glare, created by years of training,  "Do not generalize me and I won't generalize you."

Longbottom was looking down at him, almost as if he was a puzzle that was not behaving. He supposed that from his perspective it was like that, since generally speaking they were supposed to hate each other's guts and here they were, one clearly trying not to lust for the other and the other apparently disapproving of the one's entire existence.

He eventually conceded, "Very well. See you around, Zabini." And with that Longbottom left, joining Thomas and that Fire Kid from his House.

Blaise was left alone, baffled and shocked, before he shook violently his head and left also the classroom and began walking in solitude towards the library.

This had the potential to become a great or a terrible year, and he supposed that the majority of the chances rested on the unexpected outcome of the Transfiguration class.

GLOSSARY: 

'bucchinara' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone who gives blowjobs'

'chiavica' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone that really really sucks at something'

[whatwashernameagain]

Mine to protect

After reading this lovely one-shot I was forced to write my own. You know how those are impossible to resist? This fic is based on chapter 23 of Keep him safe, but can easily be read separately.

Ao3 Link

Summary: Former delinquent Virgil Raine’s life has finally gotten back on track under the care of detective Logan Sanders, but after his dark past caught up with him and caused a friend to get injured he is devastated. The urge to simply disappear and protect those morons from the dangers he keeps attracting is hard to resist. Logan knows his little delinquent well though and ensures he feels safe and cared for and helps him realize that they can rely on each other. Holding him is no hardship at all for the man who’s made it his mission to provide protection for his family after all.

Warnings: Hints of past violence and past eating disorder, anxiety, crying (now it sounds bleak, but it’s really frigging cute, I swear!)

Pairing: Platonic analogical (Logan/Virgil)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Snuggles

Words: 1.871

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Mine to protect

Logan sighed as he once again heard a thumping sound from the room that had become Virgil’s own. After they’d finally come home from the hospital, the young man had looked ready to collapse, guilt and fear about their near miss, about the injury of his friend pressing heavily against his mind. Instead of trying to flee their care again, the former delinquent had avoided getting captured by Roman’s well meaning hands trying to gently forestall his escape again and had locked himself into his room.

Fear twisted in Logan’s stomach as he gently taped a band aid over his partner’s large, well manicured hand. The younger detective looked quite crushed, and not only because Virgil had made sure to scratch and kick him properly for trying to hold onto him. Roman had done the right thing though. From the start of their relationship, Virgil had feared for the safety of his voluntary protectors, had feared his dark past catching up to him and hurting them. He was far too selfless to not try to remove himself from their lives. Well. That would not do. He’d have to calm his little delinquent down before he hurt himself or talked himself into leaving again. The keys to Logan’s front door were still hanging from their hooks next to the door after all, tempting him to unlock the door and slip away in the cover of nightfall. Logan’s unadorned ones, Roman’s impractical, colorful Disney ornaments as well as Virgil’s simple and practical purple carabiner hook. Logan had gifted in to him so he could attach his keys to his belt loop when he kept them inside his pocket. The idea of the young man loosing access to the place of safety he had created for him had made his stomach churn uncomfortably. He wanted him to feel secure in his right to come and go as he pleased. To know that this flat wasn’t just Logan’s anymore, but theirs.

After sending Roman to his spot on the couch with the stuffed unicorn Prince Sparkles and the glittering monstrosity of a balloon he’d gotten from the hospital (it rained glitter everywhere), where he put a Pixar movie on for him, he quietly knocked on Virgil’s door.

“What?” The young man growled after a too long pause. The older detective imagined the young man freezing like a deer in the headlight.

“It’s me. May I come in?” He asked softly, making his voice calm and even.

With a grumbling sound following another long pause, the sound of a key turning in the lock indicated his invitation. Entering the room, Logan took in its state, as well as that of his charge. Virgil had apparently gotten busy pulling all of their shared books from the shelve to reorganize them, probably simply to give his nervous hands something to fidget with. His own organization was certainly not the issue! Logan prided himself in his system for very good reasons!

The young man was already looking uncomfortable at dislodging something in his apartment like he had done when the older man had first brought him here to recover. It was a setback the attentive detective observed with growing worry. The fact that his adopted friend one now moved around the kitchen like it had become his to rule over had given them all great comfort. Cooking had become a form of relaxation for him and he’d finally grown unafraid of hitting Roman’s fingers when he tried to steal a bite or of telling them to get out until he was done when he wanted his peace and quiet. The rudeness had warmed Logan for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. There was nothing to do now but once again try to reassure him of his right to be here with them, no matter how awkward he often felt about taking initiative in initiating their affectionate gestures. He had gotten much better with practice though.

“Sit with me, please.” He requested, settling on the bed he had held the then bruised and frightened creature on for the first time. It felt very long ago that Virgil had been brought to his guest room, beaten and defensive and very brave still. He’d been bird-thin under his hands then. The fact that he was slowly starting to gain weight had reassured Logan greatly. As he settled his palm over the bowed back tentatively now, he could still feel too prominent bones, but could not spot the individual ribs through the fabric of the t-shirt. His protecting hoodie had been flung into the corner in an uncharacteristic fit of untidiness. It smelled of disinfectant, Logan guessed.

His little delinquent looked cold in the worn fabric, and far too small with the way he hunched his shoulders. His pale hands were twisting the t-shirt compulsively, no doubt missing the long sleeves.

Wordlessly, Logan allowed his arm to slip around his shoulders, drawing him closer gently. Virgil was small enough to fit under the taller man’s arm perfectly, especially as the tension finally leaked from him after a few long moments. He sagged against his friend’s chest, leaning his cheek against the cool fabric of the dark blue vest.

Fondness welled up in the tired young man. He felt so drained, so beaten by the unfairness that was life. All of those idiots were trying so hard to protect him from his past, not caring if they got hurt. The weight of his failures pressed hard against his mind. Everything felt so heavy.

And yet, here he was, being pulled against the side of a man who was probably still trying to swallow down a complaint about the disruption of his book-sorting-system and who was walking around his own flat with his tie still firmly knotted and not even the buttons on the sleeves of his pressed dress shirt opened. His socks matched the color of his vest. He was such a square. Virgil was hit by how much he loved this painfully tidy nerd. More tension drained from him as Logan’s hand rubbed up and down his arm before pulling the soft blanket over his narrow shoulders and resuming his hold. His go-to move when someone was sad. The fucking nerd.

His little smile of endearment brought mortified, terrified tears to his eyes. He could have lost this fucking moron today, could have lost all of them, because they stupidly demanded to stand between him and the world when it was clearly he who should be hurt! He clasped a hand over his mouth, tasting bile, tasting loss.

His world churned briefly, uncomfortably, as he was manhandled by the secure hands on him. After a brief moment of disorientation, Virgil found himself lying on his bed with Logan holding onto him tightly, squishing him against his broad chest and soothingly running his hands through his perpetually tangled hair. He held on.

Breathing was difficult for a long moment, as if the emotions he’d tried to hold at bay were pressing down on his chest. He trembled.

“It is alright, Virgil. You are safe and so are we. The worst is behind us now. I need you to stay with me now, alright? Listen to my voice and concentrate on nothing else.”

His name was spoken like an endearment.

Wrapping his larger body around the little delinquent, Logan did his best to shield him from the world, from his own mind, and kept whispering to him, letting him feel the vibrations of his deep voice where their chests were pressed together. A sob escaped the young man that shook his whole body.

Logan tucked his tear-stained face into the crook of his neck, his heart breaking. His little one. He’d never thought adopting this infuriating creature that had caused him nothing but trouble in the past would make him feel so much. So much helplessness and fear and protectiveness and love.

He whispered to him for a long time, rubbing his back and allowing him to cry himself out.

Their moment was finally interrupted as the blanket they were lying on was pulled insistently, an angry, chirring/screeching sound accompanying the motion. Unlike Virgil, Cat the raccoon had had no problems gaining weight and was now attempting to haul all of it up the side of the bed.

The creature, another of Logan’s unwillingly adopted strays, was not fond of stress and had hidden under the bed upon feeling Virgil’s restlessness. The useless critter. Now that the young man had almost cried himself out, it climbed over them with pointy feet and claws and tried to squeeze itself into the nonexistent space between the two men with an annoyed gurgling sound. How had Logan managed to find a beast this ill mannered?!

“Verdammtes Mistvieh!” The older detective cursed quietly as he got hissed at for not making room quickly enough. The hairy monster unfortunately liked no one and only barely tolerated anyone close to it. Except for Virgil.

A watery laugh escaped him as the still quite patchy and scruffy creature insistently curled itself into a ball under his chin, making their embrace a little awkward but far more amusing. His neck got licked. Hiccuping slight, Virgil curved his body to accommodate his friend. It was always so defensive, having it seek his contact was all the more precious for how rare the occasion was. Logan was less amused though.

With an annoyed huff, he freed himself from the unsanitary creature. Tears on his clothes he could easily handle, but the striped fur of this monster got everywhere. It gurgled at him, snapping its jaws.

Feeling his little delinquent tense upon feeling abandoned, Logan made sure to quickly situate himself behind the young man, curling around him like a large and warm blanket. A sigh escaped Virgil that seemed to make him even smaller in his arms.

“I know your day has been very difficult, but trust me, with time and distance after traumatic events your constitution should improve rapidly. You have so far proven to be remarkably resilient and I believe that we can overcome this obstacle together.” He promised, soothingly brushing back too long bangs out of Virgil’s pale face. The purple was growing out, showing raven strands at the roots.

“Not worried ‘bout myself.” The other mumbled into gray fur.

“I am aware. But it is alright. We are all safe and the danger has passed. You are feeling responsible, but it would benefit you to remember that we are relying on you as much as you are on us. We trust you because we know you would do the same for us.”

Virgil stayed silent. It would take a long time to truly help him get over his guilt, but Logan had time. He stilled as his calloused hand was captured. Nimble, cool fingers undid the small buttons on his sleeve, helping to make him more comfortable. Virgil watched over them as much as Logan watched over his little delinquent, he just didn’t notice it yet. But he would with enough patience. Pressing an inconspicuous kiss to the now smoothed out locks, Logan held onto the young man under his protection until his fingers got bitten by the gottverdammter, dreckinger Waschbär...

Why was he keeping this unpleasant, ill-mannered raccoon again?

Right. Virgil was laughing.

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Friendly reminder: Comments are love and make needy writers happy! Though any kind of love is awesome! *hugs you all*

Next Chapter

[my-love-peterp]

Mistaken Chapter Two

Word Count: 2000 THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: Things get messy and so does Kaida. We all have our past traumas. But not all coping mechanisms are created equally. Or: two kindred spirits find themselves at the right time for the wrong reasons.

Warnings: language, underage (barely) drinking, smutty smut, mentions of the snappening, again NO ENDGAME SPOILERS

A/N:  Good morning! Chapter Three will be out tonight. You may have seen me over @fabtasticass which is my main blog. So this is my first fanfic and it’s going to be a big one. It is a Soulmates AU but not in the traditional way. That won’t show up until later chapters. I’m going to try to keep endgame a secret the best I can. I have some very angsty ups and downs planned but I’m trying to hold back. So I’ll tag each chapter with what pairing might be in that chapter in the official Tumblr tags but never at the beginning.

Chapter One

The nightmares were relentless. Watching your sister literally turn into dust before your eyes would probably to that to anyone. However, while I still suffered and could barely sleep, it seemed that the world had all but moved on. Everyone was back and grateful to be.

I never would be again. Nadia and I, we had a telepathic connection, not unlike that of soulmates, biologically. Or so we were told. To feel that instantly ripped away from me, well, let’s just say things got bloody and fast. But that’s not something I ever wanted to think of again.

And because the universe had some grudge against me, particularly, she never returned. Whatever fates guided the justice of the stones had decided not to return her.

Her last words both haunted and condemned me.

She lay on the couch, fading, a pleading look entering her eyes. “Find him Kay, you’re all he has now of his real family. Find him.” Him. Her son. Kept a secret from everyone, even our employers. She’d given him up for his own safety, knowing that the alternative was a lifetime of experiments and servitude. But of course we kept tabs on him as he grew, a bouncing three year old with shiny blonde hair and a personality bigger than this world. If I hadn’t seen her give birth to him herself, I would never have believed they were biologically related. The only thing they shared was her slate gray eyes. 

I had failed to save her, and even now had never looked for him. Not after that day. So every night I would relieve that moment, over and over again, that agony, despair and overwhelming guilt.

Sometimes, I could swear I still felt her in my mind, filling the cavernous vacancy that was her.

Thank god I had my own kitchen. The fewer questions I had to answer the better.

My official training had been postponed due to a long mission the Captain and Wanda were on overseas. Stark was guest lecturing at MIT for a few weeks, something about the interconnected worlds of science and mysticism. But because everyone was off on separate secret missions, I was in an empty tower. Even Clint and Natasha were nowhere to be seen.

I’d been living at Avengers Tower for a few days with this same routine when finally, I got restless and decided I needed to break out. I’d never done well with cages, no matter how high tech.

Director Nick Fury had run down all the rules and curfews for new recruits.

Spidey had actually been the person forced to help me unpack my meager belongings into my new suite of rooms. It was probably the only time I’d smiled since that night.

I’d managed to get out of that place with a backpack, duffle bag, and two suitcases. Peter had lifted the larger of the two suitcases rather easily but still gave me an incredulous look.

“What did you put in here? Bricks???” He stooped down and unzipped the case, his goofy plaid shirt untucking from his khakis, exposing the briefest glimpse of rippling lean muscles.

“What the-,” he choked out in that silly high pitched voice of his, that was actually kind of adorable. “You ran away, from whatever it is that you ran from… and you packed your biggest suitcase full of books?”

I had simply shrugged and replied, “I’m nothing if not totally impractical at all times,” before turning on my heel and carrying the duffle bag to the walk-in closet. I had felt Peter’s eyes on my back the whole way there until you kicked the door shut, more out of playful spite than anything.

Anywho, because of all the ruckus, the extent of my powers hadn’t been cataloged or tested, so it was very unlikely they were prepared for your ability to fade into the shadows of any place I existed.

In my bathroom, after having showered, shaved and put my best ‘fuck me’ face of makeup, I pulled on a white lace bodysuit, with deep, scalloped cleavage and floating transparent sleeves and a pair of nearly tattered, high-waisted daisy dukes. Paired with white stiletto combat boots, it was a killer outfit.

Melting into the shadows, I caught myself grinning in twisted anticipation and flitted out the door.

The club was packed, which was perfect for me after about two drinks. My anxiety with crowds melted away and I was finally able to give in and fade into the pulsing rhythm of the crowd. Here, I was truly invisible.

Crowds only served to remind me of a time in my life that was best left forgotten.

Deep breaths, Kaida, deep breaths.

When the breathing stopped working, there was always tequila. One shot, two.

Ten.

Dancing on other people, on the bars and chairs and tables. For the first time in months, I felt my inhibitions lift. I even made some drunk friends in the bathroom. The sober one among them was able to get me in a cab right before the last call and I directed him to Avengers Tower.

My skin crawled the entire way back, heat rushing down my spine and spreading throughout my body. Apparently, I still had some steam to work off. Luckily I had just the B.O.B.

Fanning myself, I reached into the little pearly clutch I kept with me on nights like these and grabbed a hair tie, pulling my tumbling curls up and off my neck, praying to instantly transport back to my room. I wasn’t totally positive my body didn’t have spontaneous combustion on the agenda.

Fortunately, that’s when my cab driver announced we had reached our destination. I paid him and tipped quite handsomely, as I hadn’t really had to pay for any of my drinks that night or pay the entrance fee. Mutant perks and all.

Despite my inebriated state, I was able to lift off and fly up to the floor that held my rooms, once I was in the gaping lobby of the tower.

Only one problem. Every door looked the same.

Stopping in front of the door that looked the most like my own in this drunken stupor, I took a moment before collapsing through the door, only to find an older man sitting at the kitchenette counter, nursing what looked to be about his sixth scotch and holding an ice pack to his left eye.

The man was attractive. Old enough to be my dad, but fine as hell.

His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he took in the full state of my undress in sweaty club clothes and he shifted uncomfortably on the metal stool he sat upon.

“You, sir, are just what the doctor ordered,” I said as I swaggered toward him. As I approached his stool, I reached toward his face, as though I intended to cradle it in my palm, his eyes glazing over with desire and intoxication, before faking him out as he began to lean in and snatching the tumbler out of his hands and downing the entirety of the contents.

He gasped, whether in indignation or out of pure attraction I was unsure.

“That scotch you just drained like swill costs about $13,000. By the way, who are you and what are you doing in my rooms? And aren’t you a little young to be drinking and going out looking like… like-“, he cut himself off as I slid my barely covered ass up and back onto the counter he was perching in front of.

“Does it matter who I am,” I asked, tipping my head to the side with an exaggerated pout from my crimson-painted lips. “But if you must know, my name is Kai, and I’m more than old enough to know how to keep up with a guy like you, Mr. Stark.”

He groaned at the sound of my rough, ‘sex voice’ using such formalities with him. Tony looked me up and down, staring as I tantalizingly slid my hand up my thigh, pulling my shorts higher and higher, revealing your lace covered sex bit by bit. After all, these shorts were mostly holes with a side of denim and loose enough to give everyone a sneak peek. My knees were shoulder level with Tony Stark’s shoulders, the Iron Man, more or less my new boss/landlord, but I couldn’t care less.

“See something you like Mr. Stark,” I purred at him in that voice again. This snapped Tony to attention and he shot to his feet, crowding my space, forcing my back down flat on the counter top.

“I’d like it a lot better if you’d shut up and let me take you right here.”

“How presumptuous of you Mr. Stark, you’re old enough to be my father. Do you really think you could handle me?” 

Hey if you don’t want to read smut, it starts right here, I’ll tell you where to jump to:

The line would have landed a lot better if I hadn’t also let out a breathless gasp as Tony pulled my knees apart and rubbed his nose along my clothed slit, his facial hair scraping my inner thigh, sending flurries of pleasure up my spine, my flash breaking out in goose-bumps.

“We’ll see if you can handle someone with my expertise little girl, just don’t call me daddy,” he growled before ripping my pants down to your ankles and tossing them behind his head before he ripped off my body suit out of impatience despite my protests that quickly dissipated as he began to feast and suck up all my wetness, tongue pistoning in and out, driving my senses wild. He had me falling apart around him in minutes, obviously more talented than any other man I’d ever been with.

“That’s one Ms. Stone, how many more do you think you can take?” Tony teased me as I struggled to sit upright after that onslaught. Instead of answering, I kissed him, hard. Teeth banging together and tongues exploring each other’s mouths I was decently surprised to discover he tasted like honey and blackberries as well as me.

Tony lifted me up and off the counter by gripping my ass and sliding me towards him, encouraging me to wrap my still trembling legs around his waist.

Instead of complying, I pried myself out of his grasp and slid down to my knees in front of him, palming his clothed hard on.

“I believe this is what they call reciprocation Stark. Or perhaps, payback.”

The night continued on as such until you both were sated and absolutely exhausted.

*********************************End Smut ***************************************

The next morning I woke up right before 7 am with the urgent need to relieve myself. Yanking with my slightly enhanced strength, I pulled the bed sheet out from under Tony, opting to rush out the door and into my own room. Pulling the door towards myself, I was hit with bright hallways and muttered conversations.

Quietly cursing my luck, I pulled the bed sheet tighter around my cleavage before lifting my chin high and proudly marching down the corridor to my own chambers.

I heard Pietro mutter a question to Peter, whose eyes were bulging out of their sockets. “She’s uh… she’s the new recruit we brought in while you all were in Wakanda… Did she just come out of Mr. Stark’s rooms??”

“Take a picture boys, it’ll last longer,” I had finally reached her door, having passed the two gawking boys when she let Tony’s sheet pool around my ankles, revealing my stomach, much softer than it used to be, ample cleavage pushed up by my white lace bra and my shorts that had truly seen better mornings, but still worked to cover my body decently. A choked gasp and a hacking fit were the only responses from Spidey and the silver-haired man I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

As soon as the doors to my suite closed, I fell to my knees, panting through a panic attack before pulling myself together half an hour later to shower and change into my training uniform that Happy had delivered to my rooms yesterday. It was my first official day as a part of the team. And judging by the way it had started, I might need a drink sooner rather than later.

So we’re starting to get more into the head of Kaida, little glimpses into her backstory. She’s very loose-canon and errs on the side of self-destruction. Anyways, I’m formatting Chapter Three right now. I’m so enthused by the response, I really didn’t expect anyone to see this but I’m hype. 

tags: @laurfangirl424 @peeterparkr @private-bucky-barnes

[qzwrites]

this is my first vorkosigan saga fic and there is nary a vorkosigan in sight; kit bemoaned the lack of domestic gay ethan of athos sequels, so here i fucking am, doing the work we both deserve

---

Ethan was trying hard not to expect anything of Terrence. Terrence had already done so much for Athos, for Ethan, it seemed greedy to want more.

It was very difficult not to want more.

It didn't help that his friends and coworkers kept making insinuating remarks, about Terrence being his type, and about trading up. Why yes, thank you, he had noticed Terrence was a slim blond younger man. Yes, he was sharing his home with a nubile young adult, thanks for noticing.

It was just that sometimes, Terrence did...flirt with him. There wasn't any way to soften that, really; Terrence was pretty worldly, for all that he was nineteen. Having to be inside other people's heads probably had something to do with that. And being a lab experiment. And losing almost everyone he'd ever cared about. There were many, many reasons Terrence was a more mature nineteen year old than Ethan had been, or anyone else Ethan knew.

So Ethan couldn't believe Terrence didn't know what he was doing. After all, he even knew how attractive Ethan found him. And he wasn't exactly under any illusions as to Ethan's relationship with Janos. Despite the hostile reception Ethan had faced on Kline Station, it seemed not all galactics were so judgmental. Elli Quinn hadn't seemed particularly concerned about it, except when she was trying to drive him away, and Terrence had seemed nonplussed when it came up in conversation.

"It feels the same," he said. "I should know."

Which was a little disconcerting, to hear his feelings compared to what galactic men felt about women, or what women felt about men. It shouldn't have been, maybe; certainly his experiences in the galactic community had at least proved women were human, but it was hard to shake your entire cultural upbringing, especially since it wasn't otherwise a bad upbringing, or a bad culture. For instance, ignoring the labor that went into child-rearing, as Quinn claimed most civilizations did, seemed shortsighted and ignorant, as well as impractical. It was much easier to plan for things you acknowledged, in Ethan's experience. Trying to ignore them did not actually fix them.

And perhaps it was just prejudice speaking, but Athos was much homier and comfier than a station, or a starship, or the endless underground corridors of Beta. Escobar had looked nice, but it had also looked very busy and crowded, which didn't seem relaxing. Athosian society needed work, and rewarded work, but it was important to take vacations and have leisure time as well. It was part of a balanced life, and a balanced society. And so much of Athosian work was so concrete, and satisfying. Ethan could watch the fetuses grow into babies, hand them off to joyful fathers, see what he did and how it changed the world around him. His father could watch the fish grow, count the fish he sold, share a meal with someone who bought from him if they chose. He was sure the work people did in the office buildings of Escobar felt important and made a contribution, but he liked being able to see the accomplishments of his brothers.

So he certainly wasn't willing to throw the baby out with the bathwater on his home planet's culture, but...he could admit there was, perhaps, a little extra bathwater. It still felt strange to hear his feelings for Janos, or even his feelings for Terrence, compared to the feelings of, of Quinn's cousin Teki to his female lover.

So sometimes, Terrence did flirt with him, and he knew what he was doing, and it wasn't intellectually confusing, necessarily, but it was a bit of an stormy sea, emotionally. And it wasn't made any easier by living with him; it was like being a teenager again, with Janos walking around all cute and flirty and Ethan not being entirely sure he should notice or think anything of it, but not being able to avoid it. When he woke up, Terrence was sleepily coming out of the bathroom, with bedhead and the slightest shadow of stubble. When he came home from work, Terrence waved at him from the garden, which he had added vegetables to go along with the flowers, or offered him the leftovers of whatever he'd had for an afternoon snack, or told him about helping a child in the park with his kite while on a walk. And when it got late, when they stayed up after dinner to talk, or went to see a show, or stopped by at the festival the community school was hosting, Terrence would laugh, or smile, and look content in a way Ethan had not seen him look at all on Kline Station, or when talking about any part of his past that wasn't Janine.

It was impossible not to think about kissing him, when he did things like that.

Ethan had almost put off having his first son until he moved to the new Rep Center they were building in the mountains, but Terrence had convinced him not to. "You were so excited to get back for him," he said. "And he'll have me when you get busy." He smiled and said, "Besides, didn't you say being Primary Nurturer for someone else's sons was the fastest way to earn my own?"

So every day at Sevarin was even more exciting now. Ethan certainly never got bored of his job, and it had been a relief to return to it after so long off-world, but his excitement over the development of the fetuses in his care was no longer simply that of the doctor in charge. He was the doctor in charge and one of the fathers, and he was more than twice as excited, for rather than adding up, the excitement seemed to multiply.

When Ethan got home after work, 21 weeks into his first son's development, he all but threw open the front door and announced, "He moved today!"

Terrence looked up from his reading, and smiled. "That's wonderful," he said, sincerely. He turned off his tablet and set it aside. "Did you get to see it?"

"No," Ethan admitted. He set down his bag and shrugged out of his jacket. "It was between my rounds. But I did spot it on the records before the tech," he said. He sat down on the couch next to Terrence. "So I suppose you could say I discovered it."

"Aw," Terrence said. "That's nice, at least."

"Yeah," Ethan agreed, and bent over to unlace his shoes.

He'd just pulled one shoe off when Terrence said, "So we should have sex."

Ethan wasn't sure how those thoughts were connected. He loosened the laces on his remaining shoe. "Er," he said.

"I know you're trying to be considerate and patient," Terrence said, and of course he did, he didn't go out of his way to avoid foods with tyramine. "Which is sweet. I appreciate it. But I don't think I'm going to get any more ready."

Ethan set his shoes off to the side and sat up. He looked at Terrence, who was watching him, gaze steady and calm. He did not look like Ethan's idea of a nineteen year old who had just propositioned someone. He knew for a fact he himself had never looked so self-possessed immediately after coming onto someone when he was Terrence's age. "I didn't mean you had to be in a relationship with me in order for me to help you," Ethan said.

Terrence smiled. "I know you didn't," he said, and the fond way he looked at Ethan made his heart leap into his throat. "But you did make it sound like a very appealing option." He shifted his legs under him, so he was leaning toward Ethan instead of away, and rested his head on Ethan's shoulder. "I was worried if I waited any longer, I would put you off forever. It's probably best to take advantage of my teenage libido and ensure we're fully pair-bonded by the time your son is born."

Ethan laughed. "Well, that's not very romantic," he said.

Terrence raised his head from Ethan's shoulder and looked up at him. This close, his intense eyes were almost overwhelming. He said, "You were the first person besides Janine to acknowledge my humanity. You were the first person ever to think I could do anything but hurt people." He put a hand on Ethan's thigh and smiled again. "Is that romantic enough for you?"

Ethan kissed him, of course; what else could he do?

[venacoeurva]

Aftermath, Chapter 10: A Familiar Coldness

You can read this on AO3 here.

If you are new to this fic, you can start from chapter 1 here. And PLEASE read the tags and the notes at the start of each chapter for content warnings, I am not responsible for your mental health, you are.

This chapter is rated: T (mostly for language)

Terra considers the main personal topics of the month, Isa is angry and kind of a mess(again), Lea is disappointed in Isa (again), and night lights are an important part to a home. This isn't a very action-packed chapter, mostly fleshing out a pathway to future events and to get some of Terra's perspective and concerns before more Isa perspective-centric chapters.

No trigger warnings for this one unless you don't like someone having a panic attack, otherwise it's fairly mild.

            The clouds began to cover the world in a blanket of snow, sky a dark gray and quiet as everyone went to their homes.

           There were a few persistent things on Terra’s mind as he power-walked back home, them being what Xemnas was up to, was Vanitas acclimating to not having to fight all the time, and if Isa was fine with being called Isa now or if he was just running with it because everyone called him that. It seemed like he’d ask at least him and Lea to call him something else if he wasn’t for being called that, though. He’d have to ask.

           Vanitas was still very much a work in progress, as much as any teenager who was originally existing only to become a weapon and was beaten in combat every day. The pain he felt with every Unversed’s demise only made it harder on him. He still mostly avoided everyone sans Ventus, who he was very clingy toward despite proclaiming how annoying he was. His days still comprised of trailing warily after Ven while holding on to some article of clothing which was usually a sleeve or wristband, being angry, and having panic attacks before going to his room for hours. He was very sensitive to being seen crying. So yeah, he had a while and needed to work on a lot to even be remotely functional.

           If he was mature enough and comfortable, he could sit down with Isa and discuss their abusive upbringings and find solidarity, but Vanitas definitely wasn’t at the point of discussing that. It wasn’t like Isa was open to just telling anyone about his childhood, either; he’d probably just shut off his feelings again and Saïx-mode would activate.

           Speaking of, Saïx mode hadn’t been seen in quite a while. Maybe he was coping with emotions better now, or just better at suppressing them to the point where it wasn't like there was an on-off switch on him.

           And then there was Xemnas. It also wasn’t hard to tell he did not like Xemnas—he represented the darkest point of Terra’s existence. He was his own body moving and doing without much of his input, and now he was basically a copy of him with a different personality that budded within his body prior! Xemnas was a walking effigy of trauma for him.

           Now, he could sympathize with Isa as to why he was apparently somewhat fond of him, though. What he did not understand was how those feelings coexisted so easily with his plans to casually murder him. Saïx was an enigma, and he would use the useful and discard the impractical if the situation called for it—that was about the best reasoning he could come up with. Also, abandonment issues and patricide.

           As time went on, more memories from his time as Xemnas and Xemnas as a separate entity came back to him, and the more he began to comprehend their interactions as well as the thoughts and feelings of the people within his body at the time. He could see the branching off as their heart recovered and Xemnas gained his own sense of self. It seemed only natural for him to do so while his heart formed even if he was going to be strong-armed as a vessel if he didn’t want to comply. Whether he was reluctant or not was debatable, but he has his own motives outside of that whole issue.

           Some information was helpful socially, like he remembered that Isa couldn’t lay on his stomach and feel something on his back or else he’d panic and get violent and he had always hated people touching him before he could see them. In retrospect, that made a lot of sense why when he was affectionate he’d be consistently looking at whoever the recipient was or initiated it himself. Prior to remembering this, Terra wasn’t sure if Isa disliked the latter purely because of his jumpiness after moving into the apartment—partially because of what he went through and because his mental breakdown put him in a pretty bad place. That was an easy assumption to make, to be fair.

           Other things he could recall were that Braig was very picky with what brushes he could use to tame his hair (no wonder it always looked so silky and free of snarls), Lea would drink basically anything caffeinated but really liked macchiatos and energy drinks that should probably be banned and he was double-jointed, and Vexen could reach incredibly high octaves if you scared him badly enough. The man could be an opera singer or could join a choir.

           Regardless, it would be so strange to see Xemnas separate from him, to see someone who was basically an exact clone going about completely independently from him and Xehanort. This wasn’t to say Terra anticipated seeing him; he would greatly prefer he instead melt back into nothingness and everyone could just move on like before he made his not-so-grand return. It wasn’t like he could state this out loud, as it was fairly harsh, but he knew that sentiment could be read from him enough already. Maybe that’s why Isa felt so distant on a personal level; he didn’t feel like he could talk about any of it with him, now. Too much bias and Isa got a sense that discussing him was basically taboo. That kind of hurt.

           He knew Isa was in a strange place emotionally, he was showing signs of slipping into a depressive episode again, and he remembered now that Xemnas…well. He knew Isa couldn’t know that—not now. It wasn’t even his place to say it, it was Xemnas’, but he felt responsible in keeping it from him as long as he could if he didn’t already know. There was no benefit for anyone, it would just cause more problems.

           He had to wonder if that would bite him in the ass later.

           The fluffy snow bounced off him as he continued on and wished the climate was a bit more tropical or arid. At least a hot shower would feel wondrous. Then he’d make dinner after that—it was his turn—and take a nice nap.

           He unlocked the door and stepped in, slipping his shoes off by the mat. He heard Lea in the kitchen, voice low. Freezing where he stood, he listened in.

           “…I mean, I’m glad you’re doing better but I don’t think you should act like here is the perfect place to cap your recovery off.” Lea sighed.

           “How am I doing that?” Isa asked, irritated, “And do you even know what the full extent of what I need to recover from is?”

           “Just—why? You were doing so well and getting used to people and all that then you start cutting other people off again!”

           “Any improvement from being an antisocial hermit seems like a big one, Lea. It’s plateauing right now since I can function for the most part but I still have incredibly low energy and my depressive symptoms aren’t as manageable knowing I can feel. There’s a burnout in improvement once it’s survivable, and mine happens to be a long but not intense one.”

           Isa sighed and continued. “Just because there’s still feelings, too, it doesn’t mean I’m going ahead with it. There’s no guaranteed chance of that. It’s not like he’s the only one, either, and you know that. We simply grew up too much for our relationship to stay romantic and functional, so can you stop blaming this for the reason why I’m not dating you again?”

           “How am I using that as an excuse?” Lea sputtered. “I mean, duh, I’m a bit salty he’s an option for you and not me, but that’s not…”

           “Why can’t we hold a conversation without this happening?” Isa hissed, half at Lea and half at himself. “Why do you come over like you’re not going to let your jealousy turn into an argument?”

           “It’s not jealousy! I’m just worried because, y’know, maybe developing feelings for your former superior who is also kind of nuts is a bad thing.”

           “You have some gall to act innocent when you’re part of the reason that’s even an issue now.”

           Lea growled, "Seriously?"

           Isa stood up, hands slamming hard on the table. “It was your idea to go into that castle, dumbass! And then after that horror show and we were proper traumatized, you just decide to fuck off and abandon me!”

           “Your interests weren’t for the better good, by that point, and they weren’t just about getting out! You were emotionally torturing these kids because you saw them as weapons and the fact I was friends with them when we thought we couldn't feel anything. And—and don’t act like I never went back for you! I care about you, but not enough to jeopardize other people I care about.” Lea snarled.

           “Well too bad you didn’t stay and we would have gotten the job done before any of that would have happened!” Isa roared, a familiar vibration in his voice that signaled that maybe it was time to step in.

           Terra loudly closed the door and could hear them turn in their seats.

           “Just me.” He called.

           “Ah, hey, dude.” Lea grunted as he casually got out of his seat and walked into the living room, attempting to make his expression as relaxed as possible.

           Isa didn’t follow and could be heard sipping something out of a mug with the intensity of a thousand suns.

           “Sorry for not being able to catch up with ya, I have places to be.” Lea stated and slipped past Terra.

           “Are you sure…?” Terra quietly muttered as he watched him close the door behind him.

           He walked into the kitchen to see Isa sat at the table with a rather peeved expression and clenched fists.

           Folding his arms, he gave him a sympathetic smile. “I, uh, walk in on something? There was yelling.”

           “He’s got the wrong idea, and I wish he’d stop being caught up in the fact I’m not attracted to him anymore. Just because I don’t want to date him doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. That, and he shouldn't get to act like he never caused me pain just because he came back and because I did things wrong, too.”

           “It can take a while to process being rejected, especially if it’s someone you used to date and thought you had a chance with again. Plus, a lot has happened with you two--sort of, uh, hurting each other.”

           Isa rubbed his temples, shaking his head.

           “I can see why you’re kind of reluctant to have him over if that happens every time.” Terra added and went to get a glass of milk.

           “He clings to the past too much, and I think he’s jealous but won’t admit it flat-out.”

           “I’m sure that’s part of it. He’ll get over it and be bearable to talk to…probably. I think he expected you two to go back to being on really good terms when, well, too much changed and he got out of the pessimistic mindset from earlier and ended up with some hope.”

           Isa groaned and sank in his chair, taking another drink.

           “He acts like I was the one who abandoned him first.”

           “Give him time to cool down and probably a mediator.” Terra reassured, turning to him. “What are you hungry for?”

           “I have no real preference. I think I’m going to nap this off. I’m getting a migraine.” Isa uttered.

           Terra watched him aggressively shuffle to the couch and lay down. He turned back to the counter and looked over his options. They had a nice new rice cooker, so they could at least have rice to put something on. Maybe stir-fry? No, he wasn’t going to attempt that. He could just bake some potatoes; those kept well for a few hours after being made.

           Tying his hair back, he shuffled to the pantry and pulled a few big potatoes out.

           How and why did one of the major issues right now end up being relationship drama? He should be thankful for that, but still, why? hopefully that would resolve soon.

           “It’s getting pretty dark out.” Isa groggily stated, looking up from his place on the couch and out the big window above it. “I think that snow storm is coming in.”

           “At least the weather can decide what it wants to do. By the way, some baked potatoes are in the oven when you want them.” Terra said as he walked by with a laundry basket of his clothes to put away.

           “For a few days.”

           Terra resumed, walking into the bedroom and sliding open the drawers on his side of the dresser. He set the basket down and flipped the light switch up. The shadows in the corners dissipated and he sat on the floor to fold some pants.

           He pursed his lips, deep in thought (and annoyance) about the weather and how uncomfortable it would be to work out in that world if he was going to. It wouldn’t be as bad if the gardens didn’t get so icy.

           He stood, and the room went pitch black.

           The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, stomach twisted, and electricity shot up his spine. Blood rushed through his ears and the primal fear set in. If he could have seen the room, it would be spinning.

           Frozen but his heart beating out of his chest, Terra softly gasped. He felt absolutely trapped, suffocating in the inky dark. Oh no, not again. He expected to feel the pain of a heart ripping forcing its way into his chest, the blue moon glaring balefully down, and watching himself split into two people in succession, but every memory pounced on him at once.

           He squeezed his eyes shut so that face wouldn’t be staring at him, but he couldn't quash the images flashing under his eyelids or the feeling of what it was like to fade. Oh, god, he couldn’t breathe. One hand on his chest and the other on his throat, trying to force himself to breathe normally, damnit! His balance was off, head light, and he felt like his legs weighed tons.

           “Terra. Breathe.”

           A hand slowly pressed onto his shoulder.

           He blinked, shivering and wrenching his eyes upward to make some sense of where he was.

           “Terra,” Isa murmured as he knelt down, a small flame dancing on his hand, “the power went out.”

           “The—oh…”

           Using water for electricity was fairly cheap and generally stable, but they had to adapt with the wind, magic, sun, and coal after the fall. There were quite a few blackouts and brownouts already. That was the nice thing about The Castle That Never Was--it didn't have outages.

           Isa wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him up onto quaking legs and letting him lean on him. If there's one thing he learned about Terra, it's he reacted well to tactile stimulation when panicking or anxious. It was unusual compared to other people with similar issues to the two of them, but the fact he went a decade with dulled senses and a lack of stimulation made sense of why he found comfort in being touched and being able to feel it fully. Isa was the same way, but he just didn't like being alone in that state.

           “It’s warmest in here, so let’s sit on the bed while you calm down and I'll get the extra blankets.”

           Isa patted his shoulder and led him around.

           “I didn’t think the dark would do that to me.” Terra grunted and sat. "I thought it was the moon."

           He gripped the covers under him and took a few slow but deep breaths. Maybe it was both?

           Isa sat down next to him. “We could always get one of those dusk-to-dawn nightlights that are hardly bright but are noticeable and have a battery for when the power goes out. We, or I, could go get one today while picking up some other things once you calm down more.”

           He dug into his nightstand for a flashlight, adding, “Maybe the power will be back on by the time we get back.”

           “Or maybe tomorrow. Look outside, it's snowing pretty hard and I'm sure a lot of places have no power. But I just…can’t believe I’m afraid of the dark.” Terra groaned, tired and sulky.

           “To be fair, it’s so dark out and the blinds are closed, it was very abrupt." Isa clicked the light to life. "There's usually some light pouring in from outside, even at night.”

           “It’s such a lame thing to be scared of, though, even if there are valid reasons!” Terra sighed, standing back up now that he could get his bearings and it didn't feel like his lungs were going to implode.

           Isa patted him on the shoulder again and stepped past to go to the living room. “Terra, I’m scared of walking down stairs with someone somewhat close behind me. Yours makes sense after everything you went through and because it's so much harder to avoid the dark.”

           “So does yours…” Terra quietly retorted as he slowly followed after him.

           Just because it's been so long and you don't remember what...

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] The Power of Three 2/?(Garak/Bashir Parmak)

Thank Britney for this update haha though apologies because it ran long before any real porn starts so next chapter it's on like Donkey Kong...

Trash AU porn still dedicated to @borg-apologist and @eilupt

Part 1 is HERE

Summary: 23 year old virgin Julian Bashir, desperate to get laid, decides to use his mother’s old book of magic to make himself an elixir for virility. What he gets instead are two summoned Cardassians he’s convinced are sex demons. Julian is clueless, Garak is horny, and Parmak is in awe of that “monster cock”. Let the games begin :)

Modern AU but as explained in the fic, aliens are still aliens. Also note the pronouns used for Parmak were sort of made up for the story. The “j” has a hard “h” sound. (Like Jarritos which I have decided Cardassians are weirdly fond of)

Warnings: language, kind of crack, and Parmak is intersex (both prUt and fully penetrable ajan and nipples where Garak has none) barely sexy stuff happening, and made up magic with no relation to real magick

Onward!

One of the things that Garak loves the most about Parmak is how easy it is for jem to switch direction in jes thinking. Je’s always been fantastically adaptable and it isn’t more than a beat after Garak whispers that tempting little tease to jem that a discreet scenting of the air reveals that arousal starting to come to the forefront. It’s clear the human doesn’t see it, looking at the both of them unsure of how it should be proceeding although Garak is pleased to see that it appears quite eager, its hands hovering around the waistband of its undergarments.

“So... should I... um...?” Garak almost tells it to go ahead, the way that Parmak’s hands have shifted to his arm excited, those neatly trimmed claws started to dig into his scales. Not that it particularly matters but Garak supposes a name is in order and will make things easier in the long run.

“I don’t think there’s any need to get ahead of ourselves. I imagine that we’ll be spending some time together and it would only be polite to exchange names-” Garak sucks in a hiss between his teeth, Parmak’s claws digging harder with impatience, a soft whining chirrup reaching Garak’s ear. That eager for it are you, my dear? It’s a purely rhetorical little speculation. Garak already knows the answer quite clearly. Parmak commits to lovely acts of debauchery such as these with a frightening intensity that sometimes makes Garak worry for jes wellbeing. Today though, it seems infectious, Garak allowing for a moment the flash of an imagined waking dream behind his own eyes. He blanks out visually as the human says that its name is “Julian”, picturing that Julian creature on its knees behind Parmak riding him hard. Garak feels a flutter in his chest and a slight throb from his slit as he does.

“Are you thinking it too, Elim?” Parmak asks him starting to press jes face against the ridges of Garak’s neck.

Absolutely, he is. But Garak also has plans and ideas far beyond that delectable end game. He smiles at the human.

“Julian,” Garak repeats, Parmak repeating it as well committing the name to memory. “My name is Elim Garak, though you may call me Garak- just Garak. This is my dear friend Kelas Parmak.”

“Kelas is fine,” je says though jes accent is heavier. Garak debates briefly whether he should stroke that fire hotter or allow Parmak a moment to collect jemself. “You’re very attractive, Julian. Ah... I think we should get on well...” Garak is amused at how obviously Parmak’s attention is drawn to Julian’s groin. “You are male?” je asks. Julian looks bemused for a moment as if he’s never been asked before.

“Yes, sorry and you and Garak are?...”

“Male,” Garak answers thinking that he might have done well to commit some of the more sordid human encounters to memory that occasionally hit the late night feeds buried amidst other lurid tales because this part is just a bit out of his depth.

“X210 split sterile live breeder,” Parmak answers in Kardasi at first, obviously trying to think of how to even begin translating such a thing in human terms. “Mmm... you would say... Ah... hematite?” Je pauses at Julian’s expression. “No... like... both but more towards male? I’m not quite sure how such a thing translates. Linguistics aren’t my specialty but if I were to attempt a rough translation you’d say “je” or “jem”... like Jarritos if you’ve ever had the pineapple…. Well really it would probably be best just to show you. I hardly trust that I’ve conveyed it properly.”

“Oh yes please,” Julian says without giving it another thought. Guls, are all humans this eager for sexual relations? Though, Garak notices that Parmak is equally ready to go. He only hopes that the human can keep up with his dear doctor’s appetites…

Garak puts his hands over Parmak’s as je lets go of Garak’s arm, jes hands already on the hem of jes shift. It occurs to Garak momentarily that Julian’s dwelling is far more comfortable of a temperature than the other human habitats they’ve had chance to be summoned to. That’s certainly an auspicious sign that this human has similar preferences of warmth.

“Perhaps it would be best,” Garak says taking another assessing look to Julian’s thin frame, “that our host provides us with an idea of what it is that we... demons are going to be servicing. We are your loyal servants in your sexual endeavors, after all,” Garak says laying it on especially thick. Julian’s eyes are bright as they dart between Garak and Parmak.

“Of course! I do usually wear more than this,” Julian explains as he hooks fingers in his waistband and slowly tugs his undergarments down. “Heater’s been on the blink,” Garak half hears him say as he ducks his head self-consciously stepping out of the garment, turning his head and clearing his throat. That leaves the two Cardassians a nice moment to muse about small little hole in his abdomen that doesn’t appear to be a wound. Garak wonders what purpose it serves as he lets his eyes fall down the trail of dark hair leading to a thick patch of it around the human’s prominent piece. He can’t help but marvel at the impracticality of such a long low hanging ch’och. Not that Garak is complaining, after all, he’s perfectly free to enjoy it without having to deal with the encumbrance of having it attached to his own frame.

“Guls,” he hears Parmak breathe next to him, seeing jes hands steal up to adjust jes glasses. “Do you think all of it will even fit?” Garak feels a wide grin spread over his face as he lets his hand slip back to Parmak’s thigh, letting his pinkie slide just a little between that juncture, not quite brushing jes covered slit.

“Are you excited to find out?” He feels a subtle push, Parmak as always, so nice and warm. There’s a soft hiss in the affirmative that reaches his ears almost tempting him to give in to heedless instant gratification as well. Ah, but Garak has better control than that.

“Is this alright then?” Julian asks sounding a touch uncertain. If Parmak’s heightened scent of arousal - and certainly his own - is anything to go by then it’s a silly question to even have to ask but Garak is well aware that humans aren’t able to scent the air in the same manner that they are. A pity but even a human’s poor senses cannot possibly be that oblivious.

“I assure you, Julian it is...” Garak searches for the proper praise. “...a splendid tribute to the human form.” Which actually begs the question, “so perhaps you’ll forgive my inquiry as to why you felt it necessary to divine some elixir to aid you in your sexual conquests.”

“Oh well ah…” Julian appears embarrassed by the question. “I don’t seem to have much luck in that department. Not for lack of trying I just never well…” Garak watches him scratching the back of his neck with a nervous little grin. Do humans have an odd sense of aesthetic? He doesn’t appear diseased, he’s got a long thin fragile looking neck, his entire frame appears rather delicate, slim like the water reeds along the coast of the Morfan Sea. Julian appears to be all long, lanky limbs and Garak would almost fear for being too rough with him, but he recalls hearing that unlike Elaysians, humans tend to be much sturdier than they appear. It would seem in poor manners to inquire further although Garak is already burning with curiosity.

“Mmm, that’s a shame,” Garak hears Parmak saying, stepping out from beside him. “You’re quite attractive, I’d say. Where we’re from ah… in the other place,” je covers a bit poorly. Julian doesn’t notice the odd choice of words, instead stiff like a frightened vole caught out in the light. “Your skin is fascinating too,” Parmak observes softly. “Might I?...”

“Oh yes! Yes, anything you’d like, anywhere I don’t mind!” Julian exclaims, holding his hands up high in the air his elongated body definitely looking like one of those reeds now. Garak notes that he also has those dark patches of hair under his arms wondering what purpose such a pointless covering of fur might serve. Could it be a sensitive area that requires prot-

“Hah!” Julian jumps back, hands over his chest when Parmak strokes that very spot, making Parmak jump as well looking concerned. “Sorry,” Julian rushes out, “it’s just ticklish er… sensitive,” he clarifies at the confused expressions. Ticklish? It’s a word that Garak has never heard before and he makes a mental note to investigate further at some point. Still, he doesn’t allow his focus to divert for long as he watches Parmak’s hands moving over Julian’s chest, finger poking at one of his nipples – curious to see them on a male, though they’re definitely smaller. He can’t imagine what purpose they serve. Do human males also nurse their young? Parmak has them though je’s sterile so it’s a bit of a wasted purpose and as for Garak, well he’s a hatcher, not a live breeder like Parmak.

Garak’s eyes are a greedy study watching as Parmak’s hands rub over Julian’s arms, ghost over his neck, and Garak almost wanted to ask jem to move a bit so he could see Julian’s body better. Still, that leaves Garak free to study Julian’s face – especially when Parmak lightly lets jes fingers brush Julian’s… cock, he thinks is the proper vernacular. The completely unabashed look of pleasure when je does that is quite a sight. Clearly Julian wasn’t lying when he said he’d never done this before. That gives Garak an idea; an absolutely wicked idea. Parmak might not exactly thank him at first considering that je’s practically vibrating as je goes to pull off the top layer of jes outfit saying that “fair is fair” after all. Garak imagines the impish little grin on jes face with Julian staring so blatantly.

“Perhaps, my dear,” Garak suggests as Parmak has it pulled halfway, “you might allow Julian the experience of undressing you seeing as how this is his first time.” The impatient glare that Parmak shoots back as je half turns mouthing “what are you doing Elim?” is amusing.

“I thought that we might endeavor to provide the dear boy with a little instruction, Kelas. You do enjoy teaching, don’t you?” Garak keeps his tone light but surely Parmak must realize how much of a torture he’ll be subjecting himself to. Je hesitates only a moment before returning that grin, a flash of eagerness in jes eyes as je pushes jes glasses up. The things are forever slipping down no matter how many adjustments they make at the shop.

“True… but I should leave that to you for the moment, shouldn’t I, Elim? You do enjoy the sound of yourself orating…”

“I love the sounds you make when you come undone, Kelas.”

“Oh then… by all means… tell him what to do, Elim.”

—

Julian is sure that he’s looking at the two demons confused while they hiss back and forth at each other. Are they having an argument? It hardly looks like it. If Julian had to guess he’d sooner put his money on some sort of strange mating song the way the air crackles between the two of them. He’s about to ask when Parmak turns back to him with a gesture that looks like it may resemble something of a shrug.

“Elim is right, Julian,” Parmak says holding jes arms out at jes sides. “We would be remiss in not seeing to your proper instruction. You did summon us after all and it may not have been the result you were seeking but perhaps we can still be of help.” Julian spends far more time staring at the soft looking gray scales of Parmak’s skin, fixated on the ridges around jes collarbone and the faint blue dip in the center. But seriously? This is well beyond a consolation prize and well, he may not be able to actually tell anyone that he made it with a demon but…

“May I touch you?” Julian asks, hands hovering.

“Please.” Julian really wants to touch that little spot and see how it feels but he was given an order but… but surely one little touch… He reaches out and just lets his fingers run along the ridges trailing down to it, seeing Parmak tense when he does. “Oh that’s fine… light… it feels a little… strange like…”

“Tickling?” Julian asks nervously, still not quite believing that he’s standing in his living room in front of some mess of a summoning circle. Maybe he should have cleaned all that up? Well bit of a moot issue now.  

“Ah, that’s the word… tickling… ticklish,” It sounds like je’s saying “chiclets” and Julian cracks a smile. “Yes you can do it harder. We… ah demons are quite resilient,” Parmak assures him and Julian supposes that makes sense what with traveling astral planes or however it was that the demons came to Earth from the other world. It must take an awful lot of effort.

Julian obeys, running his thumb over those collar ridges with his thumb more firmly, feeling the ripple, like a soft pliable resin. He runs it around seeing Parmak shiver and he asks if he might put his mouth to it.

“Your mouth, your teeth you can, hnn…tsss…” Julian hears a hiss as he presses soft kisses to those little mountains along Parmak’s collar, tasting skin that isn’t salty like human skin but like fine leather or like a soft snake skin – not that Julian’s ever put a snake in his mouth! – and maybe it’s all the movies that he’s watched which started this same way but his hands are already slowly easing the straps of the shift over Parmak’s shoulders as he does. He thinks it might be a tickle again so he lets his teeth graze that center point as the fabric slips easily off as loose as it was. Julian’s only slightly dismayed to realize there was another layer underneath, a violet camisole. It’s like unwrapping a present really.

“Yes, that’s a good boy, you certainly don’t need to be so delicate with jem,” Julian hears Garak say and he gives an experimental bite, nearly jumping when he feels Parmak’s hands on his shoulders digging in.

“Hah…” reaches his ears and he’s afraid that he did it too hard but that’s when Julian notices that those defined ridges are flushing darker gray. So maybe that’s their equivalent of a blush of some other form of arousal? Julian hears more of that Parseltongue between the two of them and he’s surprised to hear something half angry sounding as Parmak pushes him back.

“Ah… you’re fine but I’m… taking this off,” je says and Julian watches eagerly as the thin strapped petal of violet is peeled off and there’s an incredible moment of anticipation in watching the abdomen revealed, more gray skin, so smooth looking with just the faintest ripples differentiating it from human skin, until it meets a fine line of those scaly ridges and Julian watches, watches, waits, wants to know just what’s undeneath the rest as Parmak pulls the top off wearing just a pair of what appear to be white silk bloomers tied loosely low around slim but still feminine hips. Je doesn’t have a navel, Julian notices.

Parmak’s chest isn’t quite flat, and Julian stares longingly seeing there are two dark gray nipples hard, atop just the faintest of soft peaks, something that’s neither entirely male or female but just a small raise of flesh that he wants to-

“Alright, between you and Elim we’ll be here all day and some of us have shifts and regular hours and ah... right right,” Parmak stops suddenly, leaving Julian to wonder what any of that means or what sort of shift or work a demon might have and... And he stops wondering when Parmak grabs his hand and puts it to jes chest with a grumble of “there now can we continue please”. Oh Julian can continue. He can do that! The skin is so soft, his thumb flicking what has to be one of the most perfect nipples in existence seeing the motions of ridges around Parmak’s eyes, darker, swollen, jes neck ridges doing the same and Julian’s mouth is to it like some desperate virgin in a Milky hentai do not judge!

He hears some sort of raucous around him, more hissing between the both of them as he swirls his tongue around it, hearing soft hitches, hands back on his shoulders but this time not digging in just... clutching. Oh lord that’s so sensitive, not even a little handful as Julian’s left hand steals over squeezing, groping, a bit of an awkward bend as tall as he is. He hears something that sounds like ”ysysysys” as that tongue flits back and retracts to his mouth on it sucking hard, hearing a soft keen above him and he thinks he hears Garak murmur something about strange human proclivities with Parmak telling him to stuff it, begging Julian to keep doing that. Julian doesn’t need to be told twice, sucking harder, rolling its twin between his fingers tugging hard, rough, seeing that Parmak is nearly sobbing and Julian is so hard he already thinks he’s going to come or collapse to his knees as much as Parmak’s hands are pushing on his shoulders and he can...

Oh... Oh that’s a scent he hadn’t noticed before. Arousal, that has to be arousal - and it’s not like he goes around ordering used panties online or anything that he’s some sort of expert - because there’s some visceral part of him that can smell that heavy musk in the air and he groans deeply sort of wishing he’d rubbed one out before all this because that would take the edge off that he desperately needs right now. The high little hitches from Parmak are turning him to fourth gear something fierce as he switches sides, hands, stopping in the middle to let his mouth worship that vibrant blue dip. Julian can feel the give of those swollen ridges beneath his mouth and he hears some swear or his name but it’s so slurred that he can hardly tell. He looks up to Parmak’s mouth because of course enough blood’s gone to his cock he actually thinks for a second he can lip read when he stops, seeing lips parted so pretty and tempting and-

“Can I... kiss you please?” Julian asks though what he really means is “May I please pull you close and grind against you with my tongue in your mouth because whatever is between your legs I’d very much like to rub against it right now thank you.”

“K-kiss?” he hears Parmak ask confused, glasses slipping down on jes nose. “The ah... human mouth thing? I’m ah... afraid I don’t know it very well.”

“Then you could consider it a learning experience for you both, couldn’t you, Kelas?” Julian hears Garak say and when he looks behind Parmak he sees the other demon watching them both intently, the ridges of his face and neck also flushed darker. Parmak says something else to Garak, another exchange before Garak with a wicked smirk on his face answers back. Parmak’s tongue darts out a moment and je gives a breathless answer of “alright. But you may be disappointed so I ah... just... okay, go on then...” Julian tries, he honest to god tries not to just rush in like that fish man from The Slayers about to make out with Lina Inverse but well perhaps he’s just a bit too enthusiastic and it’s not like he hasn’t kissed plenty of people before. It’s the after kissing part that’s stalling him after all. Oh god, maybe that’s it, maybe he’s a horrible kisser!

Parmak doesn’t seem to notice Julian’s moment of existential kissing crisis, rather instead trying to figure out where to put jes hands. Julian doesn’t have that problem, letting his hands slink over those slim hips, pulling their bodies together, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the feel of silk satin something sliding against his naked prick. He may let his hands just slip the rest of the way around feeling the swell of Parmak’s ass through that nothing bit of fabric using that opportunity to pull them closer together. He’s a bit surprised not to also feel a penis since Parmak said je was both or something along those lines but what he does feel is warm and wet and so hot against him he doesn’t care if its a bloody Octopussoir right now his mouth is going on it next you read it here first.

So Julian’s a bit like a dog with its tongue hanging out giving a ridiculous swiping lick to Parmak’s mouth catching half jes nose in the process. He’s about to apologize seeing a double blink at him from behind those spectacles in response. It’s not his fault, it’s really not! Julian was caught off guard when Parmak decided to just copy his motions; he felt sharp little claws digging into his ass like they were testing a mattress. Alright, so maybe his fat ass father has had more than his fair share of comments about Julian’s “poor lack of posterior are you sure he’s mine Am? Haha, are you sure he’s even yours?” His mother teases him that maybe one day he’ll wake up and it’ll have grown in and he almost thinks that Parmak is saying the same sort of shitty joke to Garak in that stupid Parseltongue and if he had a wand right now he might be tempted to hex them both because he’s positive he’s caught a snicker between the two of them.

Except Parmak smiles at him before tilting jes head, diving back in with an enthusiasm that’s stunning, giving Julian one of the most heated, heavy fucking kisses he’s ever gotten in his life making his toes curl into the carpet.

It may also sort of make him come, his seed surely staining Parmak’s silky bloomers between them.

Yeah, he may also kind of sort of wants to die right about now too…

(Part 3 is now up HERE)

[thelarryficrecplace]

Do you know any fics with pining and jealousy? I know that's basically every fic ever, but one where they both get jealous at one point or another during the story would be great! It's pretty broad, but thanks anyways!

Hi lovely! Sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy: 

Far Away. by dimpled_halo:

Summary: Harry swallows hard, clearing his throat. “Hi Lou,” he says, looking at Louis reluctantly. He’s even more gorgeous than he remembers, so much, he feels uneasy looking directly at him, he’s so beautiful. Louis looks at Harry, does a quick once-over and smiles, eyes so bright and blue—just how Harry remembers. “Harold!” He gets up out of his seat and embraces him into a warm hug. It’s a friendly platonic hug; one that ends way too soon. Harry wishes it would last longer so that he can breathe Louis in and memorize his new but somehow still familiar scent. It instantly leaves his body aching for more.

Harry returns to London after five years. Stuck in the past with “what ifs” and “what might have beens”, he sees that his friends and ex (and possible love of his life) Louis have all moved on with their lives while he finds himself questioning his own life choices, past and present.

You Drive Me Crazy (but it feels alright) by MrsStylinson:

Summary: “Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it’s a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

Just a Flower Boy by Larryruinedme:

Summary: Harry Styles is a clumsy, flower crown-wearing, openly gay junior with only two true friends, Niall and Zayn. Louis Tomlinson is the school’s attractive, straight football captain, with a small body and a big personality. As fate will have it, Harry has a huge, unrequited, utterly hopeless crush on Louis.

Fate is thrown out the window the day that Harry and Louis find themselves partnered up for a history project. Harry starts to receive notes from a secret admirer, Louis starts to get jealous of Harry’s budding friendship with senior Nick Grimshaw, Zayn and Liam develop a thing for each other, and Niall is the best mate anyone could have asked for. And suddenly, Harry’s crush on Louis doesn’t seem so utterly hopeless anymore.

If You Love Me Let Me Go by Icelandichairdresser_irl_ (Icelandichairdresser):

Summary: Harry loved Louis he really did. He was perfect, for Harry, at least most of the time. You see Louis had this problem with being possessive. Harry had been holding it in, the snappy retorts and the rolled eyes for a while. It was only natural that he blow up. It couldn’t have come at a worse time really. Louis was already feeling insecure about their relationship and this was the tipping point. Louis felt it everywhere he went, that sensation that Harry was in love with someone else. That he couldn’t possible love Louis. That Louis was only a fling to pass the time. And he deserved better, he deserved someone he could love. So Louis tried to do everything in his power to help him get that.

Dreaming of You by Velvetoscar:

Summary: The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel.

Loving You’s a Little Different by oakland30:

Summary: “Uh- Jake, I think? Met him at one of Niall’s ‘get together’s. He’s alright. Nice face.” Louis pulls out a paperback book and squints at its small print, “Won’t be calling him, though.“

Harry sighs, but it’s wasted. Why wouldn’t random boys with nice faces approach Louis in an empty library? The circles under his eyes are puffy and his hair is ruffled from a stubborn night’s sleep, but he looks gorgeous. Like he isn’t from this planet.

Harry’s in love with his roommate. Misunderstandings abound.

standing here but you don’t see me by loudippedincaramel:

Summary: “Louis being with a guy is something Harry has always known was a possibility. Ever since Louis told them he was gay, he knew that this would come up at some point. But it was just that. At some point. It’s always been a hypothetical. Harry never thought it would bother him. But now, watching Louis squirm as he watches that other guy, it’s just not a hypothetical anymore. And Harry is very bothered by it.”

or: Harry’s discovery that he like boys as well as girls. One boy in particular catches his eye and he’s determined to get him.

Can’t love, Can’t hurt by Samcgrath:

Summary: Harry is living on Gemma’s sofa after he moved out of his and Louis’ flat because he just couldn’t take it anymore. Watching Louis with his girlfriend during the day and then coming home and curling around Harry on the sofa. So he moved out and now Louis might be losing his mind because Harry’s gone. The lads worry after Harry says something in an interview that he just won’t talk to them about. And Gemma is an awesome sister.

doesn’t have to be a real thing by loupiter:

Summary: In which Harry helps Louis get over his ex and it kind of becomes a regular thing. It’s totally casual – they have an understanding. But what happens to Harry when Nick reappears in Louis’ life?

something lovers call fate (kept me saying I have to wait) by bravefortheboys:

Summary: Okay – so he may have some feelings for his best friend. That’s completely fine. It happens. Except it doesn’t just happen like this. He can’t just listen to a little bit of a sappy speech and realize his everlasting love for his best mate of 10 years, right? That’s impractical. This had to have been a gradual sort of thing and – fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Has he unknowingly been falling for his best friend this entire time? Were those sharp tugs of endearment a secret way of his inside telling him this is it? How unfortunate. How humiliating. Louis could scream his lungs out if it weren’t for, y’know, the wedding in progress.

It’s Niall’s wedding, officially leaving Louis and Harry to be the only unmarried (and single) friends in their group. Naturally, this puts Louis into a crisis. (ft. declaration of love in the men’s restroom, hiding out in the women’s restroom, and plenty of sappy songs with hidden meanings to help the night pass)

[ohstardust]

I Wanna Lean on Your Shoulder

REQUEST: from julias-trojan

Hello, I really love your work! I wanted to request a fic where the reader is a background actress in Dunkirk and she meets & becomes friends with Jack. It's obvious that she has feelings for him but she doesn't think that he'd ever like her back- until one day they get caught in the rain and she's a huge hopeless romantic so she blurts out something like "I'd love to be kissed in the rain" without even thinking and then he suddenly kisses her :') SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG IM GONNA SHUT UP NOW A/N: I fell so in love with this prompt and wrote nearly 1500 words of PURE FLUFF! Seriously, this will ROT. YOUR. TEETH. Title: Waiting Game by Banks My Jack playlist can be found on Spotify (this is what I listen to when I write about him and songs that are featured in fics about him) (x)

It had been simultaneously the longest, yet quickest, month on the set of Dunkirk for Y/N and she was absolutely not ready to say goodbye to everyone she had befriended, especially knowing that their journey with the film was still continuing past her departure. She was so incredibly grateful, and oh so proud of herself, for the role. No matter how minor it was. In that short space of time she had become such good friends with, not only a lot of the background cast, but also the main cast, which excited her more than she cared to admit. One in particular had caught her eye from day one, and she definitely was not about to admit that anytime soon. Especially not to those pesky gossiping boys.

Jack Lowden had the ability to turn her into a fumbling and blushing fool with just one smile, but also managed to pull out a flirtatious and cheeky side of her that she seldom showed. Simply put, she was a bit of a general mess around him and, unbeknownst to her, the lads had caught it early on and saw the change in their friend as she started to become more attracted to the Scottish man. Maybe it was her scarlet flushes when she was around him, maybe it was how much she teased him back when he did it to her, perhaps it was the way she spoke about him when he wasn’t around, or maybe it was the way her whole demeanour changed as soon as she saw him. Either way, they’d noticed but kept quiet to both Jack and Y/N, not wanting to meddle or cause any complications in their already interesting relationship. Her last day on set was celebrated, during the evening, with the lads – Jack, Tom, Aneurin, Barry, Fionn & Harry – as well as a few of the minor cast that she has worked more closely with. She was so thrilled that they all wanted to spend that last day with her, still in awe that she’d made such good friends. As the night drew to a close, everyone content with a few drinks, good food and wonderful company, they bid her farewell with cuddles, kisses, good luck and a promise of keep in touch, something that she absolutely intended to stick to. After all, they shared this journey with each other and that would always bind them all together. Just as she was saying goodbye to the last person leaving, Jack appeared behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them for reassurance, “C’mon princess, lemme walk you back.” She shivered as they stepped out into the cool evening air, the temperature evidently dropped whilst they were inside the restaurant, “Take this, can’t have you catching your death out here,” he placed his jacket over her shoulders which she kindly accepted and slipped her arms through the sleeves that were miles too long for her small frame. “Thanks J, such a gent as always,” she grinned up at him. As soon as he returned the expression, she suddenly felt like her stomach was rearranging, it was churning and tickling and she felt dread but also happiness, the most odd mixture of feelings overtaking her body. How was she going to go each day without seeing him now? Y/N had always been the most ridiculous and hopeless romantic, in love with the idea of being in love and clichés and she didn’t care one bit. Until suddenly she did and she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her feelings. “Set’s gonna be so weird without you, won’t be the same.” She averted her gaze to the floor as they walked, her hair fell over her face and she bit her lip, partly due to nerves and partly to stop her from crying on the spot. “You won’t even notice I’m gone, you’ll be fine.” She let out a weak laugh and the brightest smile she could muster just in case he could see even part of her face, trying to make it clear that she wasn’t bothered by it, although of course she was. She was an actress after all. ‘Don’t say that, you’re the glue, the one that keeps us lads in check, who’s gonna look after us now?” His voice sounded weaker than she’d heard before, so in tune with his actions and tone of voice and everything that she didn’t realise she’d picked up on over the past 4 weeks. She looped her arm through his and softly sighed, “I’m only on the other end of a phone if you really need me. But you’re all big boys, you can handle yourselves.” Jack brought his free arm across his chest and squeezed her hand that was looped around him, “I‘ll just miss you, that’s all.” Not even a moment later a few rain drops had started to fall and it felt like the biggest metaphor for her life and she wanted to burst into tears because this was seriously unfunny. “Bloody rain.” Within thirty seconds the heavens had opened and the rain was pouring and pouring, heavily bouncing on the floor and the sound almost deafening. Suddenly they both began to laugh, there was no use trying to seek shelter, they were already soaked through. “I’ll miss you too, y’know? All of you, so much. You better all keep in touch, you can’t leave me sad and lonely for the rest of my life, okay?” Jack snickered at her teasing tone and released her arm, taking her hand in his by their sides. She couldn’t even think about that gesture without feeling giddy. “We can’t have that, I‘ll ring you everyday if I have to.” “Deal.” She smiled and lightly rested her head against his shoulder as they continued to walk, only five or so minutes away from where she was staying. “That’s something else I’ve never done,” she mumbled quietly. “What haven’t you done?” Y/N looked to Jack a little awkwardly, not expecting to be heard but letting the words fall out of her without another thought. Her head shook, “nothing, it’s silly.” “Tell me, I’m curious.” “I have this mental list where I note down silly clichés that I’ve yet to experience. It’s so lame, I know, but I’m such a girl about some things,” she looked so bashful and Jack had never been so endeared by anyone before, “I’ve never kissed anyone in the rain, and it’s probably so impractical and nowhere near as romantic as films make it look, but it’s just a thing-” Before she could even finish the sentence, Jack had pulled himself away from her and stepped in front of her, in her direct personal space, and kissed away the rest of her rambling. He gently cradled the back of her head, pressing her closer to him as he held her in place, his lips firmly against hers. Her eyes slipped shut and she tried to focus on him, and only him, the way he kissed, the way he felt against her and the way he was making her feel. She didn’t want to think about how crazy this was or how he was probably being a good friend and ticking this off her list. She just wanted to think about how this was actually happening, and that he initiated it, sober. A few moments later he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, the most handsome smile pulling at his mouth as he fixed his gaze onto hers, “Did that satisfy that particular cliche experience?” “I might need a repeat, just so I know what I’m comparing it to,” her voice came out particularly breathy and she felt like she was having an out of body experience. “That can be arranged,” he pulled her into a more bruising kiss this time, more sure of himself and that what he was doing was okay and acceptable and wanted. “There’s a lot more on that list, y’know, just if you’re interested.” “We’ve got plenty of time to complete that list, together,” Y/N’s breath hitched and she had the biggest look of relief and adoration on her face, completely matching his, “maybe somewhere drier though, and let’s sleep first because I’m shattered and really fancy a cuddle.” He had the cheekiest grin on his face as he said that, and she was pretty sure that she was about to tick off something else from her list that she didn’t even know she wanted. Fall in love with your best friend.

[theyellowcurtains]

Evak fic reclist

I am working on this list, it was started on the 3rd of July and I’ve read through a lot of the fics on ao3 to get this. It’s not in any particular order, except for maybe what I read it in. I am including the titles and author given descriptions. Thank you to anyone who has written these amazing works. 

when your heart is bleeding, i’m coming to get you - cosetties

Isak doesn't exactly expect his hookup from last week to be the love advice columnist at the school newspaper he's working at. He also doesn't expect to fall even harder for him than he already has, which is a shame, really, since Even's crushing on someone else.

we’re two little people in this big ‘ol world - cosetties

All Isak wants is a nice, romantic weekend alone with his very attractive boyfriend. Too bad his friends have a different idea.

("Then, Even will do something gross, like spill cheese on Isak’s favorite gray hoodie, or treat all of Isak’s best pens like goddamn chew toys, and scratch that. Isak’s the luckiest guy in all the worlds, all the universes.")

you’re the shit and i’m knee deep in it - cosetties

After Even has already rejected him once, after Isak is aware of Even's reputation for meaningless one-night stands, the last thing Isak should be doing is sleeping with the guy. But it keeps happening, and there's no way Isak is getting out of this with his heart intact.

with love, from anonymous - cosetties, iriswests 

Isak just wants to get his coffee in peace, Even has a crush, and there's a secret admirer on the loose.

open the pod bay doors -  iriswests

Even's trying to write a script for his class, Isak happens to catch a glimpse of the shit show, and they fall in love over a story of parallel universes.

True or False - iriswests

Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively.

Sideways and Slantways - iriswests

Isak gets stuck in an elevator with the one person he's vowed never to speak to again. This eventually prompts a conversation long overdue, but not without the memories flooding his brain like a broken dam first.

take me to the stars - iriswests

Isak thinks Even is pretentious and impractical. Even thinks Isak is arrogant and uptight. They’re not each other’s biggest fans, even if they do happen to have spectacular sex on a very, very drunken night. And Isak doesn’t mean to do it again, but he does, anyway, so now they’re establishing ground rules and deciding that maybe they can keep doing this, no strings attached, no commitments, no feelings, and, most importantly, no need to stop disliking each other.

And then it’s not quite that simple anymore.

Our Steady True North - verlore_poplap 

(DivorcedParent!Evak)

Five times Isak and Even were amicable; plus one time they just weren't. (Plus an epilogue, I guess) 

717 Miles - MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames) 

The calculated flying distance from Oslo to London is equal to 717 miles which is equal to 1153 km. If you want to go by car, the driving distance between Oslo and London is 1732.79 km. If you ride your car with an average speed of 112 kilometres/hour (70 miles/h), travel time will be 15 hours 28 minutes.

Even Bech Naesheim should not be here. Well it was not his plan to be here. Not at all. Even Bech Naesheim, age 19, is supposed to be on a beach in Bali. He is supposed to be on the first stop on his Asian backpacking trip of a lifetime. THAT was the plan. That is where he is supposed to be. Not here. Alone in a house in fucking London. Being paid to look after some troubled 17-year-old.

Isak Valtersen has 3 weeks left of school. He has to survive 3 more weeks. Make it through 21 more days of hell. Then he is going to hide out in his room for the rest of the summer until he can figure out how to get his life back on track. Find a school far far away where he can start over. Not make mistakes. He doesn't need a fucking babysitter. He just doesn't. His life is fucked up enough as it is.

Cut Us Out In Little Stars - allyasavedtheday

Even Bech Næsheim.

The boy making Isak’s heart beat double-time in his chest is Even Bech Næsheim.

He can’t believe he didn’t realise it earlier. Even doesn’t have any social media and any pictures of him in the press are usually grainy or leave his appearance partly concealed through sunglasses or a hat but still.

A sick part of his brain almost wants to laugh because of course. It’s not enough for Isak to like boys when he shouldn’t, no, he has to go and like that boy.

The one boy his father would condemn him for being with without question.

*

An Isak and Even, Romeo and Juliet au

Things Look Different In The Morning - allyasavedtheday

“So,” he says, drawing the word out. “I told Even he could stay here.”

Isak blinks, convinced he’s misheard.

“Eskild,” he says flatly. “We don’t have a spare room.”

Eskild straightens his back, expression turning sheepish. “That’s the other part…I was thinking he could stay in your room?”

*

In which Even needs a place to stay, kollektivet gains a new roommate, and Isak just really wants to sleep

The Moments in Between - allyasavedtheday

It could be minutes or hours later when they finally let go of each other, though they don’t move very far.

Isak slips his hand into Even’s and presses their foreheads together once again. “Come home with me,” he whispers, a quiet request lost to the space between their mouths.

He’s close enough to hear Even swallow before his fingers tighten in Isak’s hold and he murmurs an, “Okay.”

*

A look at the moments between O Helga Natt and Passe på meg.

Half Blade and Half Silk - smokeshop

Isak's friends introduce him to an art student at a college party. He won't stop calling Isak baby and Isak's bad at pretending to hate it.

College AU where Isak's past is a little more colorful but Even still won't leave him alone.

The Notion of Falling -  smokeshop

Isak hates Even and Even hates Isak and Sana is the only one who knows why

i could probably just curl up in you. - milominderbinder

Isak is away at a cabin with the guys when he gets a text from Even.

hey, babe, did you take my favourite hoodie?

He is, of course, outraged that Even would accuse him of such treachery. The fact that Isak is wearing the hoodie at that very moment has nothing to do with it.

How In My Silence I Adored You - dahlstrom

In a parallel universe, the rest of the boy squad actually shows up at the first kosegruppa meeting and Isak stays for the love games. Thus, his first interaction with Even is quite different (no paper towels were harmed in this scenario). Also heavily hints at Vilde/Eva.

I’ll Be Coming Home, Wait For Me - dahlstrom

(Trust me this fic is worth it, it’s 100% worth reading it’s lovely)

The diner AU. Even and Yousef open a 1950s American-style restaurant together - Even is the creative genius in the kitchen, Yousef keeps the trains running on time, and Isak, Chris B, and Magnus are all along for the ride. Falling in love over food while Elvis serenades from the jukebox. Welcome to the Throwback Diner.

---

The next couple of minutes are a complete blur of Yousef wishing Isak luck under his breath, then loudly saying goodbye to Even and hurrying out the door, and Even leading Isak to one of the only booths not covered with elements of the remodel, the two of them settling into their seats, Even asking him again if he’d like anything, and Isak, partly because he wants to delay things and partly because his throat now feels like fucking sandpaper, asking for some water. It’s not until he’s completely alone for a moment that he’s able to have a quick, stern talk with himself about calming down and just getting through this. If he can keep his cool for just a few minutes, do his best to ignore Even’s jawline and incredible eyes and, yeah, pretty much everything else about him, he might just come out of this with a job.

love and condoms - evenbakkas

Isak was about turn on his heels and say “Fuck it” and go home, when a tall, slender-looking boy approached him from down the aisle. Shit.

“Finding everything okay?” he asked once he reached Isak, his face entirely consumed by his smile. Judging from his choice of clothing, the boy definitely worked here. And, by the black letters scribbled on his name tag, the boy’s name was Even. Great.

.

Or: Isak owes Eskild a favor and Eskild sends him out to buy condoms where he runs into a tall boy who is a little too eager to help him.

My Heart is Strong - photographer_of_thoughts

(This fic actually does the most adorable thing with quoting moulin rouge and makes my heart swell with happiness, I adore that movie so very much.)

His bipolar disorder made him want everything to be a great tragedy, a Baz Luhrmann film; because how else did things have meaning? His brain told him that time and time again. He’d lost track of how many people he’d let go because he wanted to “lose them forever” and subsequently keep them forever; tucked away into the memory palace in his brain... But he didn’t want that anymore. As soon as he’d kissed Isak he knew he wanted to be better this time.

Or, Isak and Even meet in a doctor's office waiting room.

i didn't mean to kiss you (you didn't mean to fall in love) - tarjeiandhenrik

football/cheerleader au with not much football and cheerleading because i only know the basics

Membership Dues - Sabeley

Isak is pledging Even's fraternity. Even keeps having to be reminded that he's not allowed to date the pledges.

"It's a ten-week pledge period. How hard could it be?"

Famous last words.

Or, the childhood best friends AU no one asked me for.

poppin’ pills is all we know - thekardemomme

au in which Even comes into the bathroom instead of Emma

Sweet - Lisforlove

Isak is drunk and needy.

A Transference of Feeling - rumpelsnorcack

Isak hated that he was being forced to do this. He hated leaving Nissen because of his stupid parents’ stupid fights and stupid rules. Isak didn’t understand why he had to move just because they couldn’t get their shit together anymore; this felt like more punishment on top of having been left alone with his mother and all her weird moods and difficult behaviours.

Aka, the au where Isak transferred schools rather than Even.

in the place of you and me - DarkBeauty_890

“Can I tell you a secret?” Even murmurs, tracing mindless patterns- zig zags and hearts and stars and infinity signs- up and down Isak’s bare back. He circles freckles and counts them, adding them to his never ending tally of things to know about Isak.

Isak snuffles sleepily, “Mmhmm.”

“You have made me happier in less than a year, than I think I have been in my entire life.”

Eyes flicker open, hazy green; beautiful and open, “Ditto.”

whose world is this - withoutwords

It’s the same Isak who does his own laundry, and cooks his own dinner, and calls his dad for money because Eskild’s empty threats of kicking him out are starting to get on his nerves. The same walking, talking Isak.

But now he kisses boys.

I wanna hold you like you’re mine - giraffingallday

"I'm sorry? Who are you? And how would you know if Isak was really gay?"

"I’m Even, and how about because I'm his fucking boyfriend?"

Huh. This was news to Isak.

_

Isak is often nervous and just trying to get through his required semester of Theatre. Emma makes it a little harder until Even comes along and makes it too easy. He might fall in love somewhere along the way.

Tired of using Technology - skambition 

(This is part of a short series, I would recommend the whole thing)

Isak & Even texting

... about sex, love, relationships, school, family, daily stuff, and whatever else you text about :)

Golden Boy - alotofphandoms

“Guys, not every guy is gay and wants to bang me.”

“I beg to differ.” Isak jumps when a boy sits down next to him. “Hi, I’m Even.”

~~~

“A date?” Isak almost exclaims. Even chuckles again, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been on a date, right?” Even jokes but his face turns slightly more serious when Isak just looks at him dumbly and shakes his head. Even gives him a smile. “I just want to get to know you, golden boy.”

~~~

Or, Isak thinks his life is great until Even Bech Naesheim waltz in and starts taking him out on dates. (Mostly fluff and flirting but I live for angst so there's a little bit of that to keep it interesting)

it’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s write - mmxii

Even suddenly stops and just looks at him for a few seconds. Then he says it.

“You’re my best friend, you know. Always have been, always will be.”

a childhood best friends au..... because there can never be enough

Skamløs - Skamtrash

AU. Even is Isak's professor and they have a thing going on

[kelasparmak]

001: Vorkosigan Saga. 002: Charles Gunn/Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.

OH MAN THIS GOT LONG

Vorkosigan Saga:

Favorite character: Hmmm, tough one. No, just kidding, everyone who’s ever met me knows Bel’s my favourite, hands down, no contest.

Least Favorite character: I mean, there are a lot of baddies to pick from. Ryoval, Ser Galen and Bruce Van Atta all rate highly.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): This one actually is tricky, since I really really like a lot of the canon relationship dynamics. Byerly and Ivan definitely, Aral and Cordelia (and Oliver Jole, though it’s Aral and Cordelia’s dynamic that I’m particularly fond of), Ethan and Terrence, Simon and Alys, and I think Miles and Bel. (Honourable mentions go to Bel and Nicol, Ivan and Tej, and Elli and Elena, which is a pairing I’d not actually really considered until I got desperate for Vorkosigan fic and ran the Russian works on AO3 through Google Translate and found some really interesting fic.)

Character I find most attractive: My mental images of book characters are generally super vague and I’m eh about attractiveness anyway, but thinking about it I’d probably say Rish, Taura or Dono Vorrutyer.

Character I would marry: I’d be quite happy marrying an awful lot of them, really. Bel, for preference, since I’m practically in actual bona fide love with it.

Character I would be best friends with: I’d like to say Bel, but I don’t think I’m exciting enough. My actual best friends through life have mostly been more like Tej or maybe the younger Kareen, so maybe one of them? Tej and I could definitely bond over language learning. (I would also love to be best friends with Byerly, but again, I don’t think we have the same idea of a good time.)

A random thought: The first thing that springs to mind is my fascination with the fact that Bel and Jole had a fling back in the day. When was this? How (hilariously) would Miles react? I would love for Bel, Nicol, Garnet Five and Corbeau (since he’s the Barrayaran Imperium’s ambassador or attache or whatever to Quaddiespace) to visit Sergyar and pop in on Miles, and have that awkward ‘yes, we’ve met’ conversation when Miles tried to introduce them to each other. Well, awkward for Miles and Jole, at least; Bel and Cordelia would no doubt find it hilarious.

An unpopular opinion: Iiiii don’t really like that more or less everyone ended up paired off to an Appropriately Gendered Spouse, with a bureaucratic position and babies ever after. I mean, that’s an oversimplification and there are exceptions (like Elli, or Ethan and Terrence, though that’s implied rather than explicit and since Athos is men-only it feels a little ‘for lack of alternative Terrence might end up with a guy and if he does it’ll probably be Ethan’) but that’s how it feels to me. I don’t know how unpopular that opinion is, though.

My canon OTP: Aral/Cordelia

Non-canon OTP: Byerly/Ivan (I mean, we’ve essentially had this question already)

Most badass character: I think Taura or Elli, probably? Miles is definitely a contender too, but I suppose because you see him wallowing in self-pity or making it up as he goes or doing extremely silly things pretty often the overall effect is perhaps diminished a little. Though I think overall the sheer amount of obstacles, self-imposed as well as external, that he manages to overcome, might put him at the top of the list.

Pairing I am not a fan of: Leo/Silver, probably. I don’t think it was very ethical for Leo to get involved, at least not at that point - I’m not sure if she was canonically a great deal younger than him or if I’ve just imagined that, but there’s a huge gap in terms of life experience, and I think that given the way Van Atta had exploited her very very recently, Leo should have given her some space and time and the tools to figure out what she wanted before he got involved with her.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Bothari’s portrayal made me pretty uncomfortable at times. Not sure if it was necessarily a screwup because she writes other mental illnesses pretty well, at least as far as my understanding of them goes, but I felt like with Bothari there was a very fine line being tread between a very complex depiction of schizophrenia (specifically traumagenic schizophrenia) & cyclical abuse on the one hand, and the ‘dangerous and barely-human crazy person’ stereotype on the other.

Favourite friendship: So many. In the interests of not just repeating myself from the shipping questions, though, I really like the development of Miles and Ivan’s relationship from not really Getting each other at all in the first book (and Miles in particular being pretty contemptuous of Ivan), to a close (if constantly mutually exasperating) friendship once they’re a little older.

Gunn/Wesley

when or if I started shipping it: Gosh, it’s been absolutely years since I watched Angel and I only watched it the once, so any of these answers may be completely wrong, but honestly I think it was from the first time they argued.

my thoughts: I really liked their 'odd couple’ dynamic - it reminds me a little of a much more extreme version of Eliot and Hardison’s initial impressions of each other, in that they each have a lot of preconceptions about the type of person the other is and about their worth, but pretty quickly get over it and come to respect each other and (shockingly enough) realised that it was actually really useful that they’d had such different experiences and that they worked much better together than separately. I’d have liked more episodes dealing with their very different backgrounds and attitudes in a more casual setting - I don’t remember how often that came up but I don’t feel like it was very often, or at least not often enough for my liking :P I just wish that phase

What makes me happy about them: I guess I’ve just said it. Got a bit carried away there I guess. 

What makes me sad about them: The goddamn unnecessary love triangle! And everything getting fucked up! Why did this happen! I prefer to pretend that storyline, and the Illyria storyline, and the Grimdark Wesley storyline, didn’t happen, because they were silly and unnecessary. Whedon, you didn’t even have to let my kids be happy, but making them miserable because of internal conflict that wasn’t even in-character for them wasn’t even lazy writing, it would have been lazy writing with different characters, but this required effort! To be bad! Why! (Caveat: possibly the Grimdark Wesley storyline isn’t so much objectively bad as I just didn’t like it. I don’t mind him being emo, that’s a-ok, but his behaviour toward Gunn and Fred was straight-up gross, and while I quite liked Wesley dealing with the consequences of his mistakes, I’d have been happier if he’d learned from them instead of getting worse, lol.)

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Iiii actually have never read any fic of this series, I don’t think, so I guess I don’t know. I can imagine some things that would and that I wouldn’t be surprised to see done.

Things I look for in fanfic: Well, nothing, but I guess it would be the dynamic that I liked between them in the Good Times. Preferably a ridiculous shenanigans, some near-death experiences, actually talking about their feelings, and a healthy dose of fluff (or h/c). And Gunn being smart as hell, because he is and arguably is better at applying that in practice than Wesley.

My kinks: I am a pure and innocent soul and I don’t even know what a kink is. (Okay, but leaving out the sexual element, I guess even though I was talking about how much I hate Grimdark Wes, I’d probably be interested in hatesex fic set during that period if it was concerned with working out their frustration and betrayal rather than just uncomplicated angry sex) (Also, I can see Wesley being super into Gunn being smart as fuck generally, and specifically into his Lawyer Talk after he got essentially the entire corpus of law and G&S downloaded into his brain. In my head this is not a very sexy thing, it’s very ‘Ooh Mr Darcy’, Wesley is hopelessly enamoured and Gunn is initially bemused but flattered and very quickly gets tired of Wes swooning every time he says something smart, which is way too often for it not to have lost its effect AND YET. And especially if they’re working for Wolfram & Hart together in this scenario, in which case Gunn uses advanced legal terminology often on account of it being his job, which makes it hugely impractical for Wesley to try and jump his bones every time it happens. He’s probably just into the legal jargon and not the Gilbert and Sullivan because that would be a very weird kink and not one I can imagine being sexy at all, but now that I say it, if someone wrote that fic I would read it just out of morbid curiosity.)

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Fred! As well as each other! Guys, polyamory, it’s a thing! (If it had to be other people, I’d probably go for Gunn with Fred and Wes with either Angel or Spike. Probably not Lilah.)

My happily ever after for them: No one dies and Gunn has high self-esteem and Wesley stops fucking up everything he touches. Nothing bad happens and The Gang never have to deal with apocalypses or implausibly huge conspiracies or anything, they just hang out being supernatural detectives and doing Season 1-2 type stuff forever. Possibly they are in a triad with Fred but this is not necessary.

[evieoh]

Tagged by @alkenifanfiction

2016 AO3 stats:

User Subscriptions: 34

Kudos: 1330

Comment Threads: 295

Bookmarks: 232

Subscriptions: 139

Word Count: 136331

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Works written in 2016 partially or wholly:

While I try to forget I used to be something great (one-shot, Gen-rated) Hive/Ward skyeward AU after 3.10 "The emotions feel so foreign, he has tasted the edge of them briefly in his long lifetime, through many hosts, but never like this. Never this agony that cries for more. This need for destruction that aches in his bones. She is the sun and he wants to burn in her flames. This is what sends men to war, this is what they die for. And this is the piece that has been missing. She is the spark that lights the void within him."

We gotta have it, We have no control (one-shot, Explicit) Season 3 AU. Shameless PWP. "She gets the most absurd urge to laugh at the absolute insanity of their situation. She is trapped, for all intents and purposes surrounded, making out in a closet with the bad boy. It's like some kind of warped secret agent version of Seven Minutes in Heaven."

and the sequel -

Let me see your hand, Show me what you got (one-shot, Explicit) Ward pov. Smut with a tiny bit more plot than the first part. If you squint.

Between the Shadow and the Soul (6 Chapters, Explicit) Season 3a AU/fix-fic. After Malick kidnaps Skye/Daisy in an attempt to use her to open the portal, she is rescued by Ward and a butterfly effect is set in motion. (My first real multichapter fic, I am so proud of this thing. It is and will always be my baby. I think my writing has improved over the year, but I am still so proud that I managed to write this and get it done in the time frame I set myself)

It's our Time to Make a Move (one-shot, Mature) Skyeward no-SHIELD AU. Skye reluctantly gets dragged to her 10 year high school reunion, where her high school crush returns with a vengeance.

I Pick my Poison and it's You (one-shot, Explicit) Has anyone else wondered how on earth they could get it on in those tiny ass closets they call bunks? The answer, it turns out, is not easily. (Season 1 AU smut. The blame for this fic falls entirely on Daisy, who took my complaining about the impracticality of having sex in the pods on the bus and demanded I write a story from it. My first real attempt at comedy-fluff. I'm pretty happy with it.)

tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us (one-shot, Explicit) Hydra!Skye role reversal set during The Well. Written for Skyeward smutfest. Angsty AF.

We Kiss the Dusk Goodnight (one-shot, Explicit) She finds him in Mexico. It's been eight months since she last saw him. “You came,” he repeats, his voice still sounding amazed and a little surprised. “Of course I came,” she says, leaning her forehead against his. “It just took me awhile to find you.” (Smutty one-shot sequel to Between the Shadow and the Soul.)

we drink the fatal drop (then love until we bleed) (one-shot, Explicit) AU during 1x20. Skye and Ward both know there is no happy ending for them, no way this will end in anything but heartbreak. But neither of them can resist the pull of the other, this force drawing them together. (Smut and angst, my specialty apparently)

I'm Just Dying to be the Friction in Your Jeans (3 Chapters, Mature) When Skye's friend's drag her out for a girls night out for a night of exotic entertainment, she is less than enthused. A certain smoldering dancer catches her attention and might just be enough to change her mind though. (Again, never joke about fic ideas to Daisy. She will not let you not write the thing.)

our hearts are too ruthless to break (one-shot, Mature) Skyeward/Nikita AU. (alternatively, evie tries to cram all of Daisy's favorite tropes into one fic for her birthday fic and also aims to make her cry.)

Maybe I'm Too Busy Being Yours To Fall For Somebody New (6 Chapters, Mature) (College AU!) Skye meets Grant Ward during Freshman orientation and it's Loathe At First Sight. He is easily the most irritating and infuriating person she has ever met. But fate (and their friends) seem determined to push the two of them together. Over the next four years their lives become inextricably intertwined, as they are forced to admit that they might actually be friends.

If The Fates Allow (2 Chapters, Mature) Stuck at the airport on December 23rd due to a snowstorm that has grounded all flights, Skye just wants to get home to celebrate Christmas with her friends. Becoming nemeses with the very attractive but utterly irritating guy sitting next to her was not in her plan. But fate has a funny way of bringing two people together when they least expect it.

Favorite Fic: I think I have to go with College AU (aka Maybe I'm Too Busy Being Yours To Fall For Somebody New), I started writing it back in May and then my enthusiasm dwindled until Daisy came along and kicked my ass until I finished it and I am so forever grateful to her for it. The fic is a tropey cliched mess and I do not care. I had so much fun writing it, and the comments I got on it are my favorite from any of my stories.

Hardest Fic: I think it was probably 'we drink the fatal drop (then love until we bleed)'. I had a really hard time getting the tone right. I knew from the start I needed the story to be from Ward's pov, but then I struggled with my fear of it seeming like Skye was coerced at all without having any way of seeing her thought process. I got so frustrated I nearly quit writing it at least three times, but I had amazingly supportive friends who helped me through it and now it is one of my favorite stories I've written, so I suppose the struggle was worth it.

Do You Plan to Take Prompts in 2017? I'm not great with prompts, I never have been. That said, I would like to be better. I make no promises though.

What was the best thing about 2016? While I technically wrote my first Skyeward fic in the final week of 2015, I'm gonna say that my getting back into writing again for the first time in years. And challenging so many of my previously held ideas about my own boundaries. I wrote a fic that was three times longer than anything I had ever written in the past. I wrote shameless smut. I wrote complete AUs. I wrote fluffy fun cotton candy fics. 

What was the worst thing about 2016? Losing my momentum in the second half of the year.

Any last thoughts for 2016? I am so glad I finally started writing again, and I am so grateful for all of the amazing feedback that inspires me to keep doing it. (And I am so incredibly grateful for @stargazerdaisy for inspiring and demanding and cajoling and encouraging me all the time, I swear I would have only posted like 3 rambling and semi-incoherent fics, riddled with run-on sentences and over abuse of commas, without her)

Goals for 2017: Alias AU! After talking about it for almost an entire year now.