#i barely know how to use this site erm

[helianss]

a swift greeting :3

hello there!

Hiya! :D

[icewindandboringhorror]

Everytime I face a new character limit on a website that didn't have them before/used to have really long ones... AUGHHhhh the modern social media world was not made for people like me (lovers of details, rambling, elaboration, thorough explanation, and nuance)

[mkcherrio]

no one asked but i answered so here's a gay short story

Title: Warm Coats

The subway screeched into the station just as I stumbled in. I seized the brief moment I had for the doors to open and leaned against a bench to regain even a small amount of energy. Bundles of people stood packed together in the overcrowded area. Many of them were wrapped in thick woolen jackets, knitted gloves, and even full-length blankets to combat the biting December chill. Boston was not kind to its residents in the winter. Me, I had long since conceded to my ragged Boston University hoodie, patched-up leather work pants, and construction uniform to keep me from succumbing to hyperthermia. The construction company I worked for kept us on site for far longer than city law allowed them to, claiming they had adequate protection from the elements. If a five-minute break underneath a Walmart heating lamp was protective, I didn’t want to know what was unprotective. Every week or two in these cold spells, a body would turn up on whatever site we were working on at the moment. Their skin was frozen and tight with ice, and their lips cracked with colors ranging from pale blues to bruised purples. We each sunk deeper into our flimsy clothes as if they were the barrier between our mortality and the wretched state the body was in.

Eventually, when I was able to push past the mass of people, I scanned the subway car eagerly for an open spot. Of course, there weren’t any, and generally, it didn’t matter to me. However, an eight-hour shift lugging around solid timber in continuously plummeting temperatures sapped most of my stamina, and the scraps of it I had left over were used to sprint to the station. I gripped the smooth metal pole near me and leaned my head against it. My eyes felt almost bruised from the lack of rest.

“Excuse me?” a quiet voice spoke, snapping me out of my stupor. Flicking my eyes to the source, a woman looked up at me from a seat, a small smirk playing on her full lips. 

“Erm, hello?” My face pulled into a grimace at my ineloquent response. The fatigue really was getting to me. “Sorry, is there something I can do for you?”

“What you can do for me is to sit down.” She gestured to an empty spot that went unnoticed during my initial search. “You look dead on your feet.” 

My mouth pulled into an exhausted smile and I slipped next to her. “Thank god.” 

Her warm mahogany-colored eyes cut across my slumped form and I found myself straightening underneath her gaze, heat rising up my cheeks and up to my ears. It had been a while since I’d gotten flustered by another pretty woman. It had been a while since I felt anything relating to romance at all. Constant work and eight-hour shifts didn’t sustain a relationship. The friends I had were in the same sinking boat as me. Along with the harsh cold, the frostiness of solitude was another thing I didn’t have a thick enough coat for. 

“Your jacket is horrible,” she said bluntly. 

I laughed and looked at her barely patched-up leather jacket. A long tear on her right sleeve showed she wore nothing but a thin long-sleeved shirt underneath. “Yours is too. No doubt you’re freezing right now.”

“Well, we aren’t talking about me now are we, dead girl?” 

“Nicknaming the stranger without asking for the name?” 

Her eyes brightened even with how cold she must’ve been. A fire blazing in a snowstorm. 

“Sorry, I’ve been rude. What is your name, dead girl?” 

“Sarauniya, just call me Uni. You?” 

Her smile could’ve melted the ice clinging to the windows. “Alika. Are you Nigerian?” 

I smiled when I heard her name. The weariness steeping my bones was curbed by her friendliness. “Yeah. I’m assuming you are.” 

She nodded. “My grandma had your name. It means queen.” 

“Yours means beautiful. I think it fits.”

“Flirt.”

“I prefer chivalrous, thank you.”

Her laughter resonated like cymbals colliding together, forming a quick yet bright sound. “Christ you sound like an English teacher.”

 “I was a creative writing major so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh? A writer in construction?” 

“I like to build things as well. Though in usually better conditions.” 

“You went to Boston University?”

“Yeah, I just graduated. You?” 

“It’s my last year; I’m a music major.” My eyes trailed down to her hands which were folded in her lap. Hard callouses lined the tips of her fingers.

“You play guitar, right?”

Her brows furrowed and the corners of her lips quirked up. “How’d you know?” 

“I play and you have the hands.” 

“Oh so you do everything at this point,” she smirked, “what can’t you do.” 

“I’m not aware of anything, but if you can come up with something let me know.”

Alika opened her mouth to respond but a sharp voice cut across the overhead speakers and informed us that the trip would be delayed due to maintenance issues. The unified groan in the subway car was palpable. 

“Are you actually kidding me?” I murmured, glaring at the speakers as if they were the cause of the wait. 

“You have someplace to be?” Alika asked.

“The store. I was going to pick up something to eat but now everything will be closed by the time I get home.” 

“I think you’d pass out in the store even if you did have time. I genuinely thought you were about to fall over when I saw you.” 

“Hardy har har. I was merely resting my eyes.” 

“Sure.” She glanced at the rough stone of the tunnel we were bound to through the ice tipped glass windows. “Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” 

A shaky laugh escaped my lips. No longer in the throat of our original conversation, lead filled my eyelids and they struggled to stay open. “I guess we are.” 

Her face softened and she nudged my shoulder gently. “You should sleep a little bit. It's not like we’re going anywhere.” 

“No it might start again and I don’t want to miss my stop.”

“Then I’ll wake you up. Please you might fall into the street if you stay up for any longer.” 

With, albeit more aggressive prodding, I conceded and slumped deeper into my seat. Her arm rested on my curved shoulders and when I shot her a questioning look through my sleep-lidded eyes, she smiled. 

“Well, I don’t want you to actually die from the cold, dead girl.” 

Warmth sat on my skin as if I wore something thicker than my old hoodie and cheap construction uniform. The deep, nearly unrelenting chill of loneliness sunken in my bones lessened ever so slightly. It was smothered with a jacket sewn with just a tinge more care than usual. Another coat added to my small collection.

And I could always do with more coats.

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Read on FFNet

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

*******

Ginny had disappeared, dragged through the kitchen door, before Harry could come up with an excuse to keep her by his side. He sighed and took a long gulp from his glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation down his throat. Whatever his family was so wound up about, Harry knew he wasn't in danger here, so he hoped the drink would dull his overactive auror instincts so he could enjoy the evening.

"So...how's the shop?" asked Harry, choosing to focus on George, "any accidental new body parts I can't see?"

"Harry, I'll have you know that we ascribe to only the highest of safety standards at Weasley Wizard Wheezes," said George with his nose in the air, "We strictly adhere to a dual-fault system to make sure a trained wizard is on-site to intervene in case of emergency."

"By that he means that he doesn't try any weird shit on himself without me there to rush him to St. Mungo's," said Ron with his mouth full, wincing as his mother smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon for his language.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "So you two are already partners now? Really wasting no time on bailing on me, aren't you?"

"Don't be a prat!" grumbled Ron. "No, like I said, it was just a thought that I had. You know, the kind of thought you would hope you could share with your best mate without him jumping down your throat?"

"Well I think it's a marvelous idea," Mrs. Weasley announced loudly from her place at the stove."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother? You're glad that another one of your sons is considering wasting his life at this silly business, instead of a respectable job at the Ministry?"

"Well, if said Ministry job involves chasing after Death Eaters every day," huffed Mrs. Weasley, "Then I suppose my nerves will take any alternative."

She sent a stern look towards Harry and pointed a threatening spoon at him, making him jump back. "You could do well to learn from Ron in that regard, Harry."

Ron was grinning ear to ear, bouncing in his seat from being the favorite child of the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with Ron doing the responsible thing." she lowered her voice to a grumble so Harry barely heard, "at least someone is."

Harry surveyed the tense atmosphere in the room again.

"Okay, what's got everyone in such a mood?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No one's in a mood!" said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time, and his voice too was less assuring than Harry usually found it. "I'm having trouble with a fascinating new muggle device I've discovered, would you mind giving me a hand out in the shed?"

"Oh. Sure," said Harry easily. Mr. Weasley got up from the table and led Harry outside. They entered the man's infamous tool shed, and Harry noticed new mechanical and electronic devices in various states of disassembly. Mr. Weasley gestured to his work table, where a VCR sat.

"I've heard that muggles use this to see recorded images, like a pensieve, but I've put in those black blocks, and nothing happens."

"Oh, well," said Harry, trying not to laugh, "You need to attach it to a television. It can't just work on its—"

He was interrupted by the door opening again, and Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley entering the shed which he always knew her to avoid, wanting nothing to do with her husband's "nonsense" tinkering.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asked crossly, "We agreed we wouldn't. The boys—"

"I told them I was getting apples from the orchard," his wife said dismissively. She crossed the shed and looked beseechingly at a very surprised Harry.

"Harry, dear, you know how we think of you as a part of this family. We've been wanting to say….we hope that you don't think that has changed because of you and Ginny's relationship. We know young men have trepidation about 'the girlfriend's parents,' but you're not just our daughter's boyfriend to us, you're one of our own."

Harry was as touched as he was confused. "Th-Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"And one reason we had no objection to you and Ginny dating," Mr. Weasley continued, "is that we trust you to always do right by Ginny. To always do what's best for her."

Harry looked back and forth between them, their expressions pointed and expecting.

"Well — ehem — I'll remember that. I promise to never do anything to hurt her." He meant it.

There was another moment of silence before Mrs. Weasley spoke up again.

"Sooooo…." she prompted. "We just want you to be aware that….should you decide to propose…you wouldn't have to worry—"

"What!?" Harry's heart leapt into his throat and he knew his face had turned scarlet. "Oh, no no," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm glad to have your blessing, but we're not ready to think about that yet."

Harry rubbed his neck nervously. It was only a half-lie. In truth, Harry was ready to think about that. He thought about proposing to Ginny damn near every day, in fact. But he was fairly certain that Ginny was still years away from being ready. She was fiercely proud of her independence and she was still dealing with the papers referring to her as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" before "star Harpies Chaser," even without marriage.

Mr. Weasley sighed in what seemed like disappointment and Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned and her expression turned sour.

"Well...the roast should be done, we should all head back inside."

The Weasleys led the way out of the shed and Harry cautiously followed them. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Harry saw Bill shoot his father a stern, questioning look, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Weasley shake his head grimly, and Bill and Charlie gave Harry a glare that would make Mad-Eye Moody quake in his boots.

Harry froze and all the breath left his body. It suddenly all made sense. He was the thing that the Weasleys were so on edge about. Ginny's parents inquiring about him marrying her.

They had somehow found out that he and Ginny were living together.

Harry suddenly felt like a sheep in a cage with several wolves.

"Hey mum," said Charlie, "while you were outside, Aunt Muriel floo-called and said that the gnomes are in her attic again. Apparently she's upset at the way dad tried to take care of it last time."

"Is she sure it's actually the gnomes, or is it the doxies nesting in her hair?" Mr. Weasley grumbled as his wife shooed him into their sitting room and through their fireplace. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest as the few Weasleys he could count on to not murder him due to this secret getting out abandoned him with the curse breaker, dragon tamer, master prankster, and Ministry power-broker.

Several murderous eyes turned towards Harry.

"Look...er…" Harry stammered. "I really thought that, after everything, we had all moved past the whole 'overprotective big brothers' routine."

"Yeah, we thought we had too," said Charlie darkly, "but mum and dad's diplomatic approach clearly didn't work, so the gloves are off. I guess we never figured that the savior of the bloody wizarding world would do this to our sister."

George snorted, still finding this whole thing quite amusing. "Sorry, do this to her? Harry's the real victim here. Ginny's a nightmare already, can you imagine what living with her will be like now?"

"What the hell are you lot talking about?" Ron cut in, looking around the room in confusion.

"I think your brothers have become aware of me and Ginny's...status change," said Harry.

"Oh, that is just so typical!" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and adopting her lecturing pose. "Ginny is perfectly capable of handling her own life and she doesn't need a bunch of chest-beating men to defend an outdated notion of her 'honour!' I still can't believe how sexist magical society can be sometimes."

"Yes, Hermione, our world is sexist, whether we like it or not" said Bill, not backing down. "You can pontificate all you want about how it's not right, or a double standard, but once the public finds out about this — and sooner or later, they will," he shot another glare at Harry, as if he wrote to the papers about it himself, "then it will change how people see her. And since she's a Quidditch star, the way people see her matters."

"Yup, can see the headlines now," George sighed dramatically, "the ambitious social climber Ginevra Weasley, raised in a pauper's home, so she used her feminine wiles to land herself this sweet gig."

"Look, ultimately, it's none of our business — no, I'm serious!" Ron finished in response to his brothers' looks of betrayal. "Look, Bill, Charlie, you two were only around when Ginny was a little girl. You didn't go to school with her. You never saw first-hand what happens when you try to meddle in her life to defend her virtue, trust me." He shivered a bit, as he remembered the traumatic memory.

"I don't even understand why we have to meddle," said Percy, "I just don't understand your logic, Harry. There's no question you would be willing to throw yourself into mortal danger all over again to protect Ginny. What you're hesitating to do is comparatively easy."

"His reasons don't matter, he should have thought of that earlier," said Charlie, pointing a threatening finger at Harry. "I don't care if this makes me a hypocrite, but you're going to do the right thing and—"

Ginny suddenly burst into the room, causing every word to fall silent. Harry knew that Ginny always hated it when people were obviously talking about her, but as he started towards her, he was surprised when he saw that her eyes were watery with tears. Ignoring all of the eyes on her, she ran straight towards Hermione, throwing her arms around her friend.

"Erm, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. She threw a questioning look to Fleur as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, but the young mother looked just as confused as anyone as she took Victoire back from Bill.

Instead of answering Hermione's question, Ginny withdrew from the hug and smacked Ron upside the head.

"Ah! What the shit!" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ronald, language!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, re-entering the kitchen along with her husband, making the room quite crowded.

"That's your main concern?" asked Ron, "Not the unwarranted physical assault?"

"It's not unwarranted, it's for being a stupid, forgetful git!" barked Ginny

She walked up to Harry and took his glass of firewhiskey, still mostly intact.

"I need this more than you," she informed him, and began to raise the glass to her lips.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

Mrs. Weasley's ear-piercing shriek caused everyone in the room to wince, and Ginny momentarily jumped behind Harry for protection. "Merlin's balls, WHAT!?"

"Molly…" Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"DO NOT 'MOLLY' ME, ARTHUR!" his wife shouted back. She had a crazed look in her eye and she was pulling at her hair. She rounded on Harry and Ginny.

"We have tried to be respectful, but you two are clearly not ready for this kind of responsibility! I am so disappointed in you both for not taking this more seriously! You haven't even given a thought to how this will affect your careers!"

"Our careers?" asked Harry, confused. "How would that possibly—"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had gotten it completely wrong about what the Weasleys were talking about. The talk about responsibility, their careers, affects to Ginny's public image.

Somehow, the family had gotten word about the "honour" bestowed upon Harry by the Wizengamot, and all the implications that had for his and Ginny's future together. He supposed it wasn't too surprising that Arthur or Percy had heard about it through their Ministry connections.

He looked sideways at Ginny, and from one look he knew that she had come to the same realization. Both their faces split into wide grins as relief flooded through them that all of this drama was over something so silly. Apparently, the family somehow had the absurd idea that Harry would keep the title and actually take the status, power, and responsibilities being offered to him.

Harry and Ginny cracked up into delirious laughter, leaning on each other for support, which did nothing to help the livid look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

"Oh Merlin's beard, is that what has you all concerned? Don't worry about that," laughed Harry, waving one hand dismissively and wrapping the other around Ginny's shoulder.

"I mean, come on, we're obviously not keeping it!"

There was a moment of silence, then the entire kitchen exploded.

[vivianweasley]

Love, George (George Weasley X Reader)

Prompt: This is for @weasleysflowr​‘s 300 writing challenge! “Can I tell you a secret” and “just shut up and kiss me”.

Summary: You have always loved Michael Corner but now he’s getting married and you are the bridesmaid. As cliche as it sounds, you just wanted someone to save you from this mess. Fake dating.

Pairing: George Weasley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst with Michael, alcohol use, mention of underage drinking

Word count: 2K

A/N: Did I just write another unrequited love bridesmaid story? Yes, but this idea is stuck in my mind for a long time. The inspiration is from the first scene of the movie Love, Rosie! GIF is from the movie too and credit goes to whoever owns it. Anyways, hope you guys would like it:)

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome!

You were sitting at Michael Corner’s wedding and your brain was a foggy mess, but you were next to give a toast. The logical side of you told you to look at your notes one last time, but the emotional side of you just wanted to hide in a hole in the ground and pretend like you never existed.

Michael was your best friend. You’ve known each other since the first year at Hogwarts. And like all cliches, you were the person who has always secretly loved their best friend. 

You thought maybe one day he would finally realize that the person meant for him was right beside him. But now he’s getting married and you, his best friend, became the bridesmaid. 

Why were you the bridesmaid? Didn’t the bride have any friends? But you knew, you could complain and make fun of the bride all you want and in the end, she still has everything you’ve ever wanted.

It was your turn to give a toast now. You stood up and cleared your throat, “I’ve known Michael since the first year at Hogwarts. It feels like it was only yesterday that Michael got stuck on the moving stairs and almost missed the first class. Oh, or when the Weasley twins dumped blue paint on him during fourth year. Can’t believe that he’s getting married today. Merlin, I sound like his mum.”

The guests laughed and the Weasley twins cheered at the mention of their prank. You laughed along and continued, “And I should probably say something nice about Michael too. Michael Corner was the funniest, most interesting, and most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

The guests cheered again in agreement and you waited for the waves of cheering to die out, “I just wanted to say that the bride is really lucky. And I wish you guys all the best with all my heart. Congratulations Michael, and I will always love you...” you looked at his eyes one last time, those ocean eyes, “cause we’re best friends.”

The crowd was clapping and cheering, but you couldn’t hear anything. You just sat there, staring blankly at the crowd. This was the end, was it? Before the wedding began, you fantasized about so many scenarios. Like in a soup opera where you would run up there and object. Or like in a romantic comedy where he finally realized that you were the one he has always loved.

But nothing crazy happened in the reality and to be honest, you were glad.

“Y/N, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m always here.” Cho was there with you in the restroom. She knew about your crush on Michael and was always there to support you when you prepared for the wedding.

“No, I’m not going to cry.” You sighed, “But I really do hope that maybe, I could suddenly have a tall and handsome boyfriend, and then I could walk out of the wedding feeling less defeated.”

When you two were leaving the restroom, you bumped into a tall man. You looked up and recognized that it was George Weasley.

You became friends with the Weasley twins right after they dumped blue paint on  Michael. You guys would hangout together sometimes and you joined Dumbledore’s Army with them, so you could tell the twins apart. But after they left Hogwarts, you guys barely contacted each other and would probably only see each other at Hogwarts reunion dinners or some old classmates’ weddings.

“George?”

“I’m sorry Y/N, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I believe I heard you said that you need a tall and handsome boyfriend?”

You were embarrassed that he heard your silly talk, but you still managed to reply calmly, “Yea, are you gonna introduce me to someone?”

“That someone is standing right in front of you! See, I’m tall,” he raised his hand to emphasize his height, “and I’m handsome!” He winked at you.

“George, I was only joking...”

“Yea, joking. Someone told me I’m quite good at that.” He grinned at you, “I can pretend to be your tall and handsome boyfriend and make Corner jealous!”

You laughed at his remarks, but the reality slapped you in your face. You lowered your head, feeling defeated again, “But he won’t...”

“Well, at least you could still use some fun now. Consider this as a light-hearted prank! ” He cupped your face and lifted your head.

At this moment, you felt like the playful and happy you came back. You turned back to look at Cho. She nodded at you, reassuring you that this idea was not completely dumb, so you finally held out your hand, “Well then, shall we, darling?”

He chuckled and held your hand, “Let’s go, darling!”

Your plan went well. Not long after you left the restrooms, you and George ran into Michael. He looked surprised seeing you holding hands with George, “Y/N, you two?”

Before you could say anything, George answered the question for you, “Y/N is my girlfriend!”

Michael was looking at you now and you couldn’t quite understand his expression. Putting aside all of your unrealistic daydreams and wishful thinking, he was probably just surprised.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Erm....I was busy preparing for your wedding and I just kinda forgot.” Your left hand was tugging nervously on the hem of your dress now, but you were still impressed that you could lie so smoothly even under this kind of situation.

“Yeah Corner, my girlfriend was so busy preparing for your wedding, she didn’t even have enough time for me! You should really thank her mate,” George added.

Now Michael was looking sorry as he said, “I didn’t know...Thank you, Y/N.”

To you, this “Thank you” sounded like the closure for your unrequited love that lasted for years. “It’s alright,” you replied softly.

“I need to go get a drink. Congratulations mate!” George pulled you away before you started to zone out. 

After returning to your table, George just sat on the empty seat next to you. The owner of this seat, Terry was probably already drinking the night away somewhere. You glanced around. Everyone looked so happy, making you a misfit. 

George noticed you were zoning out again, “I’m guessing that you don’t want to stay here anymore. How about we sneak out right now?”

You nodded. Yes please.

He held your hand. You thought he was going to apparate you into somewhere else, but he just held your hand and ran out of the wedding. Just like a muggle movie.

Surrounding the wedding venue was a grassland and some small hills. You and George finally stopped running at the highest hill and something came over you. The presence of George just made you comfortable doing crazy silly things that you usually didn’t have the courage to do. You took off your high heels, “I always wanted to try this.” And without hesitating, you rolled off the hill.

George was probably shocked by your sudden action. But he wasn’t shocked for long, because you soon felt someone rolling off the hill, too.

You didn’t even have the time to stand up or move away as George just landed on you. You looked at each other and started laughing. You were both in formal clothings, but you were also both covered in dirt and grass. This was probably the first time in weeks that you were laughing wholeheartedly, not like back at the wedding, when you could only call what you were doing a mere action of pulling the corners of your lips upwards.

“Aren’t you full of surprises.” George laughed as he gently pushed away the hair and grass on your face.

You were speechless for a moment. You were lying on the grass and George was still on top of you. You stared into his deep brown eyes with the breathtaking starry night sky as the background, and memories from fourth year started to come back.

At that time, the Weasley twins were very popular. Well, they were always popular, but you only got to know them during your fourth year. That year and fifth year were the only two years that Michael wasn’t really occupying your mind.

They were older, Gryffindor beaters, and legendary pranksters. It was impossible for you to not notice them. Especially George. He kept appearing in front of you, asking you if their new pranks ideas could work. You didn’t know when did this happened exactly, but he did eventually claim a place in your heart.

Maybe you were a little bit drunk. Maybe it was because the stars were mesmerizing tonight, but you confessed, “Actually, I have more surprises for you. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Oh yea? What is it?”

“It was a long time ago and it’s quite funny actually, but I had a crush on you back at school.” You were blushing, but you hoped that he couldn’t see it.

“Let me guess, was it the year of the Triwizard Tournament?”

You sat up as you were shocked and he sat up with you. “How did you know?”

He chuckled, “You probably don’t remember much about this, but do you remember the night of the Yule Ball? You were so drunk, but you couldn’t find your friends?”

The memories you thought were long gone began to resurface. Your friend group went to the Yule Ball together that year and Michael was also part of it. You still remembered you telling yourself that technically you could still say that you went to the dance with Michael.

That night, someone sneaked a bottle of firewhisky into the dance and you ended up getting drunk. Your friends were probably wasted too since when you finally regained a tiny sense of conscious, they all disappeared. You searched the hallways, with your arms leaning against the walls, trying to find some support. You called their names, but no one answered.

You remembered now. The last person you could remember from that night was George Weasley.

The loss of memory was making you anxious. You started to pull your hair nervously when you asked, “Merlin, what did I do that night??”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, “Not much. You told me that you fancy me and you kissed me.”

Your brain went blank. You did what??

He continued, ignoring how you were losing it right now, “Earlier tonight, I heard you say that Michael was the funniest, most interesting, and most amazing person you’ve ever met? If I remembered correctly, you told me the exact same thing that night. Do you say that to everyone? I’m hurt. Thought my feelings were reciprocated that time. Turns out to be a lie...”

He was still ranting, but you only managed to hear one thing he said. He thought his feelings were reciprocated? Did that mean at that time, he fancied you too? To be honest, if Fred and George didn’t leave Hogwarts that early, maybe the person that you loved for years wouldn’t be Michael anymore. Suddenly, you felt like you just wasted all of these years and all of the heartbreaks.

“So...do you still have feelings for me now?” You felt stupid immediately after your words left your mouth. That was years ago and you were asking about it now?

“Why did you think I wanted to be your fake boyfriend today?”

It was sudden and you still wasn’t sure what you were thinking, but you just kissed him, smashing your lips together.

He was shocked for sure, but soon a smirk appeared on his lips, “What’s with you and all these sudden kisses, Y/L/N?” He then pulled you in and kissed you back. This time properly and with more passion, as if you were both trying to make up for all those lost years.

“So did I actually become your ‘tall and handsome boyfriend’?”

“Maybe, if you could just shut up and kiss me.”

[snitches-at-dawn]

draco fucking malfoy pt 2 || d.m.

a/n: thank you all so much for the gorgeous reception you gave part one of this fic- it honestly means the world to me.

this fic is a fair bit longer than the first part, mainly because i didn’t really want to drag this onto 3 or 4 parts.

this is specifically for the wonderful nonnie who asked me for a part two and a happy ending, i am sorry this is bittersweet instead of happy like you had requested. to make up for that, i’ll be posting a small happy alternative ending in a reply to your comment just for you titled “Draco Fucking Malfoy Pt 2 - Alternative Ending”

i finished it a bit early so i thought i’d post it now and the alt ending later around 1pm pst.

i hope you all like this and are safe, wherever you are. 

word count- 3.1k

part 1 to draco fucking malfoy

alternative ending

“nope. nope nope nope nope nope,” you said repeatedly to yourself as you continued pacing up and down your room, as if the combination of the words and actions could change the name on your left wrist. a soft knock on the door made you stop your pacing. you heard hermione’s excited voice float across, “(y/n), have you got a name yet?”

“fuck me,” you groaned and put your head in your hands wondering how harry would take this news. your best friend had a hard enough time adjusting to draco when you were dating, you had no idea how he’d take the news of having to deal with him for the rest of your lives. you remembered his reaction when you told him that draco had asked you out in your fourth year before the triwizard tournament.

~flashback~

“erm...harry?” you said nervously as you entered his dorm.

“i know, (y/n), i just need five minutes then we can go for dinner,” he replied as he rummaged through his trunk for something.

“not that,” you said, “can we talk?”

“sure,” he said distractedly, waving towards the foot of his bed indicating that you should take a seat, where you dutifully perched yourself.

“so erm, draco malfoy asked me out,” you rushed out, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater.

“bit early for a hallowe’en prank isn’t it?” he laughed.

“harry. i’m not kidding. he asked me out,” you said more confidently this time.

harry stilled and then swivelled around to face you, “say that again.”

“draco asked me out.”

“are you having me on?” his voice was suspicious.

you shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ears so harry could look into your eyes and see that you weren’t joking and you repeated, “draco asked me out.”

“draco?” harry asked incredulously, “since when do we call malfoy ‘draco’? and what d’you mean he asked you out? why would he ask you out? you’ve never even spoken!”

“erm well actually, remember how last year you couldn’t come to hogsmeade,” you paused as he nodded, “well at some point it started snowing really hard i lost ron and hermione, so i went into madam puddifoot’s to find someone else to walk back with because the three broomsticks was empty, but draco was the only other student there. everyone else had left by then, i guess.

“well, we ended up walking back together and he told me he had been stood up by daphne greengrass. it was a bit awkward at first- i didn’t know how to comfort him really. he changed the topic soon enough to quidditch and he turned out to be nice and we got along well enough. then i started seeing him everywhere. he was talking to me at every party, sitting next to me in potions once in a while, walking down to care of magical creatures, that sort of thing. we sort of became... friends,” you trailed off as you saw harry wanted to speak.

“and how come neither of ron, hermione or i realised? i think we would have known if you were talking to someone we all hate- or hated in your case.”

“hermione did. she and i started spending alot of time together because of her fight with ron- that’s when we got close. she’s known about us since the first day we spoke actually- she’s been... surprisingly supportive. you were so preoccupied with the whole sirius situation you didn’t notice which was totally understandable of course and she agreed that telling you would only wind you up. ron... well- ron’s just always been a bit oblivious,” you answered.

harry grunted.

“right well, we just ended up spending alot of time together last year and wrote to each other a fair bit over the summer. at some point we started liking each other i guess,” you shrugged.

harry looked at you sharply, “you fancy him then?” to which you nodded.

“hang on- is that where you snuck off as soon as we got to the world cup campsite? when you showed up near the bulgarian’s site? the three of us reckoned you had got lost or something.”

“yeah, we had planned to meet up in front of his tent weeks before.” you said fondly, “that’s where he told me he fancies me and-”

“alright i don’t need to know if you snogged there,” he interrupted you hastily but your blush gave you away, “oh c’mon (y/n), you snogged him?”

“no,” you heatedly replied, “we just kissed.”

“you couldn’t have found any other boy, (y/n)? you have a line of boys who’d line up to date you. merlin’s sake you don’t even have to look outside my dorm- seamus and neville would kill for a shot at you.”

you scoffed, “they only like me because i play quidditch. draco,” you voice softened, “draco likes me for the music i listen to, my sarcasm, my horrid jokes and all the stuff that annoys most people.”

he sat down wearily next to you, “and you really like him?”

once again you nodded.

seeing he looked just as bewildered by your choice you said, “look it won’t be long. i’m a half blood. there’s no way his parents will let us date long once they find out.”

harry considered this for a moment. he sighed, “well, that’s true. go on then. he’d better treat you alright, (y/n). i’m not having him screwing with my best friend,” and he slung his arm around your shoulder.

“with any luck he’ll be screwing your best friend rather than screwing wit-”

“yeah just don’t tell me about your sex life alright?” he interrupted you again.

you hugged him hard, “thank you for understanding, harry. i know you can’t be too happy with your best friend crushing on someone you hate.”

he awkwardly patted your head in acknowledgment. 

hermione walked in to see you laughing at the pathetic irony of your situation. looking at you confused, “(y/n)? who is it?”

“draco fucking malfoy,” you mumbled from between your hands which covered your face.

“come again?”

you sighed and put your hands on the bed on either side of you.

“it’s draco,” you exhaled

hermione laughed too, “no really, who is it?”

resignedly you showed her your wrist. her face fell, “no.”

“my thoughts exactly. it’s like some kind of cosmic joke.”

“what are you going to do?” she asked.

“commit murder possibly,” you said marching out of your dorm and to harry’s ignoring her calling your name, presumably trying to talk some sense into you.

“the map. give me the map,” you snapped at harry once you had barged into his dorm, ignoring the other boys crowding around you asking who your soulmate was.

“why? who’s your soulmate?” harry asked.

you shoved your wrist under his nose. he stared in shock, “i don’t know whether to feel bad for you or laugh at you.”

“you’ll give me the fucking map unless you want me to hex you into next year.”

he produced the marauders’ map from the depths of his trunk which you snatched and proceeded to exit the room once again to the sound of your name.

“oi! (y/n)!)” harry called again jogging after you.

“what?”

“why d’you want the map?”

“i need to talk to him,” you replied.

harry nodded, understandingly but called after you when you had turned around.

“what?” you asked more irately this time.

he hesitated, “(y/n) don’t- don’t do anything stupid. as much as i’d love for you to hex him till his mum couldn’t recognise him-  he is your soulmate whether you like it or not. even though we all hate him, he’s who you’ll spend your life with. don’t say anything you’ll regret in the future.”

a small smile tugged at your lips, “i thought i was supposed to get wiser when i got older.”

turning you attention back to the map, you saw the little dot labelled ‘draco malfoy’ in the girl’s lavatory on the second floor and purposefully stalked out of the gryffindor tower to moaning myrtle’s bathroom, not even wondering why he was in the girl’s lavatory.

you didn’t even remember the walk down, just how blindingly angry you felt. angry at the universe. angry at harry for not stopping you from dating him two years ago. angry at draco for not telling you why he broke things off. angry at draco for being your soulmate. angry at... you weren’t angry at draco for being your soulmate. 

you saw a flash of platinum blonde hair in the mirror you stood in front of, and whirled around.

he was leaning against the wall behind you, watching you with calculating eyes as he tried to predict your next move.

your rage re-surfaced as you walked across the bathroom to him, shoes squelching and robes dragging in the standing water until you stood so close to him your noses were almost touching.

“you,” you said with as much disgust as you could muster in your voice.

“yes?” draco asked pleasantly as though you had said his name to get his attention.

“fix it.”

“fix what, darling?”

you stabbed your wand into his chest, “don’t you call me darling you prick.”

“alright. what d’you want me to fix?”

you had started to walk away from him but spun around at that question, “what d’you mean ‘what d’you want me to fix’?” for the third time that hour, you shoved your wrist under someone’s nose.

“this,” you hissed, “fix this.”

“and how can i fix this?” he asked, baring his own wrist to you.

something about seeing your name on his wrist made your anger concentrate into a tiny ball in the center of your chest, rather than the disorganised feeling you had earlier, and you felt your head clear a bit.

“there’s some kind of mistake. we’ll go to mcgonagall tomorrow and have her arrange for us to get to the ministry so we can get this sorted out,” you said in that same low voice you had used that night on the astronomy tower. your mind was racing as you muttered under your breath, trying to think of ways to break the bond you had forced on you.

“(y/n).”

your attention shifted to draco who was standing right next to you.

“(y/n), do you really think this is a mistake? i mean really? we were amazing together. yeah our parents didn’t like it, yeah we had alot of people talking about us, but that didn’t affect us,” he said. when you didn’t respond he continued, “we were good for each other. i calmed you down when your temper flared up. you’d keep me in check if i started bullying someone. we worked together to get better in our classes and it worked well. we made each other better in every way.”

“yeah we did work well, until you dumped me for no reason. it’s been three months and i still have no idea why you up and left. if things were as peachy as you make them sound, then why the fuck would you get out of the relationship?”

you didn’t know how to address him. ‘draco’ was too familiar and ‘malfoy’ was too distant.

he shrugged and returned to the wall he had been leaning against.

with the moonlight bouncing off his white hair, the water just covering the soles of his shoes and the way his robes were draped around him, he looked like some kind of ethereal spirit floating an inch above the ground.

you hated that.

draco seemed lost in his own thoughts, so you jerked him back to focus on you by snapping your fingers, “well?”

he laughed lowly, “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you, my darling.”

“try me.”

as he looked at you, you could see the cogs turning in his brain, considering your words and the ramifications of telling you whatever the reason was. 

the right cog must have clicked in place.

“promise me you won’t judge me.”

“no.”

“(y/n), i’m not kidding,” he said wearily.

“nor am i.”

in response to his silence you continued, “ i reserve the right to judge you after how you dumped me.”

his face contorted in anger. “fine,” he snapped, “fine.”

he moved towards you and wrenched up his left sleeve for you to see his arm. the dark mark. the dark mark ruining his alabaster skin.

“there. that’s why i broke up with you,” he spat.

his voice was deadly quiet and shaking.

“no,” you whispered, all the anger seeping out of your body. your hands grabbed his arm of your own volition and made as though they were trying to wipe off the mark as though it were drawn on.

it wasn’t.

“no, you’re just sixteen you aren’t even of age. there’s no way this is real,” the last sentence was posed more like a question which you looked at him to confirm.

he nodded, “it’s real.”

“did... were you forced?”

he extricated his arm from your grip and let his sleeve fall back down,  silently watched you, gauging your reaction.

“draco...” your voice trailed off. you had no idea what to say. or what you wanted to say.

after a few moments of silence he said, “i have to kill dumbledore.” his voice was quivering again.

you looked at him in abject horror.

“what?”

he nodded and leaned over the sink, choking out through sobs, “with dad in azkaban... he would have killed mum if i hadn’t take the mark when i did. i did what i had to. now i have to finish off the job and he’ll... he might spare mum.”

your mouth was agape, your brain sluggish.

“that’s why i broke up with you. i knew i’d have to take it over the summer. it was easier to have you hate me than love me; it wouldn’t make you a target.”

everything made sense now- why he looked so sleep deprived the week leading up to your break up, why he was so evasive and jumpy after the article in the daily prophet publicising his dad’s arrest.

you tentatively turned him around and when he didn’t resist, you reached out to touch his face. he leaned into the touch and you pulled him into you. your arms around his neck with his face buried in the crook of yours, this situation felt comfortingly familiar- at least it would have been if his shoulders weren’t shaking with silent sobs.

you couldn’t seem to feel any of the resentment that you had felt towards him for the last three months anymore as you stroked the nape of his neck in an attempt to calm him down. you just wanted to protect him. hide him from the cruel world and to let him breathe.

you guided him to the corner of the bathroom, drying the floor with a murmured incantation before sitting the both of you down.

“there’s going to be a war, (y/n),” draco said into your neck with his arms wrapped around your waist as you held him protectively.

“i know,” you whispered back.

“your side will lose, darling, he’s too strong. if you’re it for me, you’re the one i’m to be with, i need you alive after this war. hell, even if you weren’t it for me, i’d still ask you to come to his side.”

“draco,” you exhaled softly looking at him, “you know that isn’t possible. harry-” your voice trailed off.

what would you tell harry? would you tell him about draco’s mission? you shook your head. harry was a problem for later. right now, draco needed you.

“leave him,” he said hoarsely, gripping your wrists, “i know he’s your best friend but (y/n), you can’t die on me. i refuse to let that happen.”

“oh darling,” your voice broke as your stroked his face.

the both of you sat there, intertwined for a few silent seconds before you pulled draco against your front as you leaned against the wall.

“doesn’t this feel familiar?”

draco laughed softly, “i couldn’t count the number of nights we spent like this on the astronomy tower if i tried.”

“let’s be there then. let’s forget all the prophecy bullshit and who’s going to win the war. let’s be a couple of fifteen year olds again, yeah? fill me in on the last few months, sweetheart.”

“i don’t want to be fifteen again.”

you smiled internally that he was playing along with your ploy to distract him.

“alright,” you stroked his hair, “we can be sixteen in an alternate universe. we’re still together and we haven’t got our soulmate marks yet. how’s that?”

his nose wrinkled, “is that from the crap muggle book you tried getting me to read last year?”

“so you were listening to me!” you laughed.

“i always listened to you.”

“i’ll listen to you now. let’s be sixteen in an alternate universe with no war. tell me about your last three months, love.”

draco filled you in on the time you had spent apart, all the light and happy things- not the significant and dark stuff.

you were only half listening. your mind was in overdrive as you thought about how to extricate him from the mess he had been thrust into by his father’s incompetence to keep himself from getting caught by the ministry. 

maybe you’d convince draco to defect and to go to dumbledore for help. dumbledore wouldn’t turn him away.

if that didn’t work, you’d force him into hiding somewhere, somehow. if it meant using the imperius curse on him, so be it. he wasn’t having his soul ripped to pieces at sixteen. 

how had this happened? an hour ago you would have jumped at a chance to ridicule him, harm him - anything to make him feel the hurt you felt for three months. you had marched to him with the intent of somehow getting your soulmate changed, consequences be damned. now all you could think about was how cruel the world had been to the boy in your arms, how unfair it had been. how you were hell bent on being his safe haven and hopefully the answer to his problems.

“let me in, (y/n),” he said knocking on your temporal bone lightly, calling on an old inside joke you had of letting each other into your thoughts when lost in them.

“it’s nothing important,” you dropped a kiss on his head, laughing at the irony of how a week ago in a conversation with harry, ‘nothing important’ referred to him.

you pulled him closer to you and asked, “so what did narcissa say after that?”

as he continued his narration of a painful dinner he had had to sit through, you pushed every thought to the back of your mind.

reality was a problem for tomorrow.

right now was about draco.

draco fucking malfoy.

tag list-

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[honeyhan-123]

Doctor Doctor

Summary: With a bullet in his arm, Bucky seeks medical attention and a certain surgeon catches his eye. 

Warnings: non-con, gun play (gun fucking), biker!Bucky, minor descriptions of blood and bullet wounds. 

Word Count: 3k

AN: This was written for the incredible and lovely @the-soulofdevil​ and her 500 follower writing challenge. Congrats gurl, I’m so proud. My prompt was a doctor au. Also, I’ve been watching wayyyyy to much Grey’s Anatomy, pls help me. 

Squares Filled: Biker!AU & Knife/Gun play

My Masterlist 

Exhaustion held your body captive as you dragged your feet, your eyes fluttering shut every few steps. Your entire body was sore, your neck cricked from looking down at the body on your operating table for so long and your hands were slightly cramping. The CABG surgery had taken far longer than you had expected, and now nothing was sounding better than going home, opening a bottle of sauvignon blanc and taking a long hot bath. 

You eyes the door for the stairs disdainfully. Deep down you knew you should take them. The attendings lounge was only two floors up but you were dead tired so instead, you plodded along to the elevator, jabbing the up button. Looking back on it you really should have taken the stairs.

The elevator finally dinged on your floor, the doors opening slowly and without even looking, you jumped inside. You only noticed the other occupant after the doors had slid closed. He was tall, impressively built, and his eyes were a stunning shade of cerulean blue. You hated yourself for wondering briefly if he was here visiting a girlfriend. 

However you could tell there was something off about him but, maybe that’s what attracted you. You had always had terrible taste in men. You could feel his body come closer, invading your personal space. A hand reached out to your name tag, his eyes flickering over it. 

‘A surgeon huh? So I guess you know your way around the body.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ The words were barely out of your mouth before he reached into the waist bands of his jeans, pulling a gun from it with one hand, his other pressing the shutdown button on the elevator panel.

‘I need you to do me a favour Doc. I need you to get this bullet out of my arm.’ You stared down the barrel of his glock, your mouth going dry as he continued to speak. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to press the start button and then the elevator doors will open. You’ll take me somewhere private and you’ll quietly and stealthily get whatever you need to get the fuckin’ bullet out of me. If you even think about calling for help I will blow the brains out of whoever is around. Clear?’ Your heart thudded like a hummingbird’s wings and the turtleneck underneath your scrubs felt far too tight around your throat. 

‘I said. Are we clear?’ He pressed the gun directly between your eyes, forcing the cool metal against your heated skin and you nodded. 

‘Yes.’ You barely managed to squeak out your assent.

‘Sir.’ He added for emphasis. 

‘Yes Sir. I understand.’ 

‘Good girl. Are you ready? And remember, if anyone dies, it’s your fault.’ You nodded once more and watched as he pressed the green start button, the elevator coming back to life. He stowed his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, sending you a look that clearly said he could whip it back out faster than you could scream. But his look was unneeded. You weren’t going to call for help. The people that worked at this hospital were like your family. There was no way you were going to risk any of their lives.

You lead him through various hallways, picking up an abandoned supply trolley as you went until you came across an empty patient room. You gestured for him to sit on the bed as you pulled on a gown and gloves before wheeling the stool over and sitting in front of him. 

He grunted in pain as he pulled his leather jacket off, his t-shirt following soon after. Under normal circumstances you would have cut the material away but seeing him in pain gave you a sick sense of glee. But as you stared at his now bare chest, any sense of joy quickly seeped from you, dread taking its place. It shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was to see the pitch black ink staring back at you. He had waved a gun in your face for crying out loud. But still, seeing the dark outline of a wolf on his chest sent a chill through you. Of course this man was a White Wolf. 

‘Scared of a little ink doc?’ The man before you teased a smirk taking over his plush pink lips.

‘Of course not Sir.’ You quipped back. It was only half a lie. You weren’t afraid of the tattoo itself, more of what it represented. You had seen far too many victims of the White Wolves over your time working at Seattle Grace Hospital. ‘I’m going to have to go in blind, I hope that’s okay as I assume you don’t want to be checked in?’ You asked even though you knew the answer you would get. 

‘Obviously.’ His voice was a monotone as he rolled his eyes, your hands sweeping over the blood surrounding the torn skin. The bullet didn’t seem to be too deep which was lucky for him. It would make extraction a lot easier. Once the site was clean you pulled over the IV kit, standing to attach the morphine to the drip before picking up the needle and making for his other arm. ‘No.’ He yanked his arm out of your grip with such force that you stumbled. 

‘Excuse me?’ You were confused as you sat back on the stool, the needle still in your hand. 

‘No drugs. Just get it out now.’ He pulled the needle from you, chucking it across the room as he did so.

‘I’m sorry sir but I have to insist. The drugs will help you stay still through the pain as I extract the bullet.’ No matter how much his pain earlier had helped ease your own you weren’t a sadist. 

‘I said no. I don’t want any drugs, I can handle the pain. Just get the fucking bullet out now.’ He growled and you submitted, scared that the commotion might attract unwanted visitors. Quickly you organised your tray and held the tweezers up to the bullet hole. 

To your surprise, the man barely flinched as you pressed the metal against the tender flesh, searching for the bronze bullet that you could barely make out. You had expected him to yield, allowing you to administer the painkillers but he barely reacted, the occasional hiss or grunt escaping his lips was the only sign he felt anything. 

Finally the bullet came free and there was a clink as you disposed of it in one of the metal bowls. Next you started working on patching him up. Some more blood had spilled from the wound as you had worked and he would definitely need stitches. As you worked you heard your parents voices echo around in your head, telling you horror stories of the White Wolves. 

The gang had been haunting Seattle since the early forties and were often used as bedtime stories told to young children to make sure they didn’t stay out too late. While you had taken your parents warnings seriously growing up, you had always thought they exaggerated the cruelty of the gang. Working in the hospital had changed your mind. Their cruelty was unparalleled and perhaps if you weren’t so afraid of what they would do to your family you might have thought about “accidentally” clipping his axillary artery. He would be dead within minutes but you knew the other Wolves would come around sniffing for answers. 

You struggled to keep your hands steady as you worked but finally you did the last stitch and bandaged his arm. ‘You’re going to have to wear a sling for next 4-6 weeks to make sure it heals properly and isn’t jolted around because you don’t want to be pulling your stitches. Also no strenuous exercise for at least two weeks and after then only light exercise such as going for a walk.’

‘What about fucking?’ Your lips parted involuntarily, shocked at how blatantly he had asked the question.  

‘Erm, well that would count as strenuous exercise but after the two week mark perhaps depending on umm… on how you… on your chosen, erm, position then it should be okay.’ You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment. You talked about sex and other embarrassing topics all the time in post-care but something about the way his cerulean blue eyes were staring at you so intently had you stumbling over your words like a school girl. 

‘Hmmm… that’s a shame. If I had known this morning was going to be the last time for a while I would have made it something special.’ He mused to himself, his eyes drifting over your dark blue scrubs as you pulled off the gloves and gown. ‘But since I’m here, you could always fix me back up if something happened. Couldn’t you doc?’   

‘Excuse me?’ You asked in confusion, blood draining from your face as he got off the bed and began stalking towards you. You backed away quickly, your hands fumbling with the door as you tried to pull it open only to have his uninjured arm slam it back shut. He twisted your body around so your back was pressed against the wood, both his arms pinning you against the wall as he leaned in. 

‘I think you heard me doc. The same warnings apply. Scream and I’ll kill anyone who walks through that door.’ His breath tasted like cigarettes and his body was hot and hard against you. When you gulped and finally managed a nod, he pulled you from the door, bringing you back over to the bed, forcing you to lean over it. 

He pressed his growing bulge against your ass as he pulled your scrub top over your head, the pale blue turtleneck and your bra following soon after. You squirmed in his arms but despite his injury his grip was steel tight. He groaned against the shell of your ear as he palmed your breasts, kneading them until your nipples began to harden. His breath was hot and heavy against the skin of your neck as his hands moved lower, down to the waistband of your scrubs. He slipped one hand in underneath your panties and groaned out. 

‘Oh Doc, you’re already so wet for me.’ He breathed out and you shuddered against him, trying to squeeze your legs together as tightly as you could. He tutted you, pinching your ass through the scrubs. ‘Behave. You don’t want to know what happens to bad girls.’ You choked back your sob as you nodded and allowed him to push you back against the bed, Your chest resting on the cold sheets. He slipped your scrubs down your legs and continued to play with your clit, rubbing it harshly as you tried to force your body not to react. One hand grabbed both your wrists, pinning them both at the small of your back as he moved.

‘One thing I’ve learnt from girls like you is that you always need something inside of you to feel full don’t you?’ You felt him shift behind you and then suddenly something very cold brushed against your thigh. You struggled in his hold even harder, thrashing your body around the cool metal brushed against your heated lips. You didn’t have to see it to know what it was.

He swirled the barrel around, coating it in the slick that had involuntarily pooled along your lips. ‘No. No! Stop it! Get off of me.’ You tried to buck him off but his grip remained like iron, holding you down against the mattress with one hand as the other eased the barrel inside of you. You thrashed wildly as the cool metal juxtaposed the heat between your legs causing an odd sensation to form. 

You hated the way the edges of the gun moved against your walls, making you feel every tiny ridge in the metal. You hated the way your body was responding to it even more. 

You barely managed to hold back your moans as his pace picked up, becoming unrelenting. The urge to roll your hips back onto him had you shuddering with disgust. Your body shouldn’t be responding like this, it shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as it was. But you couldn’t help it anymore, not when he called you his good girl. Praising you for taking his gun so well. 

The moans started tumbling from your lips and soon enough the coil in your belly had snapped and you pulsated in his arms. Your body convulsed as he slowly edged you down from your high. 

‘See? That wasn’t so bad. I’ve always wanted to have a cunt on the end of my gun.’ You shivered at his words, your senses slowly coming back to you. ‘Here, taste yourself.’ He forced the metal by your face and you wanted to shrink away in disgust, yet the tone of his voice told you that wasn’t an option. Hesitantly, you moved your head towards it, licking a small stripe along the side, praying that was enough to satisfy him. ‘Not like that. Suck it like it's my cock.’ You shuddered and cringing inside, you angled your head to take it like he wanted, terrified that his finger would slip on the trigger. 

You forced yourself to slowly bob your head going up and down the gun’s length, his groans echoing in the room as he rubbed himself against you in time with your movements. Suddenly, the gun was gone and you heard the tell-tale clink of his buckle, the fly of his zipper following. 

‘Please you don’t have to do this. I won’t tell anyone, please.’ You could no longer hold back the tears and they fell onto the mattress beneath you, darkening the white sheets. 

‘I’m sorry Sweetheart, but that’s just not how the White Wolves work. You see, when we see something we want... ’ his face dipped down next to your ear as he whispered into it, ‘we take it.’ And with that he entered you with one long thrust. You cried out at the intrusion. Although you were shamefully wet, you hadn’t been prepared for the sheer size of him. ‘Oh fuck doc. Your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight.’ 

There was no gradual build up. Just straight hard fucking. His balls slapped against your ass as he rutted into you, his pace unforgiving. You screamed out underneath him as you felt one hand wrap around your thigh, circling your already sensitive clit. ‘That’s it sweetheart. That’s such a good girl.’ You moaned as his deep sensual voice penetrated your ears. 

You felt his grip on your hands loosen before it wrapped around your throat, pulling you up against his chest. He felt even deeper like this and your tears ran down your cheeks freely. You hated how every stroke of his cock made you shudder in the best way possible. 

Your hands clutched at his around your throat as black dots started to appear in your vision. Between how breathless you were from the fucking and the crying, it was no surprise that you were struggling to breathe. 

‘C'mon sweetheart. Scream my name for me. Let everyone know who’s fucking this pussy so right.’ He didn’t seem to care that you could barely breathe or that he hadn’t even bothered to give you his name so you choked a meager Sir. He seemed to realise his mistake as he grunted his name into your ear. 

‘Bucky….’ Your voice was hoarse. 

‘Louder.’ He growled and you repeated yourself. ‘Louder baby, louder.’ 

With air you didn’t know you had, you screamed his name for him, the waves of pleasure crashing inside of you reaching their peaks as you did. He groaned into your ear as he kept rutting, riding you out through your orgasm as your body collapsed back on the bed. He thrusted a few more times before hastily pulling out, his seed dripping down onto your ass as he moaned unashamedly. 

‘Well fuck doc. How was that for strenuous  activity?’ You couldn’t respond as he laughed, fabric rustling in the background as he dressed. ‘Didn’t even pull any stitches either.’ He mused to himself and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Shame washed over you like a tidal wave, pinning you in place. 

You saw him walk around the bed, kneeling down as he came into view. ‘Get dressed.’ His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, but still, you didn't move. ‘Fine. Stay like that and let the next guy who walks in see your wrecked cunt. Like I give a shit.’ It was only at his brusque words and the reminder that this is in fact your workplace that you finally stood sorely. Your hands reached up to brush away the tears on your cheeks and you see him fiddling with your phone that had been in your pants pockets as you dress. 

‘What are you doing?’ You barely manage to get the words out. 

‘Just getting your number. You never know when having a doctor on call will be handy in my line of work.’ You tried to hide your scoff and failed. 

‘Your line of work? You mean terrorising the streets of Seattle.’ You have no idea where this fire has come from and if you knew better you would have definitely kept your mouth shut.

‘No, I mean running a multi-million dollar enterprise.’ You gulp, swallowing thicky as he stands his chest nearly touching yours. 

‘Running?’ You question, even though you’re not sure you quite want his answer. 

‘Yeah sweetheart. Running.’ His hands lift up and he slides your phone back into your chest pocket. And with a wink sent your way he slips out from the room, leaving you with a sense of dread for the next time your phone will ring. 

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

[shipmistress9]

Sex Toy Advent Calendar: Day 5: Clearly Weird Lube

Fandom: HTTYD

Rating: M

Pairing: Hiccup/Astrid

Words: 2325

Read on AO3

Summary: Day 5 of the Sex Toy Advent Calendar. Today's gift leaves a lot to be desired. Just good that Hiccup is good at improvising.

AN: This one... I don't even know. *scratches head* They did most of it on their own?

. o O o .

With curiosity and anticipation tingling in her belly, Astrid waited for Hiccup to pull out the box of the day from their calendar. It was yet again a black box with the golden number ‘5’ printed on the side. What made this one exciting, though, was the fact that it was the biggest box they’d had so far. And even though she knew that size didn’t matter… much… she was still burning with excitement. Initially, she’d thought little of this calendar, had only seen it as an expensive joke. But after the last few days, her expectations were rather high. She only had to work a few hours in the morning today, and then they were both free to enjoy today’s gift for hours.

“Come on, Hiccup, don’t keep me in suspense here,” she demanded, bouncing impatiently. “What is it?”

“Oh, now I’m not supposed to do that?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes, and Astrid groaned.

“You know exactly what I mean! You can suspend me like that whenever you want. As long as you finally open this box and show me what's inside!”

Chuckling, he complied. “All right, all right, let’s have a look. It’s pretty heavy in comparison. I wonder… Oh.” A slight frown appeared on his forehead.

“Hiccup!”

“Yeah, I know, I know. No suspense.” He let the box’s content roll into his large hand, a plastic bottle with some clear gel inside. “It’s… it looks like… lube?”

“Lube?” Puzzled, Astrid took the bottle and inspected it. “You’re right. It’s really lube. Heh… I wouldn’t have thought lube counts as a sex toy, though. More like… essential equipment for comfortable sex?”

Thoughtfully, Hiccup nodded. “Agreed. Although, this seems to be some special lube. What does it say on the label?”

Astrid took another look at the bottle, and couldn’t hold back a snort. “Oh, yeah. Special lube, all right…” She held the bottle out for him to read the label, too. “Special fragrance, fitting for the season. Backed Apple.”

Hiccup’s nose twitched. “For real? Okay… erm. Weird! But, hey. It’s free lube. What are we going to do with it?”

Throwing him a bemused glance, Astrid opened the bottle and raised it to her nose. “Well, I can always peg you if you feel up to—Ew!” Grimacing, she held the bottle away from her. “Yeah, no, not when you smell like that though. Esh, that’s some penetrative stench.”

With a slight frown, Hiccup took the bottle and sniffed it, too, but only to grimace and firmly close the lid a moment later. “Oh, that’s horrible,” he agreed, shuddering. “Have these people ever smelled baked apples? How… how…” He looked baffled, and honestly, Astrid felt the same.

“Can lube turn bad?”

Hiccup shrugged. “Possible? That would at least be an explanation.” He placed the bottle onto a sideboard and threw it a disdainful look.

“Yeah… Disappointing, though.” Astrid’s shoulders slumped. “Not that we can’t entertain ourselves without these toys, but…”

“I know what you mean. It’s not quite the same.”

After throwing the bottle of awfully smelling lube into the waste bin, they ate breakfast. Sulking, Astrid shovelled porridge into her mouth, and the fact that it was poorly flavoured as apple and cinnamon didn’t exactly help to improve her mood. “It’s ridiculous,” she exclaimed a few minutes later. “Even this porridge is out to annoy me now.”

Cocking his head, Hiccup’s eyes brightened. ”I might have an idea.”

. o O o .

By the time Astrid had finished her work for that day, her mood had calmed down—but not yet improved. It was ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter. She and Hiccup were together for so long now, not knowing what to do with a free afternoon definitely was not a disaster. They could make a video game contest, or maybe there even was some interesting film in the cinema. Or, if it truly was the sex she’d expected, then they had enough toys and options to choose from. They could simply use their usual lube instead and see where it led them.

But that just wasn’t the same… Damn anticipation!

Sighing in annoyance at herself, she let herself into their flat—and paused right there in the doorway. That scent… was that…?

“Ah, perfect timing.” Hiccup greeted her with a warm smile and a peck to the corner of her mouth. “It should be done in a matter of minutes now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but didn’t really need an answer. The scent that wafted to her nose the moment she left the entrance room was telling enough and made her mouth water. “Did you seriously make baked apples?”

With a small smile, Hiccup shook his head. “Not quite. I was thinking about it, but since I had enough time today…” He trailed off as they entered the kitchen, just as the oven made a demanding beep.

Astrid’s eyes went wide, her lips splitting into a huge grin. “You made apple pie?”

“My Grandma’s recipe,” he confirmed. “I thought it would be a good way to make up for the disappointment this morning.”

“Mmm, perfect!” She stretched to give him a quick kiss. “And you are, too.”

The cake was indeed perfect, but Astrid had no genuine doubts about that, anyway. Hiccup’s cooking skills were amazing, and he was passionate about his baking as well; which was something Astrid happily and regularly indulged in.

After eating a couple of slices each, they were both too full to even think about eating dinner anytime soon. Or doing anything else, really.

With a satisfied groan, Astrid leaned back in her chair. “That truly was a fantastic compensation for the Baked Apple disaster this morning. Kudos to you for coming up with an equally pleasant alternative.”

Hiccup snorted. “What? Are you trying to say that my cake is just as bad as that lube? Wow… and here I thought, you’d enjoyed the cake.”

“Noooo!” She threw a small piece of leftover cake at him; barely more than a crumb, really, and it didn’t even reach him. “Muttonhead. I meant that I’m too full for sex now. And I don’t even regret it. Much.”

“So, you’re saying that my cake was as good as sex?” He took a moment to exaggeratedly think about her words, bis long finger tipping against his chin almost comically. “Okay, that’s something I can live with.”

Laughing at her dorky, wonderful boyfriend, she stood up to carry their dishes to the kitchen, stealing a kiss from him on her way.

“How about we get comfortable on the couch and watch a movie or two?” she called back to him. “I think that would be a great way to wrap this day up.”

Hiccup agreed, and they moved to settle comfortably on the couch.

“Do you want to take your prosthetic off?” Astrid asked before she sat down.

Hiccup looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I think that would be better. Could you get my crutches from the bedroom?”

She did as asked and placed the crutches in their usual spot next to the couch, within easy reach. There was no need for her to offer that she would help him, too, if he needed to get up. Hiccup knew and appreciated that, and regularly relied on her help already if his amputation site acted up on a bad day. But he preferred to be independent if possible, and Astrid respected that.

A little while later, they both sat on their couch, comfortable side by side and wrapped in a soft blanket. They'd put glasses, a bottle of water, and even a bag of chocolate-covered nuts on the low table in front of them—in case they got hungry later. But for the moment, they were both happy to just let the cake settle.

Even though the film, Pirates of the Caribbean, was one of her favourites, it didn’t take long until her full stomach made Astrid sleepy. At first, she only leaned against Hiccup's shoulder and enjoyed the cosy comfort of his arm around her shoulders. Too often, life got so hectic lately, so moments like these were precious to her. However, even sitting became too demanding after a while, and she shifted until her head rested in his lap, humming as he absentmindedly caressed her hair.

She must have fallen asleep like this. The next thing she remembered, the film had jumped to a point much later in the story, and outside, the sky had turned from dull grey to black. Groaning, she shifted into another position, intent on making herself comfortable again, when a familiar hand on her shoulder shook her awake again.

“Astrid? I’m sorry, but I need to get up.”

Accepting the inevitable, she let him move. She cracked one eye open to make sure he could reach his crutches, but then quickly drifted off again, the low noises coming from the TV lulling her in quickly. She barely noticed how Hiccup came back, only heard his quiet chuckling before he crawled onto the couch behind her.

The next time she awoke, it was to Captain Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill talking to each other. Had Hiccup put on the second movie? Had she slept through the first one entirely?

With a sleepy moan, she shifted around until she could look up at Hiccup. He lay behind her, propped up on one arm and the other loosely around her waist. He was watching her now, eyes soft with fatigue.

“Hey, there. Had a good nap?”

She nodded, humming. “Looks like I needed that.”

He accepted her words without comment. In fact, he didn’t react at all and simply watched her, his gaze so intense as if he was looking deep inside her, not just at her eyes but at her soul as well. It made her feel warm, cradled, cherished, as if there was nothing in the entire world that mattered except being here at this moment, together. She acted without thinking, turned her head and stretched a little, breached the small distance between them until their lips met.

It was a slow kiss. Just lips moving together, melting, searching. It was simple but so good, sensual and meaningful. When she reached for him to pull him closer, the stubble on his jaw were rough against her palm, making her shiver. He wa so… so real. Everything about him, his warmth seeping into her body, his hand on her waist drawing her toward him, his breath ghosting across her skin, it was so intense. Irresistible. She wanted for this moment to never end, to keep kissing Hiccup and feeling him so close for the rest of eternity.

And for a while, her wish was granted. Time lost all meaning as they kissed, their bodies moving as one. Shifting, turning, grinding; even sleepy as they were, they always knew what the other wanted and followed their motions. Hiccup's fingers combed through her long golden tresses, his fingernails dragging across her scalp and making her tremble. Her own hands wandered over his back beneath his shirt, exploring his shoulders, the scars from his accident, and every single ridge of his spine down to his rear.

She loved how he ground against her, the motions so strong and natural and reaching so deep despite the clothes that still separated them. It was wonderful, knowing bodies nearly working on their own to bring each other to completion.

Her orgasm was building slowly, and when she came, it surprised even herself. Her muscles seizing deep inside her belly made her spasm beneath him. She mewled, and her fingers dug deep into his flesh as her grip on his backside grew firmer, holding him close. Her still sleepy mind went blissfully empty as pleasure surged through her in one powerful wave, and she barely registered how Hiccup’s arms shook at her side or how he muffled his groan against her neck.

When he rolled off her to lie next to her again, Astrid shifted too until she faced him. “Mmm, I liked that,” she murmured, then chuckled. “But so much for a day without sex.”

Hiccup snorted. He sounded as tired as she felt, his eyes closed and a lazy smile on his face. “Is that a complaint I’m hearing there? About too much sex? From you?”

Now, she laughed for real, low but true. “No, definitely no complaints here.” She burrowed against his chest and deeply inhaled his scent, leather, fire, and sandalwood. Home.

“Aye. I didn’t think so.”

His arms closed around her, holding her, and they both basked in this moment of sleepy closeness, vulnerable but safe. Astrid was close to drifting off into sleep again when Hiccup stirred once more.

“Mh? What’s up, babe?” she asked sleepily.

“I need the bathroom.”

“Again?” She lifted her head, again reflexively looking for his walking aids.

He chuckled. “Yeah, well… I made a bit of a mess of my boxers, and I need to clean that up before I fall asleep.”

Astrid blinked, then giggled. “Ah, right.” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Do you need my help?”

He paused, considering her offer, but then shook his head. “No, I’m good. But we should move over to the bed, it’s more comfortable than spending the entire night here on the couch.”

Grudgingly, she had to admit that Hiccup was right. She waited until she heard him leave the bathroom, then went there herself to use the loo and brush her teeth. After retrieving Hiccup’s prosthetic from the living room for the next morning, she happily crawled into bed next to him. And as she was about to fall asleep for real, she thought that maybe today’s gift from their advent calendar hadn’t been that much of a failure after all. If nothing else, it at least had served as a reminder that they didn’t need extravagant toys or accessories to be happy.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

[messrprcngs]

AN ABUNDANCE OF PINING.

SUMMARY : bucky accidentally comes across fanfiction you wrote about him on tumblr. instead of being freaked out, he’s actually quite flattered, and asks to see more of your writing. he finds that there’s a common theme with almost everything you’ve written about him, but he’s too dense to realize why that is. PAIRING : bucky barnes x reader ( implied female, kind of ? ) WARNINGS : lots of pining, as that is a given. not really angst. FLUFF ! WORD COUNT : 5.2k. this now holds the title of ‘longest fic sophie’s written’ A/N : my first bucky barnes fic !! i hope you guys like it ! inifinity war and endgame ? never saw them, didn’t happen. the avengers are all happily alive and living in the complex together (but steve is retired so sam is still the new cap) and that’s final.

"bucky, can you grab my phone from my room?” you called out from the kitchen. “i need to check my texts again to make sure i didn’t ruin this first batch of muffins!”

"sure thing, doll!” he called back from the living room. you shivered at the nickname, which you scolded yourself for immediately after. he used it all the time; you should have been used to it by now. you weren’t.

you paused your stirring, listening for the squeak of leather that indicated that bucky had pushed himself up off the couch to go retrieve your phone for you. you heard it, followed by the so-faint-it-was-barely-audible padding of his feet on the hardwood, and went back to whipping up more batter for the next batch.

you were pretty certain that you hadn’t, in fact, completely ruined your first batch of muffins. you were a better baker than that! but the new recipe you’d just gotten for killer chocolate chip muffins came straight from your aunt, a downright marvelous baker, and you didn’t want to mess anything up; they had to be perfect.

which was precisely why your first batch, which you’d popped into the oven almost twenty minutes ago, consisted of only six muffins.

you hadn’t wanted to risk wasting all your ingredients only to find out that you’d forgotten one of the tips your aunt had given you and subsequently made your muffins taste subpar in comparison to hers.

you hummed to yourself as you stirred in more chocolate chips and waited for bucky to come back. your humming stretched on for what felt like forever, and yet still no bucky.

looking up at the timer above the stove, you found that it’d already been three minutes since you’d sent bucky to get your phone, which was strange. he knew where your room was because you lived on the same floor, which was only two floors above where you were now; it wasn’t like it was hard to get there and back. besides, he had super long legs and didn’t run out of breath quickly. what the hell was taking him so long?

you took the rubber spatula you were using to smooth the batter out and set it on top of the bowl before peaking your head out into the living room from the kitchen. what you found surprised you: bucky, standing in the middle of the room, scrolling through your phone and staring down at whatever he was doing intently.

it wasn’t the simple act of him going through your phone that surprised - and confused - you. you were best friends (a title he’d been quick to assure you had more than enough room for both you and steve), after all; he knew your passcode by heart, and you his, though you generally didn’t fiddle with his phone, seeing as he still wasn’t very familiar with modern day technology and wouldn’t know how to undo anything you changed. no, you were surprised because he hadn’t come into the kitchen to make sure you checked what you needed to before stealing your phone away from you. he always made sure you checked your phone before stealing it away from you. something about this didn’t add up. 

“bucky?” you asked, and his head snapped up so quickly it gave you the impression that you’d startled him. “whatchya doin’? i need my phone to check the recipe.”

he rolled his eyes. “please, doll, i’m sure you got the recipe right. when have you not gotten a recipe right?”

you chose not to bring up the time you’d made oatmeal cookies for the team. no one needed to relive that experience.

“my phone, buck,” you whined instead, walking out into the living room.

“well, you see,” he started, and you raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. it was never good when bucky barnes started off a sentence with ‘well, you see’. “i actually found something pretty interesting on your phone when i opened it, y/n.”

“oh?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, even as your lungs fell into your stomach and your heart jumped up into your throat. you hoped he wasn’t talking about what you thought he was talking about. you tried to think back to what app you’d been using before coming down to bake, if you’d closed it, if you’d clicked out of it at all or not. you didn’t remember closing it or clicking out of it, but you sure did remember what app you’d been on: tumblr.

bucky hummed in affirmation. “yep. you were open to some wonderful writing, doll.”

you gulped. oh god, he found it. “really?”

bucky tried to suppress a smile as he said, “mhm. really wonderful writing. about me.” you wanted to die. he knew. god, this was a mess. “and i know i don’t really know anythin’ about the internet, but i know enough to’ve figured out that the account it was on is yours, huh, doll?”

you knew that you weren’t really bright red right now, but you definitely felt bright red. your face was burning, and your fingers were throbbing with the force of the heat rolling down your neck and into your arms. this was a mess. bucky had found the fanfiction you’d written about him. he probably figured out that you were in love with him just from reading it, too, and was bringing it up with you now to tell you that he was both utterly creeped out and didn’t love you the way he’d discovered you desperately wanted him to.

“i, i, uh - erm -” you stammered, blinking up at him rapidly to keep the tears that were pricking at the backs of your eyes at bay. “i . . . i’m really sorry, bucky.”

you lowered your head and cast your eyes downward, feeling like a child who had just been severely scolded - except this was worse, because bucky, your best friend and the man you were in love with, had just found the one thing you never wanted him to find.

“why’re you sorry, doll? the writing’s good!” you snapped your head up immediately at that, wincing from the force of the movement.

“it’s what?” you asked, incredulous.

“it’s good, doll,” he repeated. he seemed sincere. “though i don’t remember secretly pining over anyone named ‘whyenn’.”

despite the horrifying situation you were in, you couldn’t help but laugh at how he pronounced ‘y/n’. bucky let a grin slowly take over his face at the sound of your laughter.

“that’s because it’s fanfiction, buck. nothing i wrote about in whatever piece of mine you read actually happened,” you told him. you knew he knew what fanfiction was because of the time he’d caught you crying over a deamus fic and you’d had to explain what it was to him. you’d never told him anything about reader insert fanfiction, though - for a very good reason. that reason being, of course, because it was the kind of fanfiction you wrote.

“i figured,” he said. “but i had no idea that anyone would want to write fanfiction about me. or that you were such a great writer, y/n.”

the panic that was tearing at the inside of your chest subsided a bit, both because of his compliment and because he was taking this whole thing very well considering he clearly knew how you felt about him now and clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“a lot of people want to write fanfiction about you, bucky,” you told him. “you’re kind of a big thing on sites that are popular for fanfiction. so’s the rest of the team.” why were you telling him this? oh, that’s right: because you just never knew when to shut up.

both of bucky’s eyebrow’s raised at that. “oh really?” he was still grinning. “do you write stuff about the rest of the team, too?”

you looked away. “sometimes, yeah. but you can’t tell them!” you conveniently failed to mention that it was generally only when your readers sent in requests for something with another member of the team that you wrote for them.

“i mostly write stuff about you, though,” you added, before you could stop yourself. god, how you wanted the floor to tear open and swallow you whole right then.

“yeah?” the amusement was plain in bucky’s voice. “i won’t tell them, but am i your favorite member of the team, doll?”

you moved your eyes back to his before saying earnestly, “you are, bucky. really. it’s easiest to write things about you. because you’re my best friend,” you added quickly. maybe if you said it enough, you could distract him from the fact he’d discovered that you saw him as much, much more than just a best friend.

“easier to write about me?” he echoed, cocking his head to right like an adorable puppy.

“well, yeah,” you said, avoiding his eyes again. “i know you. i know how you talk and how you react to things and how sweet and caring and lovable you are. i know how much time it took for you to get to where you are now, to be in a place where you’re not constantly sad and . . . and terrified. i know everything about you, buck. it’s easy to translate that into writing.”

your eyes met again as you finished, and for a terribly drawn out moment, it appeared as if you’d rendered him speechless.

“wow, doll,” he breathed finally, his eyes soft. “i don’t know what to say other than i love you.”

now it was your turn to be left speechless. “i, you - what? do you really?” you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard when bucky was standing in front of you, looking so at ease and so, so breathtakingly beautiful.

for a second you thought you’d seen bucky’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but you blinked and they were normally sized once again, and bucky’s brow had furrowed. “well yeah,” he said. “you’re my best friend - of course i love you.”

you swallowed all that hope and let it sink miserably down to the pit of your stomach. of course. of course that was what he meant. you knew that you’d just said the same thing, but how could he say that he loved you when he clearly knew how you felt. unless . . .

no. you couldn’t entertain the thought that maybe he hadn’t realized just how much you loved him. it was glaringly obvious in everything you wrote about him. bucky was smart; there was no way he hadn’t figured it out.

you opened your mouth as if to speak, though you had no idea what to say. luckily, though, bucky cut in before it could become obvious to him that you weren’t, in fact, going to say anything. “do you mind if i read some more?”

“you - if you . . . what?”

“read more, doll,” he said again, smiling. “your writing’s good! i want to read more of it.”

“you want to read more . . . of my fanfiction . . . about you?” you asked, disbelieving. he laughed at the look on your face.

“yes, doll. that’s exactly what i want.”

you shifted your weight from one leg to the other uneasily. did you really want to let him read more of your writing? you knew if you said no, he’d respect your decision and leave it alone. but where was the harm, really? he’d already read one piece of yours, a one shot, probably. bucky was always sweet and kind, and thankfully hadn’t mentioned the painfully obvious: that you were very, incredibly, wholeheartedly in love with him. what else did you have to lose?

“sure, buck,” you said hesitantly. you couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “you can read more of what i wrote.”

bucky gave a cheerful shout, and you couldn’t help but smile; his happiness was contagious, even in the most minute of ways.

“BUT,” you added, matching his volume momentarily before taking it back down. “i need my phone back to check on this recipe first.”

bucky rolled his eyes, but handed you your phone anyway. “fine,” he said, a mock pout gracing his lips.

you unlocked your phone and quickly clicked out of tumblr before you could rethink your decision. you opened your texts as you turned around and made your way back to the kitchen, bucky following close behind. you scrolled through the conversation with your aunt to find the tips she’d given you, and mentally checked off the ones you’d done as you went down the list.

when you were finished, all the tips had been mentally checked off, and you smiled, pleased with yourself. you turned to face bucky, who was already looking at you expectantly, and handed him back your phone.

though he looked like he wanted to run off right then and there with the device, he stayed a moment to ask, “so? did you do everything right?”

you nodded, the little proud smile still on your face. he grinned at you. “see, what’d i tell you, doll?” he said. “now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be in the living room, reading.” he turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

you sighed and let yourself lean against the counter. hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in your face.

twenty minutes later and your first batch of muffins were cooling on top of the stove as you popped two more full sheets into the oven.

when you were finished, you wiped your hands on a dish towel and inhaled a deep, deep breath, before letting the air out in a heavy sigh. your next batch of muffins wouldn’t be done for another 40 minutes, and there was no need to make more batter, because you already had plenty ready for the third batch (because lord knows the team wouldn’t be satisfied with just twenty-four chocolate chip muffins).

your only other option was to go out into the living room and face bucky.

setting the dish towel down and steeling yourself, you walked out into the living room, where you found bucky sitting on one of the couches, fully engrossed in whatever he was reading on your phone (or rather, which of your fanfictions he was reading on your phone, you reminded yourself).

as you drew closer, you were able to make out fading tear tracks on bucky’s cheeks, and you nearly choked on your own spit. had he found the rest of your writing so horrible that he’d cried over it?

bucky tore his eyes away from the screen like it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do and looked up at you, his wide eyes full of a peculiar mix of heartbreak and wonder, with a dash of something you couldn’t quite place.

“how could you kill her, y/n?” was the first thing he said to you, his voice very close to a whimper. he looked absolutely devastated.

while you knew he had to be talking about something you’d written, you couldn’t help but say, “what?” in response.

“you killed her,” bucky said, as if that cleared everything up. “you killed her when i’d just gotten her back and, and - and i promised to marry her, y/n! marry her! and you still killed her! how could you do this to me, y/n?”

you blinked. “bucky,” you said, very slowly, “are you talking about 'good grief’?”

“‘am i talking about ‘good grief’’,” bucky mimicked. “of course i’m talking about ‘good grief’! what else would i be talking about?”

‘good grief’ was a series you were in the middle of working on, with a central plot point - and the series title - coming from bastille’s song of the same name. it was an au in which bucky hadn’t been taken by hydra, and it was one of your best-written pieces in your own opinion. it appeared that bucky thought so, too, if he was getting this worked up about the reader insert’s apparent death.

“so i take it you like it, then?”

bucky straightened up. “like it?” he asked. “no, i don’t like it. i absolutely hate it!”

hearing that immediately made you feel sick. god, how stupid to were you to think that bucky would actually like what you’d written, whether he thought whatever he’d read first had been good or not. before you could say anything, bucky continued.

“my heart is broken! utterly and entirely shattered, doll. how could you do this to me? your writing is so, so, so . . .” he appeared as if he were struggling to find the right words. “gut-wrenchingly beautiful and my heart is real fuckin’ hurt, doll.”

you were startled by his outburst. “i - what? you think my writing’s beautiful?”

bucky rolled his eyes, suddenly exasperated. “yes, doll, i think your writing’s beautiful. it’s wonderful. how many times do i have to tell you that?”

“as many times as you’d like,” you said before you could stop yourself. you were rewarded by the quirking down of the corners of bucky’s lips that indicated he was trying to suppress a smile.

“then i’ll tell you all the time, y/n/n.”

“how . . . how much did you read?” you asked fiddling with your fingers as an excuse to not make eye contact.

“everything,” he said immediately, and you looked up, shocked. you hadn’t expected him to want to read your writing that much.

“er, everything about me,” he clarified. somehow, that was infinitely worse.

“oh,” was all you said as you went back to avoiding eye contact.

“actually, i had a question about your writing, doll.”

you looked up at that. “oh?” you gulped, preparing for the worst.

“yeah,” bucky said. “why is everything you write about me full of longing?”

you were stunned. “i - what?”

“well it’s just,” bucky continued, “that while i was reading, i noticed that the topic of pining is really prevalent in what you write about me. even when it’s not central to the plot, like in those - what are they called? ‘one shots’? yeah - one shots, you always mention pining and longing.”

you didn’t know what to say. you knew bucky, and you knew when he was genuinely asking a question he didn’t know the answer to (he wasn’t a very good actor). which was why you knew that his question was sincere, that he really had no idea why you included near-excessive pining in everything you wrote about him. had no idea that you included it because you were pining after him just as hopelessly as your reader inserts were.

and that meant . . . that meant that he really didn’t know that you were in love with him. he hadn’t been avoiding bringing it up to spare you the embarrassment; he hadn’t realized in the first place!

a huge wave of relief built up inside you, washing away the panic that was still tucked into your chest, but with it came an equally sized wave of disappointment. part of you, you supposed, had hoped that bucky would take you in his arms after reading the rest of your fanfiction and kiss you senseless before telling you that he’d always loved you just the same way you loved him. that he’d always been in love with you.

but of course, that was just a fantasy, too much like fanfiction to ever have a hope of becoming a reality.

you didn’t know what to say, but there bucky was, blinking up at you oh so innocently from his seat on the couch as he patiently waited for an answer, and so you said the only thing you could say: the truth.

“there’s so much . . . pining and longing because . . . i have a lot of experience with pining.”

well, as much of the truth as you could bear to reveal to him, anyway.

“but um, unlike . . . in my writing, the person i’m pining after doesn’t love me back.”

maybe it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn something dark and hurting passed over bucky’s eyes when you said that, but a second later the look was gone. instead, bucky was cocking his head to the side as his brow furrowed. “what do you mean, doll?”

you sighed. “i mean,” you started as you sat down next to him on the couch, “exactly what i said. i love someone, but they don’t love me back.” you paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “well, i shouldn’t say that. i know he loves me. but just . . . not the way i want him to.”

when you’d sat down, your eyes had focused themselves on the edge of the accent rug that lay in front of the couch, and as you lifted them to meet bucky’s after your pseudo-confession, you found his whole body turned towards you.

bucky was still sporting that confused look on his face when he said, “how could anyone not love you like that?” so soft and breathless, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. his eyes searched your face as if he were looking for an answer to his question and all you could do was stare at him, silent and frozen.

god, if he kept this stuff up, you were going to explode from all the yearning that was building up inside of you.

bucky’s gaze connected with yours again, and it was as if something in your eyes had snapped him out of whatever haze he’d been in, because a millisecond later he was looking away and clearing his throat.

“so that’s why -” he said, as if whatever had just happened hadn’t happened, “- you write in so much pining when you’re writing about me?”

god, he was so clueless. and as much as you wanted to tell him that the person you were in love with was him, that it would always be him because he was strong and brave and kind and so, so breathtakingly beautiful, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. you didn’t think you could stand to be in the same room with him ever again if you told him and he smiled that pretty smile at you, all soft and sweet and pitiful, right before letting you down gently and saying that he’d always want you as his best friend no matter what happened. which really fucking sucked, because you didn’t know what you’d do without bucky.

“yeah,” you said. “like i said, it’s just . . . so much easier to write things when they’re about you. easier to . . . transfer my feelings to someone else when that someone else is . . . you.” you winced at the lie, but if bucky noticed, he didn’t mention it.

in fact, he was quiet for what felt like a long, long time before looking up at you and saying, “well, doll, whoever this guy is, he’s an idiot for not loving you. for not being in love with you.”

you gave him a soft smile that was tinged with melancholy. “thanks, buck.”

he nodded. “who is he?”

“what?” you hadn’t expected that. you probably should have, though, given how much bucky cared about your life and your feelings, but the extent to which he cared still surprised you sometimes; you didn’t really think you deserved it.

“who is he?” bucky repeated, eyes alight with curiosity and that other emotion you still couldn’t name. “i want to know who the guy is that’s got my best friend all hopelessly in love.”

“i . . . don’t know, buck . . .”

“you don’t want to tell me?”

“it’s not that i . . . don’t want to tell you, i just . . .” you were lost, searching for anything to say that would get bucky to lay off. “i don’t like thinking about it, is all.”

for some reason, that seemed to anger bucky. “oh, so you can think about it when you use it for writing inspiration all you want, but when your best friend wants to know, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to think about it? is that it?” he asked, eyes suddenly cold.

“no, that’s not it,” you tried to assure him, though you knew that that was exactly what you were implying. “bucky, it’s alright. it’s just a friend. you don’t know him.”

this just angered him all the more.

“i know all your friends, though, y/n. are you telling me you’re hiding this fella away from me, doll?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows and that cold, hard stare. “too afraid he won’t like me? or too afraid he won’t like you when he finds out just how well you really know me?”

you were shocked by bucky’s questions. where had this come from?

“what? absolutely not. i’m not ashamed of you, bucky.”

“oh, aren’t you?” he snapped.

you stared at him from where you were on the edge of the couch, incredulous. how could he think that you were ashamed of him?

“no, i’m NOT, bucky. and besides, it’s none of your business! you don’t have to know all of my friends!”

“as your best friend, it is my business! but haha, right, i can’t really be your best friend if you’re ashamed of me!”

“bucky barnes, i AM NOT ASHAMED OF YOU! how could i ever be ashamed of you? i love you!” you were barely containing yourself then, and had to force your voice down after it’d gotten far louder than you’d wanted it to.

bucky, though, it seemed, either didn’t have the same control that you did or simply didn’t care, because the next thing you knew he was shouting, “then TELL ME WHO HE IS!”

“LEAVE IT ALONE, BUCKY,” you yelled back, propelling yourself off the couch so you could match his volume.

a second later and bucky was on his own feet, too, right in front of you. “NO! I WANT TO KNOW!”

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE, JAMES?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” he roared.

as quickly as it had come, your anger vanished. and suddenly, as if it had been the only thing keeping you up, your whole body sagged. all of the anger that had been overflowing inside of you had left you thoroughly exhausted, and your outrage at bucky’s own outrage was quickly replaced by a growing sense of disbelief. he’d told you he loved you before, of course - he’d said it near the beginning of your conversation! - but there was something in his voice, something in the way he said it, that made you think he meant it differently this time. that he meant it the way you did.

“wha - what?”

“i love you. i’m in love with you.”

there were tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you said, in a voice barely above a whisper, “don’t play with me, bucky.” you were looking up at him, eyes wide and equal parts hopeful and horrified.

“i’m not playing with you,” came bucky’s reply, his own voice soft. “i would never play with you like that, doll.”

you searched his eyes, which were glossed over with unshed tears the same way you knew yours were, and found only sincerity in his intense stare. sincerity, and that something else you’d seen before, which you were recognizing now as . . . adoration. still, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“but, bucky, i’m . . .”

“in love with someone else? i know. i figured as much when i read everything you wrote.” he looked away and stepped back.

“you what?” it seemed that all you’d been asking today was ‘what?’

“knew you were in love with someone else when i was reading all that stuff you wrote about me. there’s no way you would’ve been writing all that yearning crap with me originally in mind, doll. i know that. and yet, i . . . i couldn’t stop thinking about that whyenn character being you.”

you stared at him. and stared, and stared, and stared. you felt the tears dripping down your face, but didn’t move to wipe them away. instead, you continued to stare, until finally bucky looked up at you, looking as devastated as you’d ever seen him.

“you’re so dense, bucky. oblivious. a moron. an absolute imbecile,” you whispered.

for a moment, anger flashed across bucky’s face as his eyebrows furrowed, before being replaced by an even deeper hurt. “god, doll, i know you don’t feel that way about me, but you don’t have to -”

“i lied,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “i lied. it’s not someone you don’t know. i’m not in love with someone you don’t know, buck.”

bucky blinked. “listen, doll, i really don’t want to hear about how you’re actually in love with steve or sam and just wrote stuff about me in case they -”

“jesus, bucky, i’m talking about you!” you cried. “i’m in love with you!”

bucky’s mouth dropped open, and all he could do is stare at you. “i - you - what?”

“i’m in love with you, and i have been for so, so long. else c’mon, buck. why else would i write all that ‘yearning crap' about you?”

bucky, still gaping like a fish, said, “i don’t . . . i mean, it never occurred to me that you could . . . actually think of me like that . . .”

“and i thought you knew! i thought you’d figured it out the second i realized what you were reading! it was so obvious!”

bucky huffed. “clearly not obvious enough.”

a huffed laugh spilled past your lips. “you’re so oblivious.”

bucky gave you a small, sweet smile as he took a step closer to you. “so you’ve said, doll.”

you stood there, silently staring into each others eyes until: “can i kiss you, doll?” bucky’s voice was cautious and impossibly soft, and positively it made you melt.

“of course,” you whispered, and as soon as the words had left your lips he was there, his lips on yours as his hands came up to cradle your face gently. your eyes slid closed, and you moved your hands up to get a grip his shirt and pull him closer. you could hardly think straight because of how good finally getting to kiss bucky felt, but one thought kept running through your head as if on loop: his lips felt absolutely perfect on yours. like he was made for you.

the two of you broke away for air, and as your eyes fluttered open and met his, something else was clear in your jumbled brain: bucky barnes had effectively ruined you for anyone else.

the spell that you were under was broken, though, when bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and said, “all those feelings you wrote into your fanfiction were about me. that sure is a lot of pining and longing for one person, doll.”

“oh, shut up!”

[aces-to-apples]

Written for Day 7: Sith of Codywan Week 2020 @codywanweek

Here on AO3

Chapters: 1/2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: M/M

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Boil (Star Wars), Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CC-2224 | Cody

Additional Tags: GFY, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emperor Cody, Sith Cody, Force-Sensitive Cody

“two can keep a secret (if one of them is dead)”

He wasn’t even able to enter Coruscant’s atmosphere before being intercepted, Obi-Wan noted with despair.

“General Kenobi,” the unknown trooper leading the squadron of fighters forming up around him greeted, “we were informed of your imminent arrival and have been ordered to escort you to the Senate Dome. The Emperor has been anxious for your return, sir.”

The dread that had been his constant companion ever since Cody had him shot off the side of the cliff on Utapau sank its claws ever deeper into his stomach. No contact, no information, not a single transmission from anyone in the galaxy, and the very first thing he heard upon returning to Coruscant confirmed all his worst fears.

They had been betrayed.

Obi-Wan had no doubt that he was being escorted to his own execution and, with that in mind, he acknowledged the troopers’ orders and prepared himself for what was to come. He was expertly surrounded by soldiers of the highest calibre who knew everything there was to know about Jedi battle tactics. To fight now would be suicide, and pointless, besides.

And, he had to admit, he had no desire to harm them.

After three years of fighting side by side, Obi-Wan had picked up both an eye and ear for spotting the differences between clones; the one leading his escort through the clouds of Coruscant sounded very young. Perhaps not a shiny, but one of the younger crop all the same, his training expedited and his assignment off Kamino received at perhaps only his eighth or ninth Standard year.

His continued use of honorifics and the trappings of rank, as he directed them through traffic and the landing process, baffled Obi-Wan perhaps more than anything else. The trooper—Lance, according to his wingman—sounded nothing less than ecstatic about Obi-Wan’s arrival and their orders to see him to the ‘Emperor.’

Obi-Wan shook his head and cooperated without a fuss. Going in blind as he was, it wouldn’t do to show his hand before completely necessary.

The troopers ‘escorting’ him landed as well, surrounding his little fighter more like an honor guard than a traditional one. As he leapt from the cockpit down to the landing pad, another squad approached from inside the Senate, wearing the bright red of the Coruscant Guard and—

“Boil?”

“General,” the man indeed wearing a familiar pattern of 212th gold on his armor said, nodding at Lance and his men in 501st blue. “We’ll take it from here, Corporal. You and your squadron can report to the minister before heading back to the barracks."

"Yessir," Corporal Lance acknowledged, his men saluting smartly behind him. Before leaving with the rest of them, he pulled off his bucket and aimed a bright, relieved smile at Obi-Wan. "Welcome back, General. We're glad to see you're alright."

He looked just as young as Obi-Wan had predicted, perhaps even still due one last growth cycle. The thought was… a terribly uncomfortable one.

"Thank you, Lance," he said at length, unsure how to react to the lad’s obvious, uncomplicated happiness. Obi-Wan watched the squadron take their leave, expecting to be forcibly escorted away from the landing site at any moment, but Boil and the Guard seemed content to let him dally. After several long moments, he finally faced the troopers. “Well now, I hear there’s an Emperor who wishes to speak with me?”

Boil nodded and led the way into the Senate building. The members of the Coruscant Guard fell into position around them, tight and defensive.

The Senate was quieter than Obi-Wan could ever remember it being. Normally a bustling place of politics and intrigue, with aides rushing about and Senators playing their games, the stillness seemed unnatural.

Inside the lift to the Chancellor’s suite, Boil coughed.

“General Kenobi,” he said, gruff as ever but also tinged with embarrassment. “I wanted to apologize for, er—that is, erm—” He took a deep breath. “I was the one who shot you down! Sir.”

The admission came in a rush, the words forced out in such a way that they all slurred together, barely comprehensible. When Obi-Wan riddled out what he was saying, the discomfort in his gut twisted into a new configuration of knots. He didn’t know how to respond.

Sergeant Boil had been a steady and trusted member of the 212th since the beginning of the war. That he was the one to turn a cannon onto Obi-Wan and fire was yet another blow, not crippling, but damaging all the same.

Eventually he merely said, “I see,” his tone neutral and even.

The lift doors slid open a moment later and Boil caught his elbow before he could follow the Guard members as they filed out into the receiving room. “Just,” he began, before cutting himself off. “If you could, sir, try to keep an open mind. We know you won’t agree but—this is for the best, General.”

Too confused and heartsick to reply, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be nudged out of the lift and watched the door close over the face of his beloved friend.

Again, the Guard allowed him to take his time, pulling the Force tight around him and taking a few meditative breaths. He may not know precisely what was going on but the longer he was on Coruscant, the less anything made sense. Boil’s apology mixed with the expectation of his return and the plea for his understanding were all pieces to a puzzle.

The shape of which he couldn’t even begin to see.

But, as both Anakin and Mace were fond of saying, the show must go on. It wouldn’t do to keep the Emperor waiting, especially as his office had apparently replaced the Chancellor’s.

“If you would be so kind,” he said, stepping up to the trooper acting as secretary, smiling as if the galaxy hadn’t gone mad while he was away, “I believe I have an appointment.”

A cough that suspiciously resembled a laugh came from one of the Guards flanking him, followed by the distinct impact of plastoid on plastoid. The secretary suppressed a smile as well, helmetless and distinguished from his many brothers only by the impressive number of piercings he’d managed to fit on both of his ears and a single eyebrow.

“I’ll let the Emperor know you’ve arrived, General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan bowed slightly and stepped away from the desk.

A moment later, the secretary nodded to the other troopers, who began to file back into the lift without fanfare. At Obi-Wan’s look of bewilderment, the secretary merely smirked and tapped at his undecorated ear, indicating an earpiece. “The Emperor will see you now, sir.”

“So soon?” Obi-Wan barely managed, darting a glance at the doors. “No other appointments? I’d think the brand new Galactic Emperor would be a busy man.”

The secretary’s smirk widened into a wolfish grin and he immediately began radiating a smug kind of satisfaction. “Between you and me, General Kenobi,” he said, leaning forward as if to share a secret, “the Emperor’s been anxious to see you. He’s been in a right snit about it, too. We expected you hours ago.”

With that puzzling bit of information, he pressed a few buttons and the doors to the Emperor’s office slid open. “Tell him Indigo says being his secretary is osik,” Indigo—presumably—said with a jaunty wave as Obi-Wan moved determinedly toward the office. “And that I want a raise—!”

The doors slid shut behind Obi-Wan before he could finish, and then it was just himself and whoever sat in the Chancellor’s chair, facing the wide transparisteel windows.

“Well, you wanted to see me,” he challenged, squaring his shoulders and placing a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. “Here I am, Emperor.”

The figure in the seat turned and suddenly it felt as if the floor had fallen out from beneath Obi-Wan’s feet. Plastoid that had once been white was now matte black, and gold trim that was worn and chipped looked freshly applied, but there could be no mistake.

A wounded noise left his mouth without permission. “Cody?” Obi-Wan said, voice sounding small even to himself. “Commander?”

His commander, his lover, his truest friend beside Anakin, tilted his head at the non-question. “I’m afraid it’s Emperor, actually, Obi-Wan,” Cody replied after a moment, his face a mask of sympathy even as he blinked sharp, electrum eyes in lazy interest. “We have a lot to talk about.”

[hxpeworldian]

hoodie // pjm

summary: in which a harmless shopping trip turns into something else.

genre: pwp and i’m not sorry

warnings: smut, public sex, fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe yall), established relationship, oral (f)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: ahh i’m so excited to release my first ff on this site!! i randomly got this idea looking through my closet and seeing my ex’s hoodie i still haven’t gave back to him and it’s almost been a year-… yeah, so erm also, this is my first time writing smut! please give feedback!

not proofread

~~

Yawning, you quickly pull down the hoodie you oh-so-discretely stole from your boyfriend, Jimin, who was watching television before grabbing the black baseball cap hanging and securing it on your head. Grabbing your bag, you start to say goodbye to Jimin before he stood up.

“Wait, I wanna come with,” he declares suddenly, making you stop.

“Eh? But it’ll only take me about an hour—” you start, but that doesn’t stop Jimin. Instead, he continues to walk over to you, giving you a sweet smile before slipping on his shoes, making you do the same. He pats your head, heading out the door before you can say anything more. You quickly follow after him.

“I can’t let me poor girlfriend go out looking like that,” he chuckles, making up an excuse. You shake your head, sighing to yourself as you catch up to him, already down the driveway, and intertwining your hands. He only squeezes your hand as an acknowledgement, causing you to smile.

“Fine, but you better not go into random stores,” you mumble, knowing the habit of Jimin’s. He always wanders off to go look at clothes he could barely afford, which always ends with you scolding him.

“Alright, alright,” he nods, but you both know it wasn’t a promise.

It took about five minutes to get to the bus stop, and then another ten to actually get to the mall. It was a frequent hangout spot while you were in high school with your friends, but now it was just so you can get clothes and such anymore. You almost miss the place, actually.

Once you got inside the building, you quickly headed to Forever 21, practically dragging your boyfriend with you. A small smile made its way onto your lips when you saw all the comfortable clothes you could buy. So, you started to search for some. Of course, Jimin watched you, not actually looking with you. He occasionally gave comments about what you were looking at, which caused you to either jab him or giggle. After a while, you came out with a bag full of clothes and Jimin, a need to get some clothes for himself.

It took about an hour for him to pick out clothes and actually buy it. By then, you were exhausted and wanted to just go home. Jimin, had other plans.

Huffing and pretty much letting yourself be dragged around the mall by Jimin, you whined when your feet started hurting, which didn’t go unnoticed. He raised an eyebrow at your pout, which caused you to cross your arms.

“I don’t wanna shop anymore,” you say stubbornly, causing Jimin to chuckle at your cuteness.

“Alright, how about we do something else, then?” he suggested, causing you to tilt your head.

“Jimin, what else could we possibly do—” you started, getting interrupted when he grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the restrooms.

“Baby, you know what,” he mutters to you, causing your face to heat up.

“H-here? But it’s unsanitary and dangerous!”

“And?” he stares you down with a look that makes you shudder. Leaning in to whisper in your ear, he huskily says: “I just can’t help wanting to fuck you in that little hoodie of mine, kitten,” causing you to involuntarily whine.

When he finally gets you to the restrooms, he stops just outside of the male’s to drop the bags you accumulated there, before finally tugging you to the stalls. Or, stall, you found out, since these set of bathrooms were apparently just a one-person one. Once he got you in, you quickly got you up against the door, locking it while hungrily kissing you. You moan when his hands started to roam your body, stopping at your breasts to cup them.

“J-jimin,” you manage to whisper in between kisses, making him growl. “Please.”

“Please what, kitten? You have to use your words,” he started kissing and nipping at your skin, causing you to moan more.

“Please fuck me.”

“Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me,” he growls, pulling down your tights along with your panties, causing you to whine.

“Jimin,” you moaned out when he slid his finger along your slit, already wet before he touched you.

“God, baby, you make me so damn hard,” he practically moaned out, making you mewl. “This pussy is all mine.” With that, he aggressively started to flick his tongue into your heat, making you moan before covering your mouth slightly, remembering this was a public bathroom. He slid two of his fingers into your hole, growling and muttering about how tight you were, causing you to clench around him.

“Jimin, oh please,” you moaned, starting to grind against his merciless tongue and fingers. He started sucking harshly on your clit, nearly making your knees buckle as you start to moan louder.

“Come on kitten, come for me,” Jimin started to pump in and out faster while abusing your clit with his tongue, your whines and moans growing louder as you reached your high.

“J-jimin, I—” you pant out between moans, “I’m cumming!”

“Let it all go,” he curled his fingers against your g-spot, making you arch your back and release your cum all over his fingers and mouth, causing him to lap it all up like a starved man. You whined from the overstimulation.

“J-Jimin, cock,” you mumble out once he got back up to kiss you. “I need your cock.”

“Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me,” he moans, kissing you again. He quickly unbuckles his belt and abandons his pants and boxers, languidly stroking his cock before sliding it against your slit, making you arch your back and moan.

“Jimin, please,” you whine, causing him to push the tip, your mouth making an ‘o’ as he stretched you out. Once sheathed all the way in, he gave you some time to adjust. Once you started grinding on him, he moaned and started to thrust into your cunt, each thrust harder and faster than the last. Your moans sounded throughout the small bathroom, you hopelessly clawing Jimin’s back trying to find purchase. He moaned at how your womanhood clenched each time he hit your g-spot, making you mewl in response. Once the coil in your stomach became too strong to ignore, your moans became louder again.

“Jimin,” you moan out. “I’m close.”

“I know kitten, I am too,” he grunted, his thrusting evidently becoming more sloppy and rushed. You hungrily kissed him, moaning into it as you were on the edge of your climax. With one final thrust, the two of you were sent over the edge, his cum painting your walls and your cunt greedily milking him for all he’s worth.

He slides out, you whimpering at the loss as panting fills the room.

“That was so dirty,” you complain once you regained composure.

“I love you,” he gives you an awkward smile, causing you to return it.

“I love you too, you dork.”

[wedreamedlove]

[Hairstyle]

"If it's for you then I can test it out."

Had this translation done already in the past so I just decided to heck with it and I'd move it over here.

NOTE: This is the JP version.

[Prank Date]

Recently, my company received a lot of projects and everyone was busy to the point of dizziness. It was the weekend today, but there was no time to sleep.

In addition, it was planned for Gu Meng and Han Ye to go to a film set today, but Gu Meng caught the stomach flu and wasn't able to go.

Because of that, I ended up going to the site instead of Gu Meng.

The shooting location was far from my house and transit was inconvenient. I had to wake up early.

MC: I need to get up... *yawn*.

I reached out to the old alarm clock beside my pillow and along the way pulled my phone, which was beside it, over to me.

Bai Qi: I heard about the site location from Han Ye. I'll send you. It'll be quicker that way.

I had received a text from Bai Qi. The time it was sent was midnight at 1:00 AM.

I replied immediately and my phone started vibrating within several seconds of my text being sent.

I answered the phone while rubbing my sleepy eyes.

Bai Qi: Why are you up already? You can sleep some more. I'll send you with Lil' Black and it'll take thirty minutes to reach the place.

MC: Sorry for not noticing your text. I woke up from my alarm clock.

Bai Qi: ......

Bai Qi: Then, take your time. Later, I'll bring you to the shop you always wanted to go to.

MC: You mean the breakfast special in that shop that's always crowded?

My drowsiness blew away instantly at Bai Qi's words and, at the same time, my stomach growled.

Bai Qi: Yeah, if we go now then we shouldn't need to line up.

Bai Qi: See you soon.

Like that, I went to the site location after having the breakfast special together with Bai Qi. When we arrived at the site, Han Ye waved at us in the distance.

I ate my long-desired breakfast special, arrived early and could prepare--- I encouraged myself with how "well begun is half done".

Bai Qi: Go ahead first. I'll find you after I park my bike.

MC: It's your day off though, you don't want to go home and rest?

Bai Qi: No need.

Bai Qi said that and straddled his bike before driving it to the parking lot.

MC: It's just like Bai Qi to be brusque like that.

This wasn't the first time Bai Qi had come to a film set. In particular, there were times he participated as a guest.

But I was sure this was his first time coming to the site of a prank show.

~~~

The filming in the morning proceeded without problems. If nothing continued to happen like this, we could probably pack up early.

Because we were filming a prank show, the atmosphere was lively even during break time.

Loud laughs could be heard frequently from here and there in the studio.

When I glanced over Bai Qi, who was sitting down, he firmly caught my gaze despite our distance.

MC: Is this a special agent's skill...?

I mumbled this in a quiet voice and was about to look away from Bai Qi when someone patted me on the shoulder from behind. I turned around and saw that it was the director of this prank show.

Director: Talking to yourself?

MC: Oh, no, is something wrong with the shoot?

Director: I was just bringing over some snacks.

I looked at the cream sandwich biscuits, which was used for pranks, held out in front of me and my face froze.

MC: Erm... the filling's been changed, right?

Director: It's fun because it's changed. If you guess right, then it's a prize! Go on and try.

This director was a big shot in this industry, so I wasn't able to refuse.

MC: Then... don't mind if I do.

Even if I looked at them closely, all the biscuits were the same and it didn't seem like anyone had touched them.

I picked one randomly and stuffed it into my mouth in one bite. Instantly, my face twisted in distress and I hunched over, coughing.

MC: Gugh... *coughing*! T-this is too spicy!

Bai Qi: What did you make her eat?

Bai Qi quickly stepped in between me and the director and the air became strained.

It wasn't just Bai Qi's actions but also his sharp glare that showed his mistrust and hostility towards the director.

The director, who had been grinning up to then, stiffened in front of Bai Qi.

I hurriedly pulled Bai Qi's arm and had him step back before explaining the situation.

MC: Don't misunderstand. I just overreacted a little bit...

MC: What I ate earlier was a matcha biscuit, but I pretended it was wasabi-flavored.

MC: I jumped on the theme of this show and wanted to tease the director...

Hearing this explanation, the director burst into laughter but there was no smile in Bai Qi's eyes.

MC: I'm sorry, sir. I caused some trouble.

Director: No, it's alright. However, I can see that Bai Qi here seems to care about you a lot.

The director said this and patted Bai Qi's shoulder, although Bai Qi was still baring his hostility. Then he continued as if he thought of something---

Director: Oh, I know! It must be some fate that we met here. Bai Qi, why don't you also try your luck?

Saying this, the director presented the biscuits to Bai Qi. Then, I witnessed him setting something up quickly and so I tried to stop Bai Qi in a panic.

MC: Bai Qi---

But before I could finish speaking, Bai Qi picked up a biscuit.

Bai Qi: Thanks.

Bai Qi tossed the entire biscuit into his mouth without giving me time to stop him.

Bai Qi: Not bad.

Director: No way! (small voice) I'm sure I secretly switched them to wasabi...

The director picked up a biscuit with a dubious expression and threw one into his own mouth.

In the next moment, a scream rang through the studio and everyone could see the director searching for water.

I knew Bai Qi liked spicy things, but I couldn't believe he was able to be this calm. Looking up at Bai Qi, who didn't even bat an eye, I asked him a question.

MC: Bai Qi... what you just ate, was it really wasabi-flavored?

Bai Qi: What else would it be? Let's go.

Bai Qi took my hand and, pushing through the crowd, brought me to the entrance of the film site.

MC: Where are we going?

Bai Qi: Lunch.

MC: We're still in the middle of shooting!

Bai Qi: Going by the atmosphere, I thought---

MC: We were just taking a short break.

I interrupted Bai Qi's words and plainly refused the invitation to lunch.

Then, half-pulling Bai Qi, I went into the dressing room.

MC: Wait here. I'll come get you when it's the lunch break.

Bai Qi: I can wait outside.

MC: The wind's strong and cold outside.

Bai Qi: Am I afraid of the wind?

MC: ... If you go from hot to cold all of a sudden, you'll catch a cold.

Bai Qi: Then I'll wait nearby like I was doing earlier.

MC: No! If you're close by then... I'll get distracted. So waiting here is the best!

Bai Qi gave up in the end at my firmness and refusal to budge and nodded.

The moment he nodded I felt like the corners of his mouth were raised.

~~~

It was two hours later when I returned to the dressing room again.

The shooting, which had gone smoothly up to then, hit a continuation of NGs from the director and everything was completely delayed.

MC: Bai Qi---

The instant I ran into the dressing room, not wanting to make Bai Qi wait any longer, my words caught in my throat.

Bai Qi was sleeping in the same position as when I left the room. Only, his head was tilted to the side and, having lost support, his forehead was pressed unnaturally against the back of a chair.

He must have been tired because, even though it was finally his day off, he was keeping me company at work.

Feeling apologetic, I quietly approached Bai Qi, trying not to wake him up.

His sleeping face wasn't that stern, but there was a small furrow between his brows.

MC: Is he having a bad dream?

I mumbled as if I was talking to myself and unconsciously reached out to touch the middle of Bai Qi's eyebrows. In that moment---

Before I could touch Bai Qi with my right hand, it was grabbed and stopped from moving.

MC: Ah---

Bai Qi's closed eyes snapped open and there was pressure in those honey-colored eyes.

His sharp gaze made me hold my breath and forget the pain in my hand.

Bai Qi: ... Oh, it's you.

Bai Qi released my hand and the tension throughout his body also disappeared.

Bai Qi: Sorry, that must have hurt.

It looked like that was Bai Qi's conditioned reflex. There was still a little sting and I lightly rubbed my arm.

MC: I'm OK. But did I wake you?

Bai Qi pressed a palm to his forehead and shook his head left and right.

Bai Qi: What were you doing just now?

Looking back at what I tried to do, my face instantly grew hot.

MC: Um, your head was leaning against the sofa and it messed up your hair, so I thought I'd try to fix it... mhm, yep.

I nodded vigorously and dodged the question.

It was the truth that, because Bai Qi's sleeping posture was unnatural, his short bangs became weird.

Bai Qi roughly combed through his hair with his fingers and smoothed it down, but the moment he took away his hand his bangs sprung up.

Bai Qi: It's better now, right?

MC: Haha. Bai Qi, your bangs are sticking up.

His bangs, which jumped straight up, tickled my curiosity.

MC: Come to think of it, did you also have this hairstyle when you entered the special forces?

Bai Qi: It wasn't this long.

I looked at the tools in the dressing room and suddenly thought up a good idea.

MC: Bai Qi... I want to see what you look like with your forehead showing.

When I said this, Bai Qi brushed his bangs up without hesitation.

Bai Qi: Here.

MC: Not like that. Sort of set like that for a longer time!

Bai Qi: ... What do you want to do?

I sat Bai Qi down in front of the mirror and, with the feeling of being a famous hair and makeup artist, grabbed a brush.

His short, dark brown hair was softer than it looked. A golden halo was made underneath the lights and it softened Bai Qi's outline.

MC: I wonder how long it's been since I brushed someone's hair.

Bai Qi: You've brushed other people's hair?

MC: Like my elementary school friends. I can't remember anything before then though...

MC: I might have brushed doll hair when I was much smaller.

Bai Qi: Is it your first time brushing hair this short?

MC: Yep, but leave it to me!

Bai Qi: Looking forward to it.

While we were talking, I smoothed down the sides of his hair and pushed his bangs up, creating a pompadour style.

Looking at Bai Qi in the mirror, I was at a loss for words. Because, even though it was just his forehead being exposed, it was like he became another person.

Bai Qi's masculine looks stood out even more, with a ruggedness, and there was a different coolness from before. I came back to myself after staring at him admiringly for a few seconds.

MC: H-how is it? I'm pretty skilled, right?

Bai Qi: ... Not bad.

Bai Qi glanced at the mirror and reluctantly answered.

Because Bai Qi agreed with me, a playfulness was lit in me.

MC: Why don't we put on this strawberry hair tie? I'm sure it'll be cute!

Bai Qi looked at the cute strawberry hair tie in my hand and fell silent for a second before he curtly replied.

Bai Qi: ... No.

MC: Haha---

Bai Qi placed his chin in his hand a little sullenly and gave the hair tie a sidelong glance while frowning.

Bai Qi: Are you doing this on purpose?

MC: Hahaha... don't look so scary. Smile, smile!

I put the hair tie on my own wrist and raised the corners of Bai Qi's mouth with my index fingers, making a smile.

Maybe he was going along with me, or maybe he really smiled, but Bai Qi's stiff expression softened and he gave a small chuckle.

Coupled with an unfamiliar hairstyle, this laughing Bai Qi wasn't like the one in my memories at all.

Bai Qi: Have you seen enough? If you're done, let's go get lunch.

Bai Qi stood up from his chair as he said this and stroked my head.

Bai Qi: I heard there's a well-known restaurant close to here. It'll take us ten minutes to get there.

I couldn't stand still upon hearing the mention of food. Bai Qi was familiar with how to direct my attention to something else.

However, even though I planned to have an enjoyable lunch with Bai Qi, a sudden trouble befell us.

To think such a thing would happen---

The tenth try also ended in failure.

In front of the door knob, which wouldn't turn no matter what, I had no choice but to accept the cruel reality.

MC: Bai Qi, are we...

Bai Qi: Mm.

Bai Qi calmly nodded without a change in his expression.

Bai Qi: We're locked in here.

~~~

MC: Is anyone there? Open the door! We're in the dressing room!

No matter how I shouted I couldn't even hear footsteps, to say nothing of a reply.

MC: I wonder if everyone went out for lunch...

MC: Oh, I know! We can just call someone and have them come!

I thought that and stuck my hand into my bag to search for my phone.

MC: Ah... My phone's in my jacket pocket which I left in the studio...

MC: Hey, Bai Qi, could you call Han Ye?

Bai Qi: ... No need.

MC: Huh? Why?

Bai Qi unlocked his own phone and handed it to me. I accepted it while feeling a little confused over what he meant with this.

Bai Qi: It's a prank.

MC: You mean they didn't go out for lunch and just forgot about us...?

I called Han Ye with Bai Qi's phone but it didn't even ring. Bai Qi's guess might have been right.

MC: Then... what should we do?

Bai Qi: It's just a door.

I had a bad feeling with those words. I could easily imagine the sight of Bai Qi kicking open the door.

MC: What do you... plan on doing?

Bai Qi didn't answer and returned to the sofa before relaxing like that.

Bai Qi: It'll open soon, so there's no need to worry.

MC: I've been locked in before back when I was an elementary student though. It was April Fool's that day, but I was locked in for a really long time...

MC: But I got my revenge the next year!

Bai Qi didn't broach the current situation, maybe to relax the tense air, and joined my topic.

Bai Qi: Do you like these sort of pranks and April Fool's things?

MC: Yup. It's fun to have different surprises every time. But during middle school...

MC: I think it was when I was in the first year, but the class beside us did a terrible prank and the kid who was pranked was sent to the hospital...

MC: After that, the teachers forbade us from doing pranks or having practical joke toys.

MC: Maybe it was the rebelliousness of youth, but...

MC: Everyone wore pigtails, which was against the rules, and went to school. Now that I think about it... it seems silly, huh.

I made a wry smile while immersing myself in the memories of the past.

Many things might not need a reason or meaning behind them. Because their existence itself was meaningful.

While I talked about these lighthearted memories, Bai Qi continued to stare at me quietly.

Although I was worried at the situation of being trapped, if he was here then I felt like anything could be solved.

Bai Qi: It's my turn then.

MC: Huh? What do you mean your turn?

Bai Qi: For me to tie your hair.

MC: Wha---!?

My arm was already pulled the moment I exclaimed and I was sat down in front of the mirror. I couldn't help but feel uneasy inwardly as I looked at Bai Qi through the mirror.

MC: Um, Bai Qi, you haven't done someone's hair before, right?

Bai Qi: Mhm, you're the first.

MC: Do you know how to tie hair?

Bai Qi: Nope.

I was speechless at Bai Qi's straight answer. And yet, why was he so full of confidence...

Before I knew it, Bai Qi returned his bangs to their original state. I turned around and revealed my uneasiness.

MC: Why are you---

Bai Qi: Shhh. Don't move. I can't guarantee a good result if you move around like that.

I turned my face back to the front at Bai Qi's "threat". I couldn't do anything but sit quietly in front of the mirror.

Bai Qi stood behind me and showed a wide, sly grin.

In his hands was the strawberry hair tie.

MC: That hair tie...!?

Bai Qi: It suits you more.

I looked at my own arm and the strawberry hair tie, which should have been there, was gone.

MC: When did you take it!?

Bai Qi: When you were panicking and crying.

MC: I didn't cry!

I looked back over my shoulder and his grin became larger.

Bai Qi: Alright, look at the mirror.

During our talk, Bai Qi had already finished tying up my hair.

Contrary to my expectations, the style Bai Qi made was pretty good.

Even though he was someone who would ask "What's a blowout?" though... I thought about what happened before and laughed out loud.

MC: Ahaha...!

Bai Qi: What? Is it that funny?

MC: No, I just remembered how you asked before "What's a blowout" on the chat...

MC: To think there was a stylist near me.

MC: If you went into the beauty industry, I'm sure you'd be a big success.

Bai Qi: ... If I really do have talent then it's because of you.

Bai Qi's eyes were smiling as he said this, but his tone was serious.

Inside the mirror, his warm gaze was directed at me. I felt embarrassed being looked at by those eyes.

MC: But... um, this hair style might be a bit childish.

Bai Qi: ... And yet you were trying to get me to wear it?

MC: Erm... sorry.

When I accepted my mistake and apologized honestly, Bai Qi undid my tied hair.

MC: Bai Qi---

I tried to stand up but Bai Qi lightly pressed down on my shoulders.

Bai Qi: Don't move.

Bai Qi: I'm going to do another hair style this time.

Not giving me the chance to refuse, Bai Qi began to brush my hair with a comb again.

For a short while, all I could hear in my ears was the sound of brushing hair. I even felt like time was passing in a sluggish manner.

Bai Qi's movements were slow and the rustle of my hair made a strange rhythm.

I don't know how much time passed before I came back to myself at Bai Qi's voice.

Bai Qi: Okay.

MC: ... Mm?

I had spaced out at some point and, at Bai Qi's voice, I returned my eyes to myself in the mirror.

Bai Qi: Is this still childish looking?

Illuminated by the warm lights, my reflection inside the mirror had a low ponytail. It was a sight I felt like I had seen somewhere before.

MC: This is...?

Bai Qi leaned down and placed his hands on the back of the chair, closing the distance between us.

Bai Qi: I wasn't there for your university, middle school, or elementary school years, and even the time before then.

Bai Qi's voice, as he stood behind me, came from right beside my ear.

Bai Qi: In my memories, there's only the sight of you in high school. At that time, your hair was longer than it is now.

I came to a sudden realization upon being told that. This low ponytail was certainly the trend during my high school years and it was also one of the hair styles I did.

Inside the mirror, Bai Qi came close enough to where I would bump into him if I turned my head.

MC: Bai Qi...

Bai Qi: But it doesn't matter. From here on, we have time to create new memories.

My words were interrupted by Bai Qi.

The orange color of the lights hid my reddened cheeks.

My heart pounded when I understood the meaning of Bai Qi's sincere words.

Bai Qi: Nervous?

Bai Qi asked this as if he could hear my heartbeat. His eyes looked as if he was enjoying this situation.

MC: You know why.

When I quietly protested, Bai Qi deliberately came closer and peered into my face. There was a smile on his lips.

Bai Qi: How about this then?

My nervous, embarrassed, and lost appearance was clearly reflected in Bai Qi's eyes.

It felt like my heart would leap out from my mouth. My eardrums were also matching my heartbeat and seemed to tremble.

My own heartbeat was so noisy that I couldn't hear anything else.

I also couldn't look away, close my eyes, or escape from here.

MC: Are you teasing me?

When I asked this firmly, Bai Qi's eyebrows rose in amusement and he closed the distance even more.

He was close enough that I could feel his breath and both the tip of our noses could brush.

Bai Qi: If that's what you want to think then sure.

Bai Qi: Let's see who can last longer.

MC: I... I won't lose!

Bai Qi tilted his head slightly and the distance between us continued to shrink even further. I became stubborn and so I still didn't pull back.

Our distance got closer and closer and closer... I could almost count the number of Bai Qi's eyelashes.

Then, in that moment, I heard a loud noise from the other side of the door---

The door opened.

At the same time, I could see a group of familiar staff members gathered in front of the door.

Staff A: Uh... um, we just came to unlock the door!

Staff B: Both of you, please continue! We didn't see anything!

Staff C: Erm... we'll leave your lunch outside the door. Don't mind us!

Bai Qi: ......

The door was closed again and the sound of their footsteps became distant.

My courage, which came from some unknown place, also went away.

Returning to my senses, I felt awkward remembering what had just happened.

I turned red and tried to push Bai Qi back, but instead I was tightly hugged.

MC: Bai Qi...

Bai Qi: Listen to me.

At Bai Qi's strong words, I felt a force from him right now which no one would seem to be able to stop.

Bai Qi: I rarely joke around with people.

The voice that vibrated in his chest sounded different from usual.

Maybe because I was enveloped in Bai Qi's arms, but it was slightly hard to breath. My face grew hotter.

I managed to open my mouth while being held by him.

MC: But just now... didn't you tease me a lot?

Bai Qi tried to stifle a laugh in the back of his throat, as if he was aware of that. Then the arms that were holding me tightened even more.

Bai Qi: Because it's you.

Bai Qi: Whether it was a joke, or a prank, or anything, it's up to you to decide.

Bai Qi: But I'll promise you this. There will never be lies between us.

Bai Qi: At the very least... I will never lie to you. No matter when.

~~~

DATE DIARY

In spite of it being the weekend I had to work. When I got up early, thinking about the time it'd take to travel, I realized that Bai Qi sent me a message late last night. He said he'd send me to the shooting site.

Today's recording was a prank show. I was dragged into a joke with the cookie sandwiches used for pranks by the director and his evil clutches crept to Bai Qi... but like the saying, "a crafty schemer drowns in his own scheme", the director was the one who ended up in the prank's trap because of Bai Qi's calm.

Bai Qi was dozing when I returned to the dressing room. I unconsciously reached out to him because his eyebrows were furrowed in his sleep but he woke up. I dodged his persistent question by saying I tried to fix his hair. Bai Qi was attractive in a different way than usual when his forehead was revealed after I messed with his hair.

Bai Qi and I were locked in the dressing room. I got worried and he said he'd tie my hair like he was calming me down. I couldn't believe he remembered my hair style from when I was in high school. By the time I realized it, Bai Qi's reflection in the mirror came closer and closer. My red face was hidden in the warm-colored lights, but Bai Qi might have noticed my pounding heart.

[facethroughthemirror]

A Little Less Dramatic

[ hey @fanvsfic I’m late to lunch with my mom and grandma so I can post this today enjoy it ]

Crossposted on ao3

Relationships: Donald Doyle/Emily Grey, Vanessa Kimball/Agent Carolina Additional tags: Suicide, Doyle Lives au

Over an hour after landing at what the rebels have termed “Crash Site Bravo” finds General Doyle still in the back of the pelican, perched on a bank of seats with his unarmored head in his gloved hands. The ache from where he’d hit it in the fall caused by the transport being jolted by the explosion has subsided, but the throbbing in his ankle. He can’t bring himself to look down at the discarded helmet at his feet, or at any of the plate armor he’s wearing. Not yet.

It’s war , he tells himself quietly. These things happen. Not everyone makes it back. He’s seen it happen countless times, hundreds of soldiers whose names he had never known slain on the battlefield, scientists and medical staff massacred by Charon’s mercenaries, each and every leader of the Federal Army before him either evacuated or dead, including the man he’d worked for most of his adult life before the... abrupt promotion. Good god, he stopped keeping track of names years ago. There were too many of them after a while to even keep track of. He doesn’t even know how many of them had died for nothing but the benefit of a businessman somewhere beyond Chorus’ skies, sacrificed for someone else’s gain.

And as much as it pains him, he can’t help but resign himself to the thought that maybe Armonia had been just another one of those sacrifices. That everything -- every one -- that Chorus had lost was for nothing. That it wouldn’t matter in the end.

No one’s been by to check on him. He assumes it simply to be due to no one noticing that he’s gone, though he finds it just a bit more comforting to think that it’s perhaps out of a kind of respect, or even more likely out of a somewhat mutual depression. Though he suspects that it’s entirely to do with the loss of Armonia, and not at all with the loss of...

“Oh dear…”

“What is it?”

“Are you ready?”

“... I’m afraid I won’t be joining you after all!”

“... What?”

“... there’s no longer a way to overload the reactor from the control panel with enough time to leave. But, I can still trigger an explosion! I’ll just have to do it manually!”

“... manually?! No, you don’t, just--just stay low, we can come to you.”

“I’m afraid that just won’t be possible! I appear to be surrounded, and there’s just no time for anyone else to get down here without tipping off Charon that something’s not right!”

Emily was a doctor . A non-combatant. He knows she can likely count the number of times she’s fired a gun on one hand, maybe both of her hands, and her standard-issue sidearm (that came with being an officer and as strongly as Emily objected to carrying one, there just wasn’t anything either of them could do about that) was in such a pitiful state of disrepair that it was hardly safe to use -- she’d had plans to convert it into a tranquilizer gun, he’d discovered. She should have never been down there in the first place. She should have left Armonia with her staff and patients, long before she could have ever even had the chance to suggest this. He should have told her to leave the city, she would have listened -- need to keep up appearances, after all, she wouldn’t have blatantly protested or outright disregarded an order where the others could have seen her do so.

The whole thing had been her idea, once they’d realized that Charon would leave the city if they knew that he had. She’d been trying to buy them time, she’d been meant to lead the mercenaries around, lose them, and then overload the reactor controls and slip out of the city before the reactor blew. They’d switched plate armor, so that she’d be able to not only catch the pirates’ eyes, but pass as him from a distance, while moving quickly through the city. She was several inches shorter than him, and was noticeably slighter, so it wouldn’t be enough to fool someone up close, or to trick Locus if she crossed paths with him, but it would buy them the time they needed. She would keep the mercenaries distracted, lead them in circles. They’d switched her hardlight shield into his armor, it ran better and covered a larger area, standard issue for Federal medical personnel in order to shield patients in the field, and he’d given her his better-maintained sidearm, so that she’d have a fighting chance should she be cornered.

It feels… almost unreal. He… still can’t believe it. It had all been going according to plan, but then…

“Emily -- Y-You can’t--!”

“I’m sorry, General Doyle! I know it isn’t perfect. Oh... there we are. The timer on this detonator barely lasts a minute. You need to get out of the city while you still can!”

Kimball throws her weapon to the floor of the Pelican as she speaks, shouting now, even though the other general knows it won’t do any good. “Damn it, Grey! Don’t--”

“Chorus needs you both. When this war ends, they’ll need skilled leaders more than they’ll need another doctor. You’re no good to Chorus dead!”

He just stands in quiet shock, gripping hard on a grab bar close to the bay doors as he hears that cheerful voice on the other end of the line, so matter-of-factly explaining, rationalizing, her situation as if it was a simple lab experiment. He can hear Kimball shouting over the radio, but a private message over his own comm. line drowns her out.

“... I’m so sorry. If there were any other way…” He hears her breath hitch, hears her voice shake. And it breaks his heart to know that there’s nothing he can do. “... look in my left-side storage pocket. I left you something just in case. I love you.”

He doesn’t have time to answer her, doesn’t have time to tell her that he loves her, doesn’t have time to say goodbye or anything else: there’s a deafening roar of an explosion, one that shakes the transport. But he isn’t sure if it’s the impact or the grief that snatches his knees out from under him and sends him crashing to the floor .

Emily’s “just in case” had turned out to be the very same things Locus had brought him after the massacre at her outpost, just about. Except, she’s left him both of her identification tags, with her ring neatly dropped onto the ball chain and hanging beside them.

“… Doyle?” a voice asks from somewhere outside his vision. He tucks the tags back into the pocket from whence they’d come: he doesn’t want anyone to see them. “… oh, you’re still in here.”

Tired blue eyes crack open finally at the sound of someone calling him, catching sight of the helmet at his feet. He closes them against the tears as they start again, and he swallows. He knows that voice. He knows precisely who’s speaking to him, and he also knows full well that he can’t exactly ignore the speaker. But he just can’t bring himself to look up. It takes a great deal of effort simply to speak aloud.

“... unfortunately.” His unconscious choice of words spikes emotion in his chest, but he swallows it, shuts his eyes against it. He can… he can deal with that later. “... do… do you... er… do you need me for something?”

Vanessa is quiet, the silence heavy in the air between them. For that long moment, he’s sure she’s about to begin shouting, telling him that of course she needs him for something. But she never does. Instead, her response is quiet. Almost… concerned. “... It can… wait.”

“... ah… are… erm… are-are you certain?”

“... yes.” Her footsteps approach his position slowly. Carefully. Once she stops walking, he hears the sound of a helmet seal breaking, and feels her sit down next to him. When she doesn’t say anything further, he finally forces himself to open his eyes again, to turn his head and look at her. Vanessa’s face, so young still but aged prematurely around the eyes by the stresses and horrors of war, is normally tired and sort of angry-looking, or at least, it has been the few times he’s seen it. And she still looks tired now, but… the anger is gone. Her curly hair is coming out of the hurried little bundle she appears to have put it into to keep it out of her face. He can see the very badly-faded lock of what was once ice-blue hair that hangs somewhere in the middle of the right side of her head, it’s come out of the bundle completely and is hanging down away from the other fugitive tendrils.

“... Sarge told me you two seemed close,” she finally says.

“... closer than he knows, I believe. I… spent quite a lot of time in her medical bay, after all, quite, er… quite prone to fainting spells. We… got to be… yes, quite… quite close.” He swallows. “... I shouldn’t have let her go. She never should have been out there, she… she should have left with her patients.”

“... you heard her on the radio. I… really don’t think you could have said anything to stop her.”

“You’re… entirely right. Emily is… w-was … a very willful individual. One of the many things in my life I had absolutely no control over. But that… always seemed to work in my favor. If I’d managed to find my spine for two minutes maybe I could’ve… talked some sense in her…”

Kimball’s hand settles on his wrist, and he pulls his hand away. As a reflex, he stands, shaking his head wordlessly, intending to physically move away from her -- from the conversation. He doesn’t get far on trembling knees and his sprained ankle, though, and winds up crumpled on the floor of the pelican about three feet closer to the bay door than he’d started. And it’s there that he stays.

Good god, he’s pathetic.

Kimball’s beside him in a moment, but doesn’t move to touch him yet, just stands beside him and waits for his next move. When he doesn’t make one, she takes a knee beside him. He finally manages to look up, face lined with years of worry and etched deeper with fresh sadness, eyes tired and empty and heartbroken, brimming with restrained tears. He can’t manage to say anything yet -- just stares. Stares, then turns his eyes almost sheepishly to the floor.

Kimball sighs. “… Look. I… I don’t… I didn’t know Doctor Grey as well as you did. So… I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know what she’d really want. But… if you two were that close, then I can promise you that she wouldn’t want you to think that way. She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. I understand how hard this is for you--”

“ Do you.” The statement -- absolutely not a question -- is uncharacteristically harsh. The bark of a much larger dog than he’s previously shown himself to be. And it absolutely does not come with an immediate retreat and profuse apology, though neither does it come with an aggressive posture. It’s more addressed to the floor than to the other general. “ Do you understand.”

“Yes, I do!” Kimball snaps back. “You’re not the only one who’s lost friends because of this war.”

… friends. Right. Of course she couldn’t have known: he and Emily had been very careful to keep that information private. If anyone has figured it out, he’d’ve assumed it was Agent Washington: most of the soldiers at the outpost avoided Emily like the plague and probably assumed that he, while possibly afraid of her, felt bad for her that she was so isolated.

He doesn’t correct her. It doesn’t matter now.

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

“Ducking out early?”

He stops in his tracks as he makes it to the door, and turns over his shoulder to see Vanessa leaning against a wall not very far from him, a cup of coffee still gently steaming in one hand. He just gives a bit of a nervous chuckle, reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “… and here I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were. But I know you by now.” She stands straight, taking a long sip of her coffee, and makes her way closer to him, which isn’t hard, considering that he doesn’t move. “I’d offer to make you some eggs, but I get the feeling you’d say no.”

“H-Huh?”

“Nothing. You got somewhere to be?”

“Ah, er… well, I… yes, I do. But… but I--” He’s caught. He knows he’s caught. He’s got no excuse. So he just slumps. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just… disappear like this…”

Vanessa laughs , and of course it’s not malicious. It never is, with her. At least not to him, not anymore. They’ve… come quite a ways in the several months since the war ended. “You at least gonna tell me who it is? I feel like you owe me that much.”

“I-I…”

“I’m joking . What you do once you leave here is your business.”

He stammers further, as if looking for an excuse even though one isn’t required, but eventually shuts his mouth and looks down, clears his throat to reset his stammer. It’s been dreadful these past few months, after so many years of speech therapy and an entire adult life with little discernible trace of the horrible thing. But… well, he’d been warned that the stress and trauma could bring his speech impediment back.

He is, however, thankfully spared from answering as Vanessa continues to speak. “… I’m happy for you. You know that, right?”

“Ex… e-excuse me?”

“You’ve been… down. Really down. I’ve noticed. And I get it. You… we’ve all been through… well, a lot. You, me, Chorus… and… you know, some people haven’t been able to come back from that and be happy and connect with people again. It’s good to see that you’re finally getting back out there.” There’s that teasing smirk again. “Even if it means I get to see less of you.”

“ Please don’t say it like that. I…”

“Like what?”

“Like this is your apartment and… a-and I’m sneaking out after something illicit !” It’s quite a bit louder, and quite a bit harsher, than he’d like, but the jokes -- and he knows she’s joking -- have made him uncomfortable for quite some time, and… well, today of all days he just… he really, really can’t take it. In his frustration, he twitches, his fingers flex, and he drops his helmet to the floor with a loud clatter that snaps him out of his moment of unprompted rage . “… I-I… I’m so sorry, I…”

Vanessa is, of course, unfazed. “Doyle, I’m gay . You very much aren’t my type. Well, you’ve kinda got the right hair color, but otherwise--”

“I know that! I…” He just shakes his head. He knows that. He’s known that for nearly a year now, since he first caught her eyeing Agent Carolina while the former freelancer was making use of the weight room at the training facility. “I-I know that. I’m sorry. This… this is just a very… strange day. For me, I… I’m very sorry. I… I need to go. I, er… finished the last of the major projects I’d been working on, those are on my desk.”

“Cool. I’ll get to them in the morning, I’m about done with mine.”

“There’s no rush.”

“… mind if I ask what you’re headed out to do?”

“… not at all. I…” He pauses, stoops to pick his helmet up, and straightens again, tucking it securely under his arm. “… it’s… ah… anniversary.”

“Anniversary?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate beyond that. It’s another brief moment before he turns away from her, and puts his helmet on, with shaking hands. “… good night, Vanessa.”

She doesn’t say anything further, simply watches him leave. Once the door closes behind him, he’s off down the back staircase -- he’d normally take the lift, but that’s not… he’s better going down stairs than up them. It also allows him to avoid people. Not that there’s anyone left in the building at this hour, he and Vanessa are almost always the last to leave.

He sees a familiar, teal-armored someone lurking in the lobby once he emerges from the stairwell, and he gives her a polite nod. “Hello, Agent Carolina. Er… waiting for Vanessa?”

She gives a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement.

“She should be down soon, but I can key you into the lift if you like.”

“… I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

He nods a bit, tosses his head toward the lift and turns to lead her to it, keying in the code and letting her in in order to send her up to the offices. Once he bids her a good evening and the doors close, he sighs, and turns to head out of the building.

The walk home is short. Of course it is, his apartment -- they’re all in apartments, even him and Vanessa, it was… it was the most efficient solution to the housing issue -- isn’t far from the offices. Not a long walk at all. Not quite enough time to let his thoughts run away from him. His apartment is in the basement of the building, so there’s no zoning out in the lift and staring into space while his mind runs unchecked. Just a short flight of stairs down into the basement hallway, then a few more feet to the only occupied apartment on this level -- there’s an empty one across from him, no one’s cared to move into it, it reminds a lot of them of the barracks, and he understands that. It’s not at all why he found this one comforting, in fact, it makes his skin crawl just thinking about it that way, but it had been the sense of solitude that had come with it.

And there it is. Once the door closes, all the sounds that come with existing beyond these walls cease entirely. No traffic noise, no humming of industrial ventilation keeping air moving through the hallways. He finally lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, letting the tension drop out of his shoulders as he leans back against the door. It takes him an inordinate amount of strength to reach up and remove his helmet, and even more to reach and set it down on the table beside the door.

It’s slow going to change out of his armor, but he manages it. Manages to start dinner too. He’s not sure how much of it he’ll eat, but he’ll try. He’s just sitting down on the sofa when the chirping alert tone of an incoming call comes in from the radio console on the end table. He considers not picking it up, letting it ring out. But he doesn’t let it go, he reaches over and taps the button to answer. “Yes?”

“ It’s me .”

“Hello, Vanessa. Did I leave something at the office?”

“ No, uh. Look, I feel bad about… you seemed upset with you left. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay .”

“Oh. Yes, I’m. I’m alright. Just a strange day, I told you.”

“ … Carolina and I are going to get some dinner, if you want to join us .”

“Ah. Already in for the night, actually. Thank you, though.”

“… what um. You mentioned an anniversary. Anniversary of what, exactly? ”

“… I… well, er…” He swallows. He’s… very carefully avoided discussing this with Vanessa. He’d had no reason to do so. When he speaks, his voice is… different. Far more tired than he’d sounded before, an incredible feat, really. “… did you know I was married, before?”

“… uh… no, you, um. You never mentioned that .”

“Mm. I asked her to marry me while I was having a panic attack. I-I thought one of us would die before we got the chance.” Doyle’s laugh is humorless, more like a scoff as he realizes how stupid it must have sounded at the time, though his fear would prove itself to be real several years later. “She probably shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Kimball remains quiet for a moment, which he expects. He doesn’t hear Carolina in the background, but he knows she has to be there. “… do you want to… um… tell me about her? ”

“I don’t want to intrude on your evening, Vanessa. If you’ve plans with Agent Carolina, then you should keep to them.”

“ It’s… um, it’s okay. No, we… we can wait a minute. You um. You sound like you need to talk. ”

“I’m alright.”

“ Not even a name, huh? ” Her joking tone is back, and normally, it’d be… sort of welcome. But it isn’t. “ Come on. Some good memories to balance out the sadness, huh? ”

“… well, you did meet her.” He reaches up and closes one hand around the identification tags he’s kept wearing even after the war. One of them is his, the other Emily’s. Her ring settled right alongside them. “I’d be surprised if you remembered her quite as fondly as I do, though, no one really seems to.”

“… who was she ?”

He pauses. He’s not sure why the question stings so much. “… right, I didn’t think y… y-y… didn’t think y-you did. I’m… not surprised. Emily could be… a bit off-putting. I admit that.”

“Emily? … wait, Doctor Grey?”

“Mm.” He leaves that answer as it is for a moment. He hears Vanessa make a small sound of acknowledgement, but she doesn’t speak. His grip tightens around Emily’s tags, so much so that it shakes. “... she deserved so much better. ... she wasn’t always l… wasn’t always li… l-like that. I… I di… didn’t… didn’t realize there was something wrong until it was… far too late to stop it. She deserved someone who could have helped her… before she got so bad. Perhaps if she’d been in her right mind--”

“... I don’t think she’d be very happy to hear you say that ,” Vanessa says, thankfully cutting him off before he can really finish his thought. “ I think she’d be insulted to know you think she must have been out of her mind to do what she did .”

“You… y-you’re very right.” Doyle shuts his eyes again. Good lord, he’s absolutely awful. How can he think so poorly of Emily. And what’s worse… what’s worse is the part that he’s forgotten in his grief. That his voice cracks and shakes on admitting, even after the usual throat clearing in order to stop himself from stammering. “... her greatest fear was that she would lose her mind entirely, you know.”

“… I think that’s a perfectly rational fear .”

“… as did I,” he simply says. “… I’m… dreadfully sorry to have ruined your evening, you had… you had plans, didn’t you?”

“ … no, it’s… i-it’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re upset, and you, um… it’s not a problem .”

“No, I… you should enjoy your evening. Well, er… a-as much as you can after dealing with me, anyhow.”

“ Wait, no, it’s--it’s fine, really .”

“… thank you for listening, Vanessa. I didn’t realize how much I needed to… ‘get that off of my chest,’ as it were.”

“ Hey, listen, it’s still early, Carolina and I can come get you, you can come have dinner with us. I don’t feel right leaving you alone like this. ”

“No, thank you. I’m not much for company right now. I… think I’m just going to go to bed.”

“ Doyle, wait-- ”

“Good night, Vanessa.”

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

Doyle doesn’t come in on time the next morning.

Doyle is never late to work. In fact, he’s always early, settled into work for the day by the time Vanessa makes it in. So to see no trace of the man in the building after the rest of the staff is mostly in in the morning is jarring and almost frightening to begin with.

Vanessa has her suspicions.

Something about the dark office, the empty desk, the memory of just how tired Doyle had sounded on their call last night makes her feel sick and worried. She remembers how he’d very uncharacteristically snapped at her before leaving work the day before -- he’d apologized, true, but still… and last night had been… a hard date for him. Something’s wrong. She knows it.

But she waits. She waits five, ten minutes before she can’t stand it anymore. She doesn’t bother with a call. She just rushes from her office and down the back stairs, because taking the elevator will take too much time. She barely stops to apologize to Matthews after knocking into him on her way out the front door, and it’s hell to push upstream through the foot traffic for the two blocks between the offices and Doyle’s building, but she manages it.

His building had chosen to go for non-powered doors, far easier to build than the heavy steel sliders, though with far less security. Which is useful for Vanessa, considering it only takes her two minutes to break the damn thing off its hinges.

She’s only been to his apartment a handful of times, and every time, she’d noted how bare it was. Hardly looked lived-in. She’d thought that it was because all he did was go to work and then come home to sleep, he didn’t take days off. He didn’t have a lot of time for decorating. But now… she’s not so certain that’s the real reason. Now… it sort of feels like he didn’t plan to stay long.

“… Doyle?” She shakes her head, reaches up and pulls her helmet off when she sees his still sitting on the table by the door. “Doyle, it’s me.”

Nothing.

“Doyle? You home?”

Of course he’s home .

There’s only two doors in the apartment: she knows one to be the bathroom, which also has a door into the bedroom. So it’s this second door she tries when she finds the one to the bedroom locked. And it’s not only unlocked, but slightly ajar.

She had been afraid of what she might see once she reached his apartment. Her mind had given her a hundred possibilities: that lanky figure hanging from a ceiling figure by the neck, the coffin-sized bathtub overflowing with bloody water, a body slumped against a wall with gore smeared behind it and a gaping gunshot wound. Or worse, no trace of the man at all.

So when she sees the shadowed shape of a body in the bed, it’s… both something of a relief, and sucker punch to the gut that knocks all the breath from her body. She’s hesitant to cross the small room and turn on the overhead light, but she does, and it cuts off the third attempt to call the man’s name entirely.

Vanessa knows he isn’t going to answer her.

He left the empty medication bottles on his bedside table. Two of them, both prescribed to him by Doctor Grey, but… obviously a little out of date.

She’s seen her share of dead bodies. But all of them have gone out violently, or in mental anguish that still showed on the corpse. But Doyle… looks peaceful. Really like he’d gone to sleep. No fear, no pain, nothing. Just… peace.

She looks for a note. She doesn’t find one.

She calls whoever she needs to. Reports it. Suzy, the medic-turned-doctor, who Emily had trusted with her patients. Jensen and Smith, they’re… cops now, they have to be called. She stays while they look around, tells them what she knows. What he said. How he didn’t leave a note that she can find. They find he’s holding a set of military ID tags, with a gold ring dropped onto the chain. One of them is his. One of them is Doctor Grey’s.

When they finish up, she goes back to the office. She’ll… have to think of something to tell the people now. It occurs to her to check his office on the way by, check his desk for the projects he’d said he’d finished. She’ll have to clean it out anyway. She finds the files right where he said they’d be, but on top of them is something else: a piece of paper, marked with his flowing, elegant handwriting. Not messy, not hurried. Absolutely clear to read.

I’m very sorry I lied to you, Vanessa. I didn’t want to waste your time with a long goodbye. You had an appointment to keep, I had dinner plans. But if you’ve found this, then I suppose that you already know what those plans truly were.

Do you remember what I said, at the skirmish in Armonia? The outpost that was destroyed? It was our primary command facility, and the location of our field hospital. Where Emily was stationed. After the massacre there, Locus reported it to me in Armonia. He put her ring into my hand, and told me that he’d found her lying in the snow. That she’d already bled to death by the time he’d gotten to her. There was nothing he could have done. I still wear her tag. And her ring, on the chain.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was what I thought she must have looked like by then. And when it came to light that Locus had been lying to us… I was hoping that he’d lied about her too. And he had, which in all honesty came as nothing short of the most intense relief I think I’ve ever felt. I thought back then that I didn’t know how I’d ever get along without her. When you met me in Armonia, I was greatly considering letting you take your shot and end everything. I didn’t want to live without her. I’d considered doing it myself, but I couldn’t have done that to the soldiers.

Please don’t be upset with yourself. Or anyone else. Of course no one saw the signs. I made certain there weren’t any signs to show. I didn’t go a romantically poetic route and go all the way to the old Armonia site and let the radiation get me if the medication didn’t because I didn’t want to be stopped by some soul on the street and distracted. I didn’t want it to be loud and messy, or dramatic. I wanted this to be over. Rather appropriately, I am just so tired. I’ve been an insomniac since I could spell the word. I just want to sleep. This has been months in the making, Vanessa, there was never anything you or anyone else could have done to stop it.

Tell people whatever you like. Tell them the truth, tell them I was too weak to go on, too selfish to live without the woman I loved. Lie to them and tell them the trauma of war took its toll in other ways and I wasn’t strong enough to take it -- well, that part’s sort of true, I suppose. Or don’t tell them anything. It doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Do me a favor, would you, and make sure that whatever happens to me, they leave me with Emily’s things. There was nothing of her to bury but her plate armor, and I’ve had that since it happened. If we can’t be buried together properly, I’d like to do whatever we can .

She doesn’t know how long she spends standing there, reading and rereading the paper in her hands. She doesn’t know how long her radio chirps for before she notices it, and answers, her voice shaky and broken.

“Yes?”

“ General Kimball? It’s uh. It’s Smith, ma’am. There’s kind of a crowd out here, some reporters. Uh. What do you want us to tell them? ”

She pauses. “Don’t tell them anything. Not yet. I want to handle this properly.”

“ Yes ma’am. ”

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

Suzy comes to visit around dinner. To check in on her, mostly, see how she’s holding up, but also to deliver some news.

Preliminary results of the autopsy say that it was the medication overdose that killed him, she’s confident to call it a clonazepam overdose right now. But there’s something else. Sort of an ultimate cliche, really.

His medical records all indicated a rather weak heart. But the heart she’d seen when she’d checked him over had been… different. There had been some swelling, she says, a specific swelling of the left ventricle that indicated something called takotsubo cardiomyopathy . It’s stress-related, and rare, and it mostly affects women between sixty and eighty. Dying from it is nearly unheard of, but if it goes untreated in someone with such high stress, well, it can cause other problems. If he’d ignored it, or had never noticed, it could have contributed to heart failure.

It’s the common name that almost, darkly, makes Vanessa laugh. Some people, Suzy tells her, call it broken heart syndrome .

“The physical broken heart didn’t kill him,” Suzy clarifies. “But by all accounts, it was probably going to.”

[nev3rfound]

walking mystery : p.p

brief summary: being loose friends with Peter and finding out he’s spiderman after an unfortunate incident 

requested? yessss by the absolute babe @tearsforhan word count: 1.9k warnings? none 

* requests are open if you have any ideas, feel free to drop ‘em in my inbox or message me. *

Walking down the hallway with MJ I could barely focus on what she was saying as the impending thoughts about tonight remained heavy on my mind. 

The wave of her hand in my face snaps me out of my deep thoughts. “Are you in there?” She asks with a small laugh and I let out a loud sigh, glancing her way. “Oh, is it today?” 

I simply nod, unaware my growing frown until Ned and Peter walk towards us. “Hey, guys.” I mumble, barely lifting my head to look at either of them. “I’ll talk to you later.” I glance up to MJ before walking past Peter without saying another word. 

*

All day it’s been refusing to leave the centre of my thoughts. I’ve been told it should be fine, it won’t be as bad as it’s made out to be, but he’s still family nonetheless. 

Sighing I shrug my bag onto my shoulder and head out of the classroom. “Y/n?” Hearing my name being called I turn around, forcing a small smile as Peter runs towards me. “I thought it was you.” He smiles gently as he begins to walk alongside me. “MJ told me about your Dad, I’m, I’m really sorry.” He speaks softly, not forcing the same sentence I’ve heard fifty times in the past few days from strangers. 

“Thanks, Peter.” I glance up and his eyes are already on mine. His smile is gentle, warm, unlike my cold gaze that refuses to thaw. “I should get going if I want to make it in time for visiting hours.” Glancing down at my watch I force myself to pick up the pace, leaving Peter behind before he can say anything else. 

*

Sitting in the corridor the smell of chemicals fills my nostrils, burning the hairs that coat them as Nurses walk by with straight faces, tiredness evident under their eyes. 

I glance behind me as the blinds remain closed, hiding him or protecting me. Which it could be I’m unsure at this point, but I don’t doubt it is to protect me from seeing the truth, the reality that this is. 

The door opens and I quickly rise to my feet, brushing my hands down as the Doctor stands before me with that same sympathetic smile. I nod, knowing exactly what it means by this point. “I’m sorry Y/n.” He says with a straight face as he holds his arm out for me to walk alongside him. 

“Is he at least getting better?” I ask as I turn my head, looking back at the closed-off room I’ve only entered once the entire time he’s been here. 

“It’s hard to say.” Doctor Simmons explains, the same response he is obliged to provide me with. It’s not discouraging, it’s not hopeful but it gives something that isn’t impeding his inevitable death. 

As we reach the end of his ward I thank him before wrapping my coat tighter around my body. “Go careful, Y/n.” He calls out as I sanitise my hands as I leave the building, not realising how bitter it actually would be this late. 

Wandering the streets, only a few blocks away from my house there is a section that I would usually avoid by all means. However, with unexpected flooding in my normal route home, I’m left with no choice. 

I keep my head down, refusing to nudge my eyes any higher than within line of my boots. Around me, I can hear voices rising, near me. But I try to walk a bit faster, shut them all out in the hope I’m merely imagining it. 

And then I see myself flying towards the gravel. 

Lifting my head I grunt as I can feel pieces of gravel having scraped my cheek. I glance up to see three figures laughing down at me. “Look, she’s a baby!” One yells and the others begin to laugh more manically now. 

I try with all my might to rise to my feet, but one of them places their foot forcefully on my chest, trapping me under his weight. “Come on, baby. Fight.” Another spits the words out and I struggle, hitting his leg with my fists but it’s no use. 

“Hey guys, I mean this is hardly fair you know?” The man with his foot on my chest lifts it up as the three of them look at each other, unsure where the voice came from. 

Quickly I scramble backwards, still shaken from the incident. 

In front of me, I see a blur of blue and red as the three men start to panic and move in different directions. 

The entire scene plays out in seconds. The first man has his legs tied together as he falls flat on his face, swearing loudly. The second is running away until a web covers his entire body and lifts him to hang from the lampost. 

And then I see the third running towards me, a flash of metal causing me to scream and shut my eyes. Yet, the pain doesn’t strike, the cold blade never reaches me. 

Hesitantly opening one eye I see the man in front of me with wide eyes as his mouth and hands are covered in webs. He looks up and I do too. 

As my head is tilted up I see the one person considered a local hero by some, and by others a vigilante. “I told you it wasn’t fair. I mean, three against one.” He lets out a laugh and I squint as I look at the masked figure, almost recognising his voice. “You guys didn’t stand a chance.” 

A smile plays on my lips as he jumps down, landing a few feet away from me as he walks over to the man with the knife, taking it from his grasp. “Now, what’d you think you’d do with this?” He plays with the weapon in his fingertips before throwing it in the air, causing the man to shut his eyes tightly. 

Spiderman shoots a web up as it lands by the man's feet, encapsulated in a web. “I’d think twice before contemplating attacking anyone again buddy.” Spiderman slaps the man's cheek lightly before turning around and nearing me. 

He kneels down in front of me as I stare into his mask knowing tears are streaming down my cheeks. “Hey, can I help you up?” His voice is soft and I nod as he takes my hands in his, slowly lifting me up as I shake. 

“Can you get me out of here?” My words are weak, broken as I look up at the mask, wishing the person beneath could give me a reassuring smile. 

“Of course, just, just hold on tight, yeah?” He squeaks out his words, making me laugh lightly. “You have a beautiful laugh.” 

Without responding I hold on tightly to him as he lifts his arm, shooting a web until I feel weightless leaving the scene I was in behind. 

Closing my eyes I can feel the wind in my hair, the breeze spiralling through as I let out a laugh, exhilaration playing through my body. “Oh my god.” I yell as I hear Spiderman laugh as he nears a building, aiming towards it until we come to a gentle landing. 

“You can erm, you can let go.” He says softly as I open my eyes, seeing I’m still holding onto him as if my life depends on it. 

I remove my arms from him as I move away and see the lights of the city below us in the corner of my eye. “Oh wow.” I mumble as I feel him move towards me, standing next to me as we stand silently, appreciating the view of the city never sleeps, never-ending for anyone. “I wanted to say thank you, for, for what you did back there.” Lifting my head I brush my hair behind my ear, unsure how to talk to the masked figure considered a hero. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “It was nothing, Y/n. I know it’s been a rough day.” He states and before I can fully process his words I turn to look at him. 

“How’d you know my name?” I quickly ask. “And how’d you know it’s been a rough day?” Panic rises in my tone as I back away from the masked man. 

Frantically my eyes search for an escape, but nothing is obvious. “Wait, please?” His voice rises with fear as he holds his hands up defensively. “I, I can explain, I just,” Spiderman begins to stutter as I cross my arms. 

“Well, go on then.” I ask as his shoulders fall forwards, similarly to how Peters can when he’s stressed in class. 

I wait as Spiderman paces up and down the building ledge. “I, erm. Oh man,” He mutters to himself as I hear him incoherently phrasing things in hopes of one sounding sane enough. “The thing is, I erm, we actually know each other.” His voice softens to a familiar tone, one that is comforting but my mind refuses to tell me who it is. 

“You, you sound like someone. I just,” Groaning loudly I rest my hands on my face and as I pull them away I see blood covering my cheek. “oh crap.” I mumble, unsure if the man behind the mask is panicking at this site like I am or remains unphased. “I know you can’t take me to a hospital because you’re Spiderman,” Laughing to myself I realise how stupid that sentence sounds aloud. “but is there somewhere I can get patched up? Can you, can you take me home?” 

“Of course, Y/n.” He replies before moving closer and this time I bury my head into his chest, ignoring the sound of the wind and focusing on his beating heart. 

*

It was almost as if he knew where to go, that my directions were almost unnecessary to the stranger. 

He lands on my balcony as I open the doors to my bedroom and fumble for my first aid kit. “Do you, do you need any help?” He asks and I glance up, forgetting he was stood there. 

A small laugh escapes my lips as I shake my head. “I, I should be okay, but thank you Spiderman,” I say quietly and as I glance down I notice a cut on his forearm, blood dripping through his suit. “you’re, you’re bleeding,” I motion down and he looks down, grabbing it tightly. 

“Just a scratch.” He mutters before turning around. “Stay safe, Y/n.” He says before disappearing back into the night, leaving me with the events of the past hour playing on repeat. 

*

Yawning loudly I can feel eyes on me as I walk, MJ doing her best to glare them down. “You got into a fight?” She asks, disbelief in her tone as I shake my head. 

“I’d hardly call it a fight.” I say and I hear a small gasp as Ned stands in front of us both.

“Wow, first Peter and now you?” He mutters and I look over to MJ, confusion on her face resembling mine. 

“What happened to Peter, Ned?” I ask, trying to disguise the fear in my voice but I know they can still sense it. 

He shakes his head, letting out a deep sigh. “He’s got this big cut on his arm, says he slipped on a knife.” MJ chuckles and Ned just looks at me with such focus. 

“Weird.” MJ states and I nod in agreement. 

“Where’s Peter?” I ask and Ned points to the Biology room with a small smile. “I’ll be back in a bit.” I mumble as I pass both of them in need of confirming the fact I already know to be true. 

Peter Parker saved my life, and he also happens to be Spiderman. 

[mynameisdreartblog]

Cars

Aries: Porsche 959. Your textbook holds a secret lore beneath it. Yes, we’re the same research team from before, and we’ve hypothesized many scenarios for what could lie in there: Some of the staff on our team said it could’ve been about cyclopean cities, others said it was about concentric spheres deep underground… You know, very stale things. Indecisive has been the continuous mood, and that means we’re all still perplexed about what the strange text in the book means. Cú thought it was part of a larger algebraic formula, but he wasn’t meant to be trusted on the mathematical aspects of it to begin with. What’s normal, now, is the continual and nearly episodic reveal of the plot’s elements through incredibly traumatic revelations. Last week’s reveal consisted of rapid, passing images of the fidget toy: It appears to have not let go of us. [,] «Um, this is supposed to be the help desk; I came here to have my computer repaired and receive my restored textbook, but you are still keeping it here. What gives?» Well, we’ve been having, erm, some difficulty with cleaning it out: That cookie dough residue is quite “on there” as you’d say. «Yes, but I’ve been showing up to class for the past week unable to participate because I don’t have my textbook, and the teacher’s too much of a cheapskate to buy another €85, so I’d like it if you worked with me.» [,] You’re getting all semantic with us, and that’s dangerous to research operations. Please, do not continue to interfere with research: It’s vital that we prevent the events of the last experiment. «I already know what’s gonna happen at the end of it. You think you’re onto something, but you’re just puffing air. I’ll give you all the details you need if it gets me my textbook back.» Shh, stop it, you’re gonna spoil the ending for us! Cú may be suffering from black liquid oozing out his nostrils and loss of acute site, but he’s nearly there! Stop spoiling it with your insight! «I can look in there, and he is spasming on the floor.» Stop halting our research, you punk!

Gemini: 2003 Honda Civic. I am 27-years-old and I have never learned how to drive a car. Now, I’ve learned to drive a motorcycle because that’s a necessity if you’re living in Southeast Asia, but I and many others never saw the appeal of being able to drive cars in an environment wholly unsuited for them. But, all of that’s going to change to day because I have clients who tell me the only possible way to access their homes (and their mailboxes) is by car. I tried arguing with this guy on the phone the other day, and I brought up over and over that I could probably make it just fine to his location with motorcycle, but no; he kept insisting that I go by car exclusively. I was gonna be way more frustrated with this person, but since I had a week off, I figured I could budge in room for driving classes to accommodate the demands of these, let’s say, peculiar clients… «Yeah, you better learn how! Otherwise, I’ll lay a curse on you, ignorant fool!» Agh! «Truce, is he still on the phone with you?» Shh, yes? I’m still on the phone, Panji; please be patient. <Truce unmutes the phone call, continues the conversation, and stops the motorcycle in front of the driving academy. They and Panji exit the bike and walk into the driving academy.> […] «You know, you could’ve just told him to fuck off and you likely would’ve been just fine; I doubt the power that some rando has to affect your livelihood.» Of course, but I live by stigma, and one of them is where I can’t feasibly answer “fuck off” to any calls I receive with someone on the line: It has to be a line where no-one has answered. «This is why people complain about terrible cooperation, Truce.» [,] Cool, we're gonna be watching traumatic accident footage for the first half of the day. I heard there's real brains on the floor and an actual beating heart from the teen next to me! «Wait, they show us the dangers of car accidents before teaching us the basics? What kinda driving school is this?» A good one, Punji. The half of my brain controlled by the spirit will be intrigued by the violence before we get into any of the boring stuff. If it works for me, then it works for every other slightly older person here.

Scorpio: Ford GT40. «The poorly-lit classroom you never go into… Uh, it’s there. Like, I don’t know what else to say about it other than that it’s poorly-lit and that I have the potential to ascribe some paranormal properties to it, but I just don’t feel like it, you know? There’s so many poorly-lit classrooms here because it’s a school on Independence Movement Day (you’d know that if you paid attention to the calendar), and I’m here way past normal school hours too. I’d be arrested for trespassing if it weren’t for the fact that I need to be here because my parents were called for a parent-teacher meeting: They wanna talk about “academic performance” and “behavior” and “mental health” but those are all frivolous concepts. There you have it, there’s nothing more for me to say about these rooms. I’ll consciously position myself to wander around these premises unsupervised while my parents fill out miles of paperwork. I’ll do the received action of going to the playground just a couple of yards ahead from my current position. I’m being rebellious and emphasizing the room.» […] Can I just scrap this one? I feel bad for cutting it off, but I can't create anything outta this and it's just gonna go down as one of those desperate, 4th-wall-breaking horoscopes that doesn't even try to be clever. Why did I even write this? It's already adding to the long list of subjects involving school that make it way too obvious what position we're writing from. I should go back to writing about ants instead; that was more fun. [,] Dammit, Lis, your apathy is rubbing off on me and it's degrading my work ethic! I’m the one who fulfills all of the papers you leave for me under my door, and you can live your life like normal while pretending that a disfigured shambler doesn’t live with you. [,] I hate characters that ask a different question every twenty seconds too, Lis, but I still need to add character development — no, it is crucial — after a series of schizophrenic soul-searching. <Juyeon wanders in the midst of a story that hasn’t been written yet, all while the Prophet argues with Lisette’s rationality.> «I… I want some pickle juice.» Yes, it’s important to the plot of the horoscope, Lis!

Capricorn: 1963 Corvette Stingray. Man, wouldn't it suck to be a privateer in the year 1778? I mean, you know I don’t like telling the stories of promptly political white men, but we’re not talking about aristocratic standards, we’re talking about dockman standards. And a dockman’s standards for living in the 18th century were less than subpar. This was back when I could look at a satellite map encompassing the area between Halifax and Ontario and see how it wasn’t the eyesoar that it is now. [,] Man, imagine being one of the first people to see a satellite image of a territory; you’d shit your pants and recognize just how weirdly land is shaped. Yeah, as I was saying, this takes place even before the Halifax Explosion, and in this historical scenario — alright, yeah? — You’d be looking work, right? You’re down on your knees, your father just died of tetanus, and you’re barely managing an income from consistent begging. Then, — all of the sudden, right? — you’re approached by this guy named Elcid Barrett, and he’s asking of you to enlist on his voyage towards Jamaica to sabotage an American ship that’s filled with loads of stolen, Yankee gold. He’s looking for people like you — get this, right? — because of your experience from fishing beforehand. [,] Later, you find yourself with the rest of the men that Elcid hired, and you finally see the vessel you’ll live in: It’s decrepit, sickened, and all around horrid. It’s called the Antelope (quite a typical name for a vessel), and you’re now fully committed to do anything to escape the usual poverty of your situation. […] After a bunch of crap happens related to arguing with strange crew members, you finally spot an American vessel on your voyage to Jamaica, and Elcid orders you to turn the ship and follow the path of the Yankee vessel, but because the ship is such a hunk of junk, it takes you nearly two days to catch up to the ship. And, when you finally get there, do you know what’s the first thing that greets you? A cannonball straight into your mainmast. [,] Fast-forward and Elcid was blown off the damn ship, now your crew is leaderless and the poor vessel is getting worse, then BLAM! Both of your legs got blown off, and now it’ll take you six or nine years to get back to Halifax. […] Now, I hope most of you were taking notes, because I won’t repeat myself and I won’t be offering a PDF of that story; just find it on Google.

[liaragaming]

By The Fire

A random scene in my head I felt the need to write out. Solas joins up with Lavellan and party for some unknown reason in some unknown location in D4. Things are awkward. Angry kissing. Sex and angst (so much angst!). Dorian is pissed.

Also features Vaea from the comics (yay!)

NSFW – 2697 words

She can almost convince herself it’s like old times: sitting at camp with the Inquisition, battling Venatori and red templars in a dense forest.

But she’s in Tevinter, not Ferelden or Olais. Dorian’s pretense is familiar, but Vaea’s is relatively new. She’s missing half her left arm, and the meager stew they eat lacks it’s usual flair.

She was always the one who could turn boring porridge into something spectacular. But her usual foraging skills failed her this night. Her mind was elsewhere, and she hadn’t been able to stop her fingers from shaking. She gathered plants blindly and returned to camp after too short a hunt, fully expecting to come back and find him gone once again.

But he had not gone.

Solas sits beside her, sipping from his bowl. He wears a simple tunic and trousers, not like what he’d worn when with the Inquisition. These garments are thinner, the barest underclothes of his sentinel armor – except for the leg wraps, which are exactly as she remembers.

No one speaks. Dorian, who sits on a perpendicular log with Vaea shoots a few scrutinizing glances at Solas. But the meal passes in silence. And though there are things she’d like to say, they jumble together in her throat. She can barely look at the elf beside her.

“You need more firewood,” Solas says when their bowls are finished and no one has moved.

She glances at the single dying log in the fire and realizes he’s right. “Dorian, will you and Vaea collect some, please?”

Dorian’s eyebrows shoot upward, his eyes wide with alarm and concern. But she nods to him, and he pulls a confused Vaea into the trees.

Even with the two of them gone, she continues to stare down at her bowl.

“Whatever you need to say,” he tells her. “You can say it.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” she admits, bitterness filling her voice.

“Start with what you’re thinking.”

She lets out a long exhale and stands, dropping her bowl by the log. She walks to the opposite edge of the fire and turns around. For the first time since they set camp, she takes in the whole of him.

There is much of the Solas she knew, his rigid body posture, the gentle look in his eyes… but he is also more. Underneath everything she finds so familiar and comfortable, there is something else she has only begun to understand; something that adds weight to the proud way he sits, to the question he holds in his eyes, to the feelings of rage and sorrow that climb up her throat.

“Did it mean anything?” she asks him, her voice shaking. “Any of it?”

The space between his eyebrows crinkle.

“Me,” she clarifies. “And Dorian.” She points toward the trees. “And all the other members of the Inquisition. Did we mean anything to you? Or were we all just pawns to use against Corypheus?”

He shakes his head. “You know the answer to that.”

“Do I?!” she steps toward him and he leans back. He, the Dread Wolf, flinches in the face of her demands.

It should tell her something, give her the answers to the burning questions in her heart. And perhaps it does because she turns away, angry tears coming to her.

“Why?” she asks, wiping at her eyes “Why did you..?”

She can’t finish, but Solas answers anyway. “I loved you.”

She spins around and strides toward him. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare!”

He stands. “What do you want me to say? That I used you for my own sadistic pleasure? Would that help you?”

“Yes!”

He stares at her, his face twisted in his own anger and frustration. And for a moment, she thinks he’ll say it, he’ll give her what she needs to hate him. But his features soften, and she reminds herself that nothing with him is ever that easy.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and the heartache in the lines of his face makes her anger rise again.

He turns from her, but she gabs him and pulls him back, spinning him around. It’s the look of acceptance in his eyes, of defeat, that makes her bite back her anger, gritting her teeth. She could yell and scream at him, and he would take it. She could spit in his face, and he would do nothing.

It infuriates her that he won’t fight back, that he won’t give her something to push against.

So she kisses him instead, crushing her mouth to his with such force the inside of her lip splits against her teeth. His mouth opens in a gasp, and she forces her tongue inside, pressing into him, searching for the furthest depths she can penetrate. Her fingers dig into his arm, pulling him closer.

His hands press into her hips, and he kisses her so hard their teeth knock together. She pulls back to drag her incisors along his bottom lip. He returns the gesture, biting at her upper lip. His arms wrap around her waist, and she drags her nails down his shoulder. He scrapes his teeth along her tongue.

This is what she wanted, something to fight with, something to hit back as hard as she hit on. And when her anger and frustration are spent, she pulls away to look at him. His lips are swollen, his face flushed, and his eyes alight. She loves him like this, his wall of cool control finally broken down.

His bottom lip is busted, and she presses her tongue to the wound before kissing it. She is gentle, tender. And when he kisses her back with equal softness, she finds herself wanting things to be like they were, back when she loved him with all her heart, back when things were far less complicated. And when she pulls him closer, there is no anger, only warmth and affection.

The longer they kiss, the more she desires other things. But when she curls her fingers into the waist of his trousers and pulls their hips together, he pushes back.

“No, vhenan. I’ve hurt you enough.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

She closes the distance between them and slides her hands between his thighs.

He sighs, leaning his forehead on hers. “Vhenan.”

She strokes him till he’s hard and he leaves her forehead to trail kisses down her neck. She fumbles with the tie in his trousers while he works on the field gear around her waist she never bothered to remove since setting camp.

She makes an impatient whimper in the back of her throat.

“So you’re saying,” says Vaea behind him. “That the Inquisitor and Fen’Harel – the ancient elven god hellbent on destroying the world – were once… together? How?”

Dorian bends to pick up a fallen branch. “It’s complicated.”

“Are you sure we should have left her alone with him?”

He examines the thin branch, breaks it in half by standing on it, and adds both pieces to the pile of wood in his arms. “Trust me. It’s far more concerning what would have happened if we hadn’t left them alone.”

Vaea chuckles. “She’s not that scary.”

Dorian shakes his head. “You don’t know her well enough yet.” He jumps. “What was that?”

A sound came on the air. He thought-

“There! Did you hear that?”

“Erm... Dorian-”

“It’s coming from camp.”

“Dorian - wait!”

He drops the wood from his arms and runs, his hand reaching for the staff slung across his back. As he nears the camp site, he hears the sound again: a low moan.

He breaks through the trees and comes to a sudden stop at the sight before him.

At first, he thinks something terrible has happened, that Lavellan has been injured or worse as Solas lays over her, shielding her or attacking her.

But then he hears the moan again, and Lavellan raises her head to press her mouth against Solas’. The scene before him sifts with new meaning.

He takes a reflexive step back as he realizes his mistake, complicated by the fact neither of them bothered to remove most of their clothing.

Lavellan leans her head back, giving an audible sigh, and Dorian spins around, his brain remembering how to move his feet. He presses his hands to his ears as he hurries back into the trees.

Vaea approaches him, her hesitant stance and questioning gaze telling him she knew what was happening far earlier than he did.

“Right.” He’s unable to meet her eyes or shake the image of what he’d just seen from his mind. “What were we doing?”

“Gathering twigs?”

“Yes, that.” He shakes his head. “Let’s get back to it.”

Vaea scoffs. “Are you serious?”

Dorian gestures toward camp. “Do you want to interrupt them?!”

When she doesn’t move, he strides passed her, running a hand over his face as he peers into into the underbrush. “Well, don’t just stand there. Help me.”

She shifts the bundle in her arms. “Help you with what?”

“I left a perfectly good pile of…” He clears his throat. “Wood around here somewhere.”

Being with her again is every bit as incredible as he remembers, more so in that he’d never thought it would happen again. And when they’re spent in each other’s arms, he finds her lips and kisses her. He wants nothing to take away this moment, nothing to rob him of this feeling that there is no force that could tear them apart.

But as he smiles down at her, his thumb stroking her cheek, reality begins to sink in. He notes it as the wonder dies from her eyes. They are still at odds with one another, and one passionate tussle – in the dirt no less – doesn’t change that.

He stands, mentally chastising himself. This was a mistake. He’d known better than to give in to his desire for her, yet he’d done it anyway. True, she’d coaxed him, but he should have been strong enough…

And now he’d hurt her, just as he’d known he would.

She won’t look at him as they readjust their clothing. She sits by the fire and runs her hand over her face. He doesn’t sit next to her. Instead, he stands behind her, wishing there was something he could say, something he could do to make this easier.

Dorian and Vaea return, their arms laden with fuel for the fire. Dorian glares at him with a piercing intensity, and Solas realizes he knows what happened. And there is nothing he can say or do in his defense.

“I’m going to bed,” Lavellan announces.

She rises and strides to her tent, not stopping to glance at Solas though he reaches out a hand to – to what? Stop her? Tell her he’s sorry? As if words could fix everything he’s put her through…

“I think I’ll retire too,” says Vaea quickly, dropping her wood by the fire and striding swiftly to her own tent.

He’s left with Dorian, who deposits his pile on top of Vaea’s and crosses his arms, glaring daggers.

Solas sighs, “Just say it.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Venom drips from his voice.

Solas shakes his head in perfect agreement that he’s done far too much. “What do you want me to do, Dorian?”

Dorian uncrosses his arms and strides toward him. “I want you to pack up your tent and your fancy armor and go. I want you to never contact her again, never touch her, never look at her, never breathe her name, never let another thought of her cross your mind. And when she’s forgotten you and lived a full and joyous life in spite of the hell you’ve put her through, then maybe I’ll be satisfied.”

Solas averts his gaze from Dorian’s fury. He swallows and nods. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I should do.”

“Then by the Void, why don’t you?”

Solas gives a bitter laugh and shakes his head again. “Because I am a moth, and she is a flame.” He looks back at her tent with longing, knowing full well he shouldn’t. “You’d all be better off if I just burned up and let that be the end of it.”

If Dorian reacts to his statement, he doesn’t notice. He sighs as he strides to his tent. He’d pitched it right next to hers like the fool he is. He enters, kicks his armor aside, and curls up in his bedroll.

He never should have involved her in this, never should have involved any of them. But he’d thought… well, it doesn’t matter what he’d thought. He made a thorough mess of things, and that’s all that matters.

A high pitched, muffled sound reaches his ears, and he raises his head from his pillow. It sounds again and again, and…

Fenedhis! is she crying?

He can hear it clearly now. Muffled, as though she were pressing her face to something to mute the sound, but there could be no mistaking it.

He curses himself as he lays back down. He did this to her, and now… He wants to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and cradle her. He wants to soothe her tears with kisses and gentle words and caresses.

But he gave up his right to comfort her a long time ago. And he’s probably the last person she wants right now.

He pulls his blanket over his head, trying to drown out the sound, but there is no relief for him. He sighs, accepting his punishment. He pulls his blanket back down and lays there, listening to her cries. Tears fall from his own eyes.

Dorian’s right. He should go. He should leave her. For once since he’d met her, he should do the right thing.

He rises, gathers up his armor, and steps outside his tent to put it on. It’s the clinking of the metal that draws her out to meet him.

“Are you leaving?”

He can’t tell if the hurt in her voice is from the pain he recently left her or if it’s new, if seeing him pack up his gear makes her hurt all over again.

“Vhenan…” He looks into her shinning eyes and realizes he does not have the will.

He sets his armor aside and steps to her, taking her tear-streaked face into his hands. “I have never had the resolve to be as strong as you needed me to be,” he explains. “That day when you first kissed me, I should have let you walk away. I should have never gotten you involved in this.” He takes a breath and continues. “I should go, but I need you to tell me to because I can’t…” He swallows back the emotion rising in his throat. “Tell me to go. Tell me you never want to see me again. Tell me your life would be better off without me. Please.”

She looks into his face, her eyes wide and swimming, and he has no idea what’s going through her mind. All he knows, is she has this one chance to free herself.

“Please, vhenan,” he says.

She lays her hand against his face and kisses him, the salt from her tears on her lips. And he accepts this. This is what goodbye should taste like, sweet and bitter all at once. This is what he will remember.

Then she pulls away from him, her hand dropping to his neck, and he waits for the words.

“Don’t go.”

His heart drops into his stomach like a rock, and he leans against her as his world spins.

She squeezes his shoulder and whispers again, “Don’t go.”

He shakes his head is disbelief.

She takes his hand, and he obeys as she leads him into her tent.

They lay together, their arms wrapped firmly around each other, and he can’t stop the tears falling from his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispers against his chest where her own tears are soaking the fabric of his tunic.

It’s the greatest curse he ever could have given her, and he has no idea how she can choose to carry it.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”