#i have a second choice lined up but its not located as perfectly as the first one was

[publicuniversalenemy]

hi everyone im gonna fukcing Die now. i found literally the perfect fucking apartment a couple weeks back but i didnt move fast enough on it bc i was like. well the lease doesnt even start until fucking august. but GUESS WHAT!!!!! someone else snatched that shit up!!! in the last couple days!!!! so im so happy and thrilled right now ^-^

[thissccounthatesfascists]

TL asleep? cool.

(long post, strap in)

i wanna talk about colin's wet dream. that was the most demisexual shit i have EVER seen. there's not even any sex. its just a romanticized, elevated version of their first kiss. its colin's subconscious wanting to replay the moment he fell in love with his best friend in the Most way possible.

lets break it down:

we got the same location of their first kiss. Complete with mood lighting and a fog machine. It’s giving pride and prejudice 2005

Penelope comes out (looking gorgeous, of course) to their rendezvous spot, which has been previously agreed on.

colin thanks her for meeting him, she doesn't know why he's asked her to come

he confesses his feelings for her

she reciprocates (this is the important part of this to me. ) her wanting him, makes him want her more (do you see where the demisexual colin energy is coming from? do you understand?)

they make out

he kisses her neck as she pants his name over and over (see my point above re: her wanting him makes him want her more)

he wakes up, absolutely shook

this is an idealized reimagining for colin: during their first kiss he was basically in shock, his new personality chokes on the reality and vulnerability of the moment

in the book he talks about how he tries to think of something witty to say but finds that no words are necessary, and there's no combination of witty banter or suave bravado that could help in that moment. the rake persona that he has put on up to this point absolutely fails him. but here, in this dream, words are crucial, the declarations of love are why its sexy! (demi colin is canon idc idc)

and its so important that this wet dream, the idealized version of this scenario happens like this. because we've also seen colin having sex with sex workers (and luke newton has talked about this) but his energy in those scenes is very detached, very focused on him and his pleasure with zero connection to the women he's with. he has two different threesomes (if you can even call the second one that, he's barely even looking at them) with four different women and we know nothing about these girls. they don't even get names. they don't matter, and its simply not. as. good. as the feeling of kissing pen. there is no connection

which is, i think, why he taps out during the threesome in ep4. he tries to go back to the devil-may-care attitude toward sex and intimacy that he had before kissing pen, he tries to return to that mask he put on of "the rake" and it just doesn't work! he feels nothing! in fact he feels disdain for the position he's in and the choices he's made!

the threesome in ep4 mirrors the outburst he has later at the club really well. like he's so frustrated with this position he's put himself in, the men he's surrounded himself with. he literally says "none of you are gentlemen!" "you're actually gross and disrespectful!"

a line that i love is :

"... it is tiring, is it not? The necessity imposed on us to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning. Do you not find it lonely?"

and they laugh! in! his! face! because these are men that feel perfectly fine sleeping with strangers and bragging about their "conquests" to their buddies

but that is not who colin is! he's still very young. and his experience with marina (who tried to seduce him and it didn't work, imo bc he just didn't feel that passion, that love that makes his relationship with penelope so different) has left him jaded, but not nearly as jaded as he wants to believe. even if he wants to be casual about romance and sex, he just isn't. this man proposed to marina after knowing her for what? a couple weeks? He is an All or Nothing type of guy. He has that Bridgerton 'when i fall in love i will only ever talk about my spouse' Gene

Now: some costuming details that i love:

Her hair:

(i know this is a stretch but go with me here) her hair is in slightly tighter curls than we've seen this season, which to me seems like a nod to colin liking (or at least not minding) her hair the way it was in previous seasons and maybe not caring as much as we might think about her transformation. but its still down and flowy and in line with her new style

let's talk about this! dress! (it has genuinely been keeping me up at night)

the sleeves seem much more similar to the silhouettes of her costumes in previous seasons, not necessarily in shape but in style

the sleeves are bulkier, compared to this season's costumes, which while they might have been the same size and shape, they are made of much lighter material, giving the silhouette a softer, more mature feeling.

compare it to this dress from s3 ep2: it looks very similar with the sleeve shape and the floral appliqués, but in the dress in the image above, the appliqués are much more obvious, closer to penelope's style under her mother's tastes

the point i'm trying to make here will be made more clear in a sec. what I am NOT trying to say that colin prefers her in her little girl dresses with loud designs, bright colors, and silly hairdos. he just associates those bigger, brighter, louder style choices with penelope.

And he has always liked Penelope. Even when he didn’t take her seriously as a potential partner, he always saw her as an equal. He never made fun of her silly dresses and questionable hair choices.

This has nothing to do with Colin but i feel like i should point it out:

there is something to be said about how her muted pastel color palette along with the more demure style that she has adopted shows that she is trying to Show Up with this social season, but as a wallflower, she is shy. she's always hated those brightly colored dresses her mother put her in, because no matter how close to the wall she clung, she was always visible. she was always vulnerable to ridicule.

but i don't think colin knows or realizes this because why would he think critically about the specific style changes she's made. and he probably doesn't really make the connection of the influence her mother has on her clothing. and around him, pen has never seemed all that shy. she's been confident and witty. if you pair her personality that shines around colin with her louder outfits, it seems more congruous

(take the scene from season 2 where we get the line "My purpose shall set me free") this is a side of penelope that no one, not even eloise!, sees

what his subconscious knows is that he associates pen with vibrant, textured, and often 3-dimensional outfits, and his subconscious creates a dress that fits her new style, with a little more of that featherington flair thrown in.

the fucking tie in front: i feel like this is a very clear reference/ foreshadowing to the mirror scene

for those of you who haven't read the book, the mirror scene doesn't actually happen, but colin tells penelope about a fantasy he has about touching her in front of a mirror

this is a pretty small offhand comment made while they're having sex for the first time but amongst book fans the scene has become pretty fleshed out i think, with fanfics especially

because the idea that it touches on is colin fantasizing about penelope seeing herself the way he does, as sexy and desirable (he seriously cares about her pleasure so much its sickening, I'm actually sick)

and although Book Colin doesn't mention it, the idea of him undressing her in front of a mirror has become a popular story set-up

i think the tie in the front sort of plays on the time period sensibilities of propriety: this is a time where in "good" society an unmarried man and woman would never touch skin to skin, its why all the women wear gloves most of the time. its why the scenes in season 1 between daphne and simon play on the excitement of removing the gloves: its a taboo thing

this is unrelated to this post but i need an explanation as to why pen isn't wearing gloves in a lot of her scenes this season, like the scandal that that would cause??? I'm assuming its representative of her growing into her sexuality; and bridgerton is a fantasy, not a historical nonfiction, but like some consistency would be nice guys bc i was so confused abt all the skin-on-skin contact happening. even with Francesca and Lord Samadani WHEN HE KISSES HER BARE HAND I WAS SO UNCOMFORTABLE FOR HER. especially because of all the glove-related tension in s1. but i digress.

so the tie in front is sort of a dare. even though its clearly an addition, and untying wouldn't actually remove her dress, its her (colin's subconscious version of her anyway) way of saying: "you could untie this, you could undress me if you wanted to" "i love you" "i want you"

and i think that's beautiful. this season is great and i will die on this hill.

If you've made it this far, congrats! you're just as feral as me! come and gnaw on the drywall with me while i post fanfics inspired by this season: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988977/chapters/142190584

chapters 1+2 of my new fic are up

photos are from : https://www.cap-that.com/bridgerton/302/index.php?image=bridgerton3x02_1502.jpg

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

FORD TORINO GT

Walking around a 1970/71 SportsRoof Torino at a classic car show in the States could be a confusing experience for Ozzie Ford enthusiasts. They might well be wondering, ‘Have I come all this way to look at a customised XA-XC Falcon hardtop?’ And for good reason.

When Ford Australia’s designers and engineers first sat down with blank sheets of paper in 1968 to come up with an all-new Falcon for 1972, the brief required them to make a comprehensive break from past styling. The boxy Falcon XY shape was to make way for the organic flowing look we became familiar with in the XA model and the subsequent XB and XC updates. At that time the Torino team at Dearborn was a couple of years ahead of Ford Australia in making a similar transition to a sleeker body style. No surprise then that the Ford Australia team made a conscious decision to draw on the second-generation Torino concept for some XA design elements. The decision was a no brainer. Why put in the effort and take on the costs of the pioneering stage of developing a new model when your corporate cousins have already done those hard yards?

Perhaps I’m not alone in admitting that the Torino made only a smallish blip on my Ford-model radar over the years. My excuse is that from an Australian perspective at least the Torino existed largely in the shadow of its high-profile stablemate, the Mustang.

This relative anonymity is surprising when you consider the Torino’s exposure on screens large and small over the decades. While the Gran Torino model got excellent exposure in the Starsky and Hutch TV series in the 70s and 80s and the later movie, its starring role in Clint Eastwood’s perfectly named 2008 movie, Gran Torino. capped off its profile raising. After seeing that movie you had a pretty good handle on what at least one classic Torino – the 1972 Gran Torino Sport – was all about. But there’s way more to the Torino story than was revealed by its '15 minutes of (TV/movie) fame'.

The Torino was launched in 1968 as an upmarket, upsized addition to the US Fairlane range. Naming it after Italy’s Motown was an interesting, but not ground-breaking move for Fomoco, with models like Capri, Montego and Granada also honouring various geographical locations. I'm not too sure, though, that a generously sized Torino would be my first choice for navigating the often narrow and crowded confines of its namesake city’s streets.

The Torino’s arrival relegated Fairlane-badged cars to entry-level status in Ford’s intermediate-category (US) line-up – a point underlined by Fairlane's sharing a number of panels with the utilitarian Ranchero pickup. Ultimately the Fairlane name was dropped from what had become the Torino model-range, bizarrely at the time when the Australian Fairlane was just hitting its straps as a desirable aspirational model with a long profitable future ahead of it for Ford Australia.

The Torino covered most model-variant bases with two four-door sedans, a two-door hardtop, even a Squire wagon, as well as Torino GT versions that also included a convertible. While base-line Torinos initially offered a 200ci in-line six as standard, V8 options included the 302ci, two versions of the 390ci and some months into the 1968 model year the 428ci Cobra-Jet was added to the motor menu to give credibility to the GT version's claim to 'Muscle Car' status.

The fresh styling of the second-generation Torino of 1970/71 we opened with was widely praised by the American motoring media. New engines included the 351ci Cleveland and buyers really wanting to burn some bitumen could opt for the Torino Cobra, powered by the legendary Cobra-Jet 429, a purpose-built hi-po engine that claimed an impressive 370 horsepower. Healthy Torino sales continued to produce smiles in Ford’s executive suite.

By 1972 with the 'Muscle Car' era fading to grey in the US, the GT label was dropped in favour of the blander ‘Gran Torino Sport’ label. These larger third-generation Torinos moved from the previous car’s taut ’n' terrific unitary construction, in favour of heavier body-on-frame construction. The Torino’s high-performance glory days were now fading fast.

Further evolution through to 1976, the Torino’s finale model, produced successively more laid-back Torinos – a process that for performance fans provided a grim contrast with the early Torino Cobras that had proudly flown the Ford flag in NASCAR racing.

Ford's Torino made a great start in 1968 by selling more than 100,000 units into a market begging for affordable ‘muscle’ cars. 1969 saw numbers dip by half but then recover. Entering the 1970s, sales were averaging above 60,000 annually. Lots of GT Torinos have been preserved or restored so there remains a deep pool into which buyers can dip to find decent cars.

Scarce variations including the 429 Cobra-Jet and Talladega occasionally top six figures in US sales but aren’t as yet totally out of reach.

The minimum specification a Torino buyer should consider while remaining credible is an M-Code with 5.8 litres and automatic transmission. These were built from 1970-72 and a few did come to Australia. Importing a decent car today will cost $45-55,000.

Seeking out a 6.4 or even 7.0-litre (390 or 428 cubic inch) GT will more seriously dent the balance. However they generally cost less than similar-looking XA-XB Falcon GT Hardtops.

Deep pockets and due diligence come to the fore when your target is an R-Code Cobra. Genuine, number-matching cars in close to showroom order (plus the cost of freighting and registering upon arrival) will top A$100,000.

VALUE RANGE:

1968-72 Ford Torino

Fair: $24,500 Good: $48,000 Excellent: $65,000 (GT390) 

[everafterkeiji]

Hi can i request a hcs for itadori,megumi and gojo react to their s/o death?.

Please Feel free to ignore this request if its triggering or u don't feel like writing it! Thank you<3

i love angst requests so it's really okay with me! thank you so much for requesting (ngl i did cry thinking abt yuji) and i hope u have a lovely day even if this was incredibly sad

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

PAIRINGS: JJK BOYS x gn!reader

CHARACTERS: Itadori Yuji, Megumi Fushiguro, & Gojo Satoru

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

WARNINGS: heavy angst, character death, mentions of blood and panic attacks, as well wounds and bruises. mentions of Shibuya arc/implied location in Shibuya during that arc.

⟡ 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 eyes dared to erase the sight ahead of him, his body was frozen—every sense began to fail for its purpose and nothing else was responsive except for the shout of your name that echoes through the battle field, the level of immensity to his voice that covers his throat with pain as every pace towards you was a step leading to a waste of a second that terrifies him the more his being tugged away by his own fears.

Dropping to his knees, he was numb to the sensation of the ache overwhelming his legs while he craddles you in his arms as every part of him shook with uncertainty, his hands didn't have the courage to hold you with as much as strength as he should've.

"..Y/N?" He whispers, a croak to his voice as if it was barely alive with droplets created from his sorrow began to trail down your cheek whilst your blood paints his hand in a hue he never expected to come from you. His mind was in the midst of being empty to a havoc that wanted to deny every rage in his system so he could love you even if he could tell how your chest wasn't rising the way it was supposed to do.

"Love?" Yuji calls out one more time as your eyes flutter subtly, signalling him not even an assurance for your state. His hand falls to your cheek, not caring if he couldn't hold you weakly because what matters more is that you held onto him. He painfully leans his forehead on yours, a loud sob escaping him with a struggle to catch up with his breath.

"Don't let me go, don't ever leave me, I beg of you, God!" He shouts as the gods grow concerned of the boy whose heart was wrecked to every piece as the sky began to cry with him. "Save them— God— Please! Stop taking everyone that I love and let me come with them." He begs, as he pulls you more as if the distance could've helped him better because even when you were close to him, he knew you were already at the farthest place that he couldn't reach. All that could be heard from him were screams where he forfeited ever begging for your life when everyone around seems to follow in your path.

"I'm so sorry, my love." Itadori confesses, arms tight around your figure as every beat of his heart began to die with you when all the seconds that he seemed to waste without you by his side began to haunt him. If he had gotten there sooner, maybe then he could've reminded you one more time that you were the energy—the surviving light in his life for him to exist without being told of his faith.

"I love you—so much so please remember that even when you're away." He couldn't even explain how his words manage to fall in such a manner, he could've sworn a second ago he only wanted to let time freeze so he could deny the view of your lifeless body that he miserably failed to save from the hands of death.

"I promise you, in the end, I'll be with you soon, Y/N." Itadori places a delicate kiss to your forehead, having no courage to leave the contact of your skin to his as his eyes went with the rain that poured over the two of you. He intertwines one of his hands with yours, shivering at the temperature he faces but with the other hand, he rests it on his cheek. Maybe if you looked at him now, you'd want him to smile because if you were the source of his reason to exist, Yuji's smile was the one to let your hearts worries disappear but sadly, the source has been removed from him and nothing else in the world could ever bring the joy in his smile no more.

"All I've ever wanted to do was to love you, so I hope you're willing to wait because when I see you.. I'm gonna embrace you with everything I've got," He then kisses the hand intertwined to his before he achingly pull his hand away and the regret closing on him but he had no other choice.

"And love you again and again, Y/N. Always and.. forever—like what we promised." Yuji, as torturous it was to let you go, he sets your hand that was on his cheek to your chest just like he did with the other before he ends his goodbye with a lasting kiss to your cheek.

"Stop crying, Yuji! C'mon smile for me, will you? I didn't come here to see you all gloomy."

And with the remaining memories left for him, it began to be the weak strings for his heart to compose itself because if he knows one thing that you hated, it was the sight of him crying.

So he smiles, the everlasting wish of yours being granted even if his body was corrupting as the love of his life enters a new realm where forever was possible for the both of you.

"We'll meet again, my love."

As he stood up, he hesitates to turn his back on you but once he does, the sun never looked the same to him ever again.

⟡ 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 encounters a feeling that he's been through before—a course of emotions that has his body in a tight hold but now, it seems the hold on him was deadlier than the first time. Your name had left his lips, draining him of his exhaustion to run to you before you could fall, every fiber in his body was holding on to his fear. He didn't need to feel the ache in his legs that were covered in wounds because his mission was for you to perfectly land in his arms even if he had to risk getting more injuries.

His heart began to pace in frantic pace when he catches you, there wasn't a split second of joy that entered him just because he made it in time. Instead, his eyes widen in trauma at the sight of your dull eyes that looked above to the heavens sky.

"Hey—hey!" He shouts, trembling hands feeling every bit of your skin and ends with it down to your cheek. "Talk to me—anything, please!" Megumi pleads as a drop of your blood that came from your forehead started to flow onto his skin. He gulps with his breathing unable to coordinate with him as his head frenetically looks up, any sign of help could've been the better reach but they were just in the mere corner of a building in Shibuya.

"Y/N? Please say something." He whispers, furiously wiping his tears while he despises the warmth of your blood that paints his hands. "C'mon please, let me hear your voice one last time." He sobs on your shoulder, embracing you with every corrupting piece of his heart, looking for a beat from your rather cold ones. His hands go to your hair, caressing it so lightly that he felt it resembled glass from how careful he was. Your head was buried in his neck, eyes barely awake for him to ever find that heartbeat.

"I love you, did you hear me?" Megumi says, gulping in the grief. "Say it back to me like you always did, please?" He doesn't know that begging would've been his lasting choice—maybe someone up above would take some time to listen to his pleads and eventually bring the life to his lovers body once again for you to say you love him back a thousand times more.

"Hug me one more time, will you? You told me you loved to do that." He desperately wishes your arms could just return to the place he loved, wrapped around his neck as his hands were to be on your waist or to your cheek with a smile to your lips. Unfortunately, your arms were covered in their own bruises—latched with dark purple hues and tints of red from the debris of buildings and cursed spirits.

"We have to go, Megumi!" One of the sorcerers shout, he didn't even have the time to decipher who it belonged to but he sniffles, reaching for his phone typing a quick message to the others to be able to take you out of this place with somewhere more deserving of a beauty that has passed.

"I'm not going to say goodbye because I know you'll always be with me, right Y/N?" He takes your hands, placing it on your chest on top of each other as his tear lands on your temple. He softly wipes it away before he kisses your forehead, closing his eyes shut at his misery.

"I wish I could've saved you. I really wish I did." He sobs, forehead in tact with yours but he seems to receive a sensation to his body at the wind that came his way.

"You've saved me the minute you met me, my love." You wish you could've whispered to him but he took it as the wind was the only embrace he'll ever get now.

"And you saved me too." Panda walks in to this horrid scene as he feels the sympathy rush to him. Megumi looks up at him with the liveliness dying along with you as your lover delicately holds your cheek one last time before kissing you on your temple muttering one more time,

"I love you always."

Standing up was the second hardest thing he had to do because turning his back to you came at first as his knees threatened to fall but alas, he has to do continue on because that's what you would've wanted right?

"I love you, Megumi. I'll be here waiting for you."

And the upcoming battles for him to face were laced with rage and the never ending bitterness that love seemed to haunt him with.

⟡ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎's phone rang as while he stops to stare at the caller. It was odd for him to receive a phone call from Megumi at this hour but he supposed it was probably for some guidance since they were sent to a mission. Being aware of their location, he didn't hesitate to transport as fast as he could to get there but there's this calling to him how it wasn't bound to be what he expected.

Panting heavily, Megumi ran with life on the line as he carried you in his arms without the ability to pace your breathing the same as his.

"GOJO-SENSEI!" He shouts with every power in his lungs the second Gojo had appeared, who stood stunned at the boy who was approaching him with a familiar figure.

"Y/N?" Satoru says, uncertain of what he just saw but when Megumi reached him, out of his breath as Nobara and Itadori followed behind him. His student places you in your lovers arm as he kneels down with a hand to your chest, alarmed at how your heartbeat was nowhere near notice. Fushiguro could see the worry in the mans eyes as he bites his lip in sympathy before telling the two to spare a moment for the so called strongest sorcerer who was now on his knees for only one person.

"We saw them being followed by a cursed spirit but they led Y/N to a trap." Megumi briefly explains as Gojo could only spare him a nod as your eyes would flutter once a while as the three students let them be.

"I warned you, didn't I?" He says, a low whisper as your hand weakly reach for his blindfold while Gojo's own rhythm of a heartbeat began to ache. Once he felt how you raised it with a cough of blood spoiling his uniform as his expression grow more frantic with every second.

"Hey there, pretty. You mind staying with me for a little longer?" He asked as if your ears were as attentive as it were before when his eyes stared back at your dazed ones. You didn't respond which was troubling him, what more was that your hand immediately dropped to your chest when he finally looked at you. A shakey sigh leaves Gojo while he rose, ready to fly you anywhere as long as you promised to stay.

"A little more please, can you do that for me?" He begs of you but instead, your head fell unconsciously in his arms with the threat of your eyes to close before he could ever look at you again, not too mention the flow of blood that came from your stomach that didn't seem to stop. He hasn't had the confidence to look at your body before because the fear on Megumi's face made him certain of how the damage had been rough on you. Up this close, he can see two massive wounds to your lower body as well as scratches on your forearms with some bruises on your wrist, hinting how their grasp on you was too strong compared to someone who was powerless.

The hue of his eyes appear to be less saturated than before and for the first time in the life of the honored sorcerer, his heart was irreparable and no amount of technique can reverse the way love his love for you had been the fault for your end.

Unknown to his own senses, his tears fall to your cheek as he pulls you closer like an embrace that didn't bring him his usual amount of comfort.

"Satoru, stop messing around!" You said as he spun you around, tight arms around his neck as he flew in the air, not bothering to listen to your protests of putting you down.

"I won't let you go, how could I ever do that to you?" He assures you, with his own arms tied to your waist with a bright smile on his face.

"And if I fall?" You asked him, glancing at the heights below you but Gojo only tucks a piece of hair behind your ear as you looked at him with the sun in your eyes since two lovers were up in the sky to reach for the clouds.

"I'll be there to save you."

But where was he when you fell from the skyscrapers?

"You hate me, I'm sure." He says biting his lip in agony as he buries his head to your chest, silent sobs and unsteady breaths coming from the sorcerer.

"I love you so much." Satoru breathlessly said. The head that was once on your chest began to move away when he heard nothing more than the silence that came from your heart. They were out to get you, how stupid was he to let you out of his sight just for a second? Maybe then he could've danced with you one more time, up in the sky for the two of you to conquer the heights of being in love.

"I'm so sorry, darling." He then kisses the side of your lip as his feet met in contact with the floor as the rest of the Jujutsu tech as Shoko lets out a saddened sigh.

"Wait for me okay? I'm not done loving you yet." He whispers to you one last time while he hands you over to Shoko as Megumi spares him a glance to notice how wretched his mentor looked.

"I have some things to do." Gojo announces, withstanding the grief to plot revenge to the ones who took you away from him as the rest didn't bother to object knowing there was no possible way to stop a man who had lost the love of his life in revenging your death. He disappears in a split second as the rest of the students didn't notice the tears that kept flowing from the person they look up to.

How can he be the strongest when he failed to protect his only weakness?

Until then, Gojo Satoru could only look at the sky to remember you since his infinity that he swore was to be spent with you died in his arms along with his lover.

[ilcaeryx]

Cultist [Sukuna/Reader] - NSFW

Summary: You have one god on this earth.

Tags: Sukuna/Reader, NSFW, Smut, Humor, Size kink, Cock Warming, Body Worship,

Words: Cirka 2k

Author’s Note: What’s up, sluts? I’m back. This is NSFW, so beware.

---

Sukuna did regularly mention that domination and conquest were his pastime hobbies and you would tentatively add that he adhered to them with slave-like zealotry. Whenever he insulted Itadori Yuji by calling him simple-minded, your heart ached with the desire to tell him that he was not any greater regarding his obsessions with strength. However, your self-preservation kept you alive, since a bitch that talks back to Sukuna is a bitch that gets their head separated from their body, after all.

Having sex with Sukuna is somehow leagues safer than speaking to him, you thought, gaze surveying how the apex of his back muscles cast shades upon the trenches of his spine. Inhalation, the shadows grew and deepened. Exhalation, the light re-conquered its territory. You suspected he never slept, even though he physically seemed in deep slumber. His arms were splayed on his pillow, face turned away from you.

You had self-preservation to save your ass 99 percent of the time – this time was probably that one percent where he would snap.

“Sukuna,” you called out, very lightly stroking his biceps with your nails. No answer, but his arm muscles flexed subtly as he moved his arm.  “I want my side of the bed back. I can’t sleep on this side.”

You let out a shriek when his hand shot out at you, palm plastered over your lips. The sharp edge of his index nail hovered uncomfortably close to your eye, the thumb nail piercing your cheek. Out of reflex, your dug your fingertips into his upper arm and attempted to pull away from his show of force.

Sukuna turned his head to face you. His eyes glared with disinterest, though his grasp weakened slightly.

“You’ve been plenty loud during the night; why must you continue now?” he asked, squeezing your cheeks together to allow you to speak.

“I’ve slept like three hours max,” you said, ignoring his question.

“That is not my problem.” He let go of your face to return to his original position. “Go find somewhere else to sleep and I shall wake you whenever I have need of you.”

What an absolute dickhead. This was your bed, not his domination playground.

You released him and patted your face with your fingers carefully. There were no stinging scratches left behind, which was good considering his reasoning that if ‘you weren’t bleeding out, you didn’t need help’ would leave you with annoying scabs everywhere. Why you were even fucking this guy was beyond you, honestly. This was one of the top 3 worst life choices you had ever made.

You slid towards him beneath the covers and supported your upper body with your ribcage on his lower back and elbows on his upper back. His body heat intermingling with yours gave you a dull ache, from behind your breastbone flowing into a tidepool in the pit of your stomach. After pushing your hair to one side of your neck, you lowered yourself onto him. Your lips wet and breath hot across his skin, you blew softly before planting a kiss below his shoulder blade. Had it been another person under you, you would have had the gratification of seeing goosebumps forming across the area.

“Sukuna…” you said, barely audible between his skin and your lips.

The King of Curses arose from his relaxed position. “Did you not listen or are you an idiot?”

“Bit of both, to be perfectly honest.” You pinched a tuft of his hair strands between two fingers, pulling gently. “You don’t need to do anything – I just want your attention.”

He issued you a warning glare, daring you to pull some weird shit on him.

You shrugged one of your shoulders and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not like I can hurt you, right? I don’t have sharp claws.” To testify, you released his hair, buried your nails below his neck and dragged them down his back in one stroke. Four faint lines were left behind, a stylistic contrast to his dark markings. “I don’t have superhuman strength or speed.” You felt the muscular ridges above his ribs, your fingers travelling up and down each rib. “At my worst, I’m just very obnoxious.”

“How self-aware,” he mocked and laughed half-heartedly. He seemed to enjoy your tiny monologue, judging by the slight raise of his eyebrows. “Continue.”

His approval increased your confidence. While you scoured your brain for whatever concept that might amuse or interest him, you broke eye contact and directed your thumb to pad the black line running along his back. You followed it up to the crest of his shoulders and pulled yourself up over his torso. A low growl hummed beneath you, indicating that perhaps you were pushing your luck. When you brought your left hand down his chest the sound reverberated through your being, reminding you that you were not the apex predator in here. His eagerness showed as he willingly moved his hand into your range when you struggled to reach it.

“Look,” you said, just as eager to sate his curiosity, “at the difference.”

With his attention on your hand enveloping his, you settled your head on his shoulder, finally eye to eye with the King of Curses. You shifted so that your palms met. Even when ignoring his nails, his long fingers and thick wrist eclipsed yours. Finger pads with rough callouses created in combat, the evidence of a reign of lasting a millennium. You could feel the wisdom beneath your soft pads; you could’ve devoted your entire life to warfare and your hands would still not understand it the way his do.

“You know, I never used to consider myself a small person,” you lied, your voice perfectly stable, “but now I am not so sure anymore. It is quite overwhelming.”

Sukuna’s head tilted towards yours, almost tenderly grazing his cheek against your jawline. The movement gave you shivers, causing your toes to curl. You had no option but trusting his self-control when he dove below your jaw and put his lips to your neck. He sucked the flesh between his lips, occasionally tasting with his tongue.

You sighed, content for the brief attention you had earned. Sukuna’s heartbeat rate did not increase nor decrease beneath your hand, his chest just as firm. He detached from your neck, his saliva cooling down that particular spot. You were on the brink of complaining when the world swirled around and your back hit the mattress, your chest and stomach feeling the room’s chill without Sukuna’s body heat.

Sukuna was not playing around anymore; he aligned his forearms beside your face and blocked off whatever else existed outside with his mere presence, lips taut and eyes alert. He situated his torso on top of yours and separated your thighs with his knee. Not close enough to grind on.

“Tell me more,” he stared you down. “What does being completely outmatched feel like?”

You wondered if he meant how it physically felt or how the emotional part of being outmanned and outgunned felt like. Considering how his empathic ability was low-functioning to non-existing, you wanted to bet your money on a physical description… Yet, your tongue prepared to tell him about the terror and the uncertainty. It was not wise to divulge such details to Sukuna.

Scheherazade’s silver tongue might have saved her life a thousand and one times but not everyone’s talent was located in their mouth cavity. Like always, your hands bought you more time to think, to evaluate your words. You tentatively reached for his collarbones before changing your mind and guiding one hand to his lips. Perhaps he had meant to kiss your fingertips, perhaps he had yet another inquiry but his lower lip separated from his upper one and you cautiously pulled it downwards. A predator’s teeth greeted you.

“I can’t say it without sounding lame,” you said and crossed your arms across your chest. “Don’t laugh.”

Almost immediately, Sukuna leaned his weight on one forearm, allowing him to use the other to restrain your hand against the mattress. “I assure you,” he said, his eyes staring lazily at you, lids half-down, “you are not that funny.”

Suddenly, you wished Itadori Yuji would regain his consciousness to not have to deal with this asshole. Kind, encouraging Yuji would worship your existence. Perhaps you would eventually have learned to worship him in turn. ‘Learning’ being the key word, of course. You would fumble in the dark while attempting to appreciate him. This seemed like a good idea for about three seconds and then you returned to your occult god.

“I want to be inside you.” Sukuna, no longer interested in your thoughts, showed more interest in your body. He seldomly spoke of his wants, rousing your curiosity and – honestly – your arousal. The thigh between your leg shifted closer to your mound, touching your nether lips softly.

“You’re so demanding,” you complained, ending your sentence with a deep sigh. “You want me to be quiet, you want me to talk, you want to be inside me – will you ever be satisfied?”

You rolled your hips upwards in a slow movement, enjoying yourself as your lips parted against his flesh. It did not please you enough, so you continued to alleviate yourself.

“No.” His voice  was unusually quiet. His lower lip brushed yours as he spoke. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You moved your chin downwards, the movement nearly imperceptible for someone who was not expecting it.

“I agree… if it’ll keep you quiet,” he said, releasing your arm to steady himself above you.

And you did keep quiet. Although he remained stone-faced, Sukuna seemed attentive to the way you opened your mouth and frowned in frustration, his crimson gaze traversing across your face.

He angled his hips downwards, pressuring your clit as you ground against him. You had never been more thankful for the things he did than when he let you use his body as a tool to get off. Each upwards motion elected a pang of pleasure, a beach in ebb and flow.

You don’t know for how long he tolerated your grinding but your lower body ached and his thigh was slick with your fluid when he removed his leg from you, its absence pulsating throughout your stomach. Despite your fear that he would push you away, you grabbed onto his neck to heave yourself against him, anything to regain that comfort. The relief that accompanied the heartbeat after he brought you up with him to sit upright lightened your entire being. His hands felt excruciatingly hot, almost unbearably so, on your ribcage.

Although you felt ready for him, your grip on his neck remained hard as he lifted you up above his cock. Sukuna descended you slightly, his tip bulging at your entrance. You knew your limit and didn’t hesitate to sink onto him, a movement less gentle than you wished due to your legs being wrapped around his waist. Your breath was uneven, hitching up whenever you strained against him. Avoiding getting your insides impaled by a guy’s dick was surprisingly hard labour. Eventually you settled at his base, a sense of completion glowing off you.

There were no comforting touches or encouraging words from Sukuna, whose tranquil expression made him seem more like Yuji than himself. His eyes almost shut, jaw relaxed... This was the alternate universe version of Sukuna, a man who did not lust for domination and who would settle down with his loved ones for an eventless life. 

Hearing your dumb fantasies echo in your head, you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles until you saw stars. What idiocy. You had to cease these daydream scenarios or you’d be in deep shit in the future. You were an atrocious cultist.

---

I hope everyone enjoyed this. If you liked this, please give a comment/like/reblog. I listened to the Professor Tox remix of LOONA’s Girl Front and Ariana Grande’s Love Me Harder while writing this.

[curmudggeon]

An Unexpected Encounter (Arthur Morgan x Female Reader)

After receiving an invitation to the mayor's Gala party, you encounter the one person you despise the most, Arthur. Just when you thought your rivalry would get any more infuriating, he comes along and one thing leads into another or maybe even into something more...

“Fuck it.”

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Minor spoilers of 'The Gilded Cage' Mission, Vulgarities, Alcohol, Guns, Violence, and Sexual intentions

A/N: Honestly, I didn't know where I was going with this. It's been quite a while since I've written. While playing through this mission, I was thinking of an enemies-to-lovers type of banter with the whole glitz and glamour of the situation. I hope you enjoy it or maybe not...

The grand music by the string quartet swelled into the elegant ambiance of the evening. With Saint Denis’ high society gathered together into one establishment, being invited into these types of conventions was a rare opportunity. You managed to get in the mayor’s party through close connections within the city. It was a chance to get your hands on valued pickpockets from pompous rich people; away from the hassle of collecting useless bounties.

The mansion was rather extravagant as you entered; unique architecture and expensive pieces of artwork looking out into the outskirts of the city. The scent of liquor, cigars, and the deep aquatic plants of the Bayou was intoxicating.

Defying all the odds of 1899 fashion, you wore a dress that had a slit on the slide of your right thigh that was high enough to hide the spare gun that you managed to sneak in despite having to surrender the rest of your weaponry at the entrance.

The mayor’s servants eyed you closely when you laid out your revolvers in front of them, since it was apparently absurd to witness a woman carrying such hefty guns. Winking at them as you moved away, you scowled under your breath at their suspicion and avoid being further searched. It was your only option of protection in case a fiasco had broken out in the middle of your pickpocket adventure.

Conversations started to tune out the music in the background, the heads of married men turned towards your direction as you made your way through the party, striding with utter grace and elegance to catch the eyes of your potential suitors to steal from.

Grimaced expressions were coated on the faces of the women while examining your revealing choice of clothing. You stood beside the refreshments, holding a free glass of champagne, as you glanced at the group of women engrossed in conversation regarding the lady that came into the establishment. You.

Raising your eyebrow as you sipped on the champagne, you gave them a firm nod headed their way, causing the litter of southern belles to widen their eyes at your acknowledgment and quickly disperse from their conversation. Real smooth.

It was the kind of attention you had gotten used to. After all, being the only woman bounty hunter in the city wasn’t normal in the present day’s context. Opting for a more reckless and freer lifestyle gave you a sense of adrenaline; to escape every expectation of conservative American society. You felt entitled to be who you are and wanted to be. A free woman. You started making a name for yourself in this city, bounty after bounty until one particular man decided to show up and defeated all your means of survival on the jobs you took on...

Arthur

The sound of his name left a sour taste in your mouth. He was the reason why it started to get progressively difficult collecting bounties. When you showed up for a $100 bounty for the leader of the Lemoyne Raiders, Lindsey Wofford at the abandoned fort, that is how you met Arthur. You were outnumbered. Deciding to team up with him, was the last thing you should’ve done. He was charming at first, but then came the point when he handed over Lindsey’s body to the police, betraying your efforts to help attain the bounty as he kept the prize to himself. So much for being handsome.

The moment bounty posters were displayed, it became a competition to get to them first. He would capture or kill them before you did. The feeling of immense frustration struck you as he flashed that lazy, crooked smirk of his. Arthur tipped his hat to you while collecting his reward for the day.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, unable to contain the urge to lunge at him for beating you to it. The glimmer in his eye resembled the commencing of his mockery towards you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Princess.” His eyes shined with amusement along with that stupid grin of his slowly widening at your reaction. Oh, he is so not going to see the light of day any time soon.

Your anger was at its peak, ready to set off and wipe that smug expression off his face. You couldn’t let him have this, not this time. Within a blink of an eye, you reached for your pistol and aimed it at Arthur’s head with ease.

“You take that back.” His face slowly turned south as his grin disappears upon my demand. I thought so, too.

“Woah, Woah, young lady. Put the gun down,” The policeman warned as he stood with his hand out to coax you into dropping my line of fire and from blowing Arthur’s brains out in front of him.

Ignoring the warning, you focused on Arthur, waiting for his apology. After a long pause of silence, his face slowly distorts, as if he can’t control the outburst of emotions flowing within him.

He’s

He’s laughing?

Your eyebrows furrowed even further as he slowly bends his arms onto his knees as blurts of laughter simultaneously start to escape his mouth. The policeman was surprised at the sudden change of atmosphere, as he stares at Arthur like a madman. He walks away, shaking his head as he retorts lowly, “I don’t get paid enough for this job”.

Rolling your eyes, you were annoyed at the fact Arthur doesn’t take you seriously. Even as your rival, it was unbelievably childish of him to do so. He continued to wheeze as if I’m the biggest joke in the whole wide world. “Ha ha. Very funny, Arthur”

A small smile crept up your mouth as you lowered your aim of fire and place it back into the holster at the round of your hip. You had to admit, he had one of the most contagious laughs you have ever heard, but that doesn’t mean you should lose your guard against the one person you despise the most. In defeat, you left the police station before he had anything else to say to mask yourself in humiliation.

“This changes nothing, I’m still going to beat you.”

-

A few glasses of champagne and pickpockets later, you managed to get your hands on some gold rings, silver-plated watches, and money off drunkards that made their way to you. They were easily wrapped around your finger to steal behind their back. The men surrounded the area as they unwind into the evening with very little knowledge, of what’s coming to them. You secretly stashed the contents of your pickpockets into your purse while walking away from endless conversations about politics and the weather.

Getting bored by the events occurring before you, in the corner of your eye you spot the mayor; Henri Lemieux by the fountain.

Hoping to make a name for yourself in this city —and probably pickpocket him, you make your way to his location. With elongated and purposeful sashays, you stopped in your tracks when you heard footsteps following behind you.

“Hey, little troublemaker.” His voice resonated through you.

Within a split second, you knew that warm, gruff voice anywhere. Frozen in your tracks, you closed your eyes and mentally cursed to yourself as you just got caught red-handed.

In front of you was your shadow cascading on the brick flooring of the garden as Arthur’s tall and burly figure enveloped yours under the dim moonlight. He was directly behind your back, just barely touching the exposed skin of your shoulders. You could feel the warm heat radiating off of him, making you shudder.

Slowly turning around to acknowledge his presence, composing yourself with utmost annoyance to resist the intoxicating proximity in between.

"Oh, it's you." He chuckled at your sarcastic remark as you admired his ravishing appearance. He donned a well-fitted Tux that hugged his biceps perfectly, along with the slicked-back hair from the usage of pomade to style it.

The view of him was a refreshing sight. Seeing him in such a way, despite the usual boyishly rugged blue shirt of his, that shaped his figure well tingled on your skin. He smelled of musk and wildflowers. The scent caused an involuntary sigh out of you before you could realize what you had just done.

"It's nice to see you." Slightly grinning, he stared at you closely. Holding eye contact as he took in the sight of your appearance. Before you stared at each other longer than the both of you had anticipated, fireworks had burst in swirls up in the sky. It caught the attention of guests as they watch the beautiful night sky be painted with streaks of vibrant colors. Comments of amazement filled the air.

Shifting your gaze back to Arthur, you felt like your heart had stopped for a mere second. What?

Arthur had already been staring at you, and your face started to slightly warm at the realization. As if on cue, at the side of the fountain was the mayor and his servant, quietly arguing. You eavesdrop only to hear the contents of the discussion 'Cornwall' and 'horse's ass'. Bingo. You knew anything that had to do with the wealthy man was a big deal to make out of. And definitely would come with something worthy to steal.

As the servant departs away from the mayor, Arthur was already making his way towards him to find out more information. Oh no, you don't.

You follow behind discreetly with the same intention before he finds something more useful than the already invaluable pickpockets in your purse.

Making way back through to the entrance of the Mansion, Arthur makes his way upstairs to the staircase leading towards the mayor's office, as you follow shortly after.

He enters the office quietly as he jams to open the locked drawer with a letter opener on the table. Slowly, you make your way to lean against the door frame, crossing your right leg over the left one to increase the view that revealed your exposed skin with a revolver strapped to your thigh. Preparing to display your disapproval of his actions, you fold your arms as he voices out the contents of the letter. "Mr. Leviticus Cornwall... Top secret… Extremely confidential. Very interesting."

"Very interesting, huh?" His head quickly turns in my direction upon the sound of my voice. His eyes widen. Gotcha cowboy.

Smiling innocently at his reaction, you slowly tilt your head the opposite way of the door frame, awaiting his response.

He pauses for a while as his gaze reaches your face as it makes its way through the revealed skin and revolver coyly making an appearance to him. Breaking off his stupor, It takes him a few seconds to process your actions as you walk towards him.

“What’s that?” He turns his back to prevent you from have a closer scan of the confidential document. Trying to reach it from out of his hands, he turns in another direction, holding the document up in the air far from your reach.

“Nothing useful,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone as he remains amused at your multiple attempts of stealing it from him. He looks away from you, dodging any suspicious allegations you might get just by narrowing your eyes at him.

“If you’re trying to hide it from me, sure as damn means it’s useful.” You hiss at him to hand it over as you continue trying to get up to his height to retrieve the ‘useless’ document out of his hands. Giving up, you stop your actions as an idea had come to mind. A stupid one.

Removing the revolver off your thigh, you pointed the gun at his foot to threaten him into giving you a glimpse of the contents of the paper regarding Leviticus Cornwall.

“I’d love to see you try,” His deep blue eyes sparkled as he challenged you with delight. Arthur knew you wouldn’t dare to pull the trigger and risk another catastrophe to happen at the mayors’ mansion.

Fireworks outside the window started to quieten down and conversations start to resume back to normal.

The sound of a key unlocking a door from another part of the office fills the room.

You look at Arthur with a slightly panicked facial expression. He folds the document neatly and places it inside the inner breast pocket of his tux as you quickly strap back your gun to the side of your thigh.

Arthur moves swiftly past you and grabbing you by the wrist before both of you get caught.

We make our way through the hallway and down a few steps down the staircase to get as far away from the office as possible. The soft tones of speaking at the end of the stairs traveled just at the rounded corner of the wall, nearing the both of you. Heavy stomps became louder and louder at the top of the staircase. You and Arthur were dead in your tracks, standing in the middle of the staircase, as your only two options of escape were far from reach. It was a dead end. This was a day you would go to jail, the both of you.

“Fuck it.”

And he kisses you. Hungrily and ever so desperately.

Pushing you against the wall as his hand cups the back of your neck bringing you close to him while the other was lowering to grab the exposed leg through the slit of your dress and cling it to the side of his hip. Your heart was beating out of your chest, ringing into your ears. And you were pretty sure he was able to hear it too. Not being able to grasp the situation, your stunned eyes fluttered shut, forgetting the entirety of your surroundings with his lips crashing on yours. Arthur’s lips.

There was no denying your attraction towards Arthur, from his physique to that annoying smirk of his that kept you on edge, it was hard to pay attention to the rivalry the both of you shared. Sometimes neither of you noticed the longing but yet despising looks you and Arthur exchanged. You thought you were being delusional, but It always seemed to be so much more. An indescribable magnetic force, pulling and pushing away from each other.

His stubble along the sides of his jaw skimmed the surface of your chin, inviting a light hum to alight from your lips from the contact. It made him smile against your lips, enjoying your compliance with his actions. Unable to resist, you grabbed the ends of his suit into fists, bringing him closer as his hands explored the map of your skin. Just like a predator devouring its prey, you lightly moaned as the warmth of his skin against yours created an inexplicable connection. A grunt escaped his mouth at your reaction to his touch. Kissing you harder, his hand gently slid up the exposed skin of your leg and over your—

"Ahem,"

Breaking off your kiss, a look of disgust was plastered onto the face of the servant, stumbling upon a couple who can't seem to get a room.

Regaining consciousness, you realize the highly scandalous position the both of you were in. You against the wall, arching your back with your hands resting on his heaving chest. You look down, noticing the strap of your dress that had tipped of your shoulder, which revealed your cleavage a bit more than it had already displayed. And his hands, at your waist and up your thigh reaching, Oh. Your face turned bloodshot red.

In a protective stance, Arthur leans forward closer to shield the tantalizing sight of your appearance to the man who had caught both of you at the top of the stairs. Furrowed eyebrows and eyes of infuriation were headed his way.

"Oh, heavens" a group of maids that reached the staircase, quickly shuffled away to busy themselves with other things than going through the second floor of the mansion.

“Pardon me for the intrusion, but this area is strictly out of bounds.”

“Well, I don't see any signs suggesting, so”

The servant raises his eyebrow higher with arms crossed, emphasizing how ridiculous his comment was.

Arthur grumbles, “We’ll be on our way”

The man’s heavy footsteps move past us, giving you privacy to freshen up whatever articles of clothing that was out of place

Hesitant to make eye contact, you observed the bow tie that hung around Arthur’s neck like it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You could feel his intense gaze drilling holes into you as his eyes did all the talking. The air was thick, making it hard to breathe as each second passes by. There wasn’t an inch of space left between the both of you, except for the slight distance aching to be met at the lips. His fingers lifted your chin to divert your attention back to him.

You could see the reflection of yourself drowning in the deep seas of his cerulean blue eyes. His gaze lowers down to the swell of your lips. Momentarily, time stops moving, it was the climax of something different. Something exciting, that the hatred you had spent building up for him was collapsing. Something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

There’s a gravitational pull pulling us closer and closer…

The basis of physics was no match for the two of you.

Lips barely grazing onto yours as light music soars in the background,

“Arthur!”

He stops, painfully closing his eyes to the familiar voice that constantly put him to work.

The tension breaks like a gunshot piercing through the air, pulling you out of your daze and back into reality.

What the fuck just happened?

Arthur groans and smothers his face into the crevice of your neck. His arms tightening around your waist, holding for dear life like you were going to slip away from his fingers. Gibberish left his mouth, whining like a child being awoken from his slumber, as the voice that yelled for him gets louder.

You couldn't handle the position you were in, he was so close to you. Your heart could burst any time soon from his touch. It was nothing you had ever imagined with him, nothing you had ever experienced before. This feeling was new.

“I have to go” her murmurs barely under a whisper, only for you to hear. Arthur lightly kisses the skin of your shoulder to signal his departure. The sensation tingles as he separates away from you.

The initial distance that was so close between the both of you was now a little too far away for your liking. Leaving you at the staircase, he looks back at you.

Our eyes meet, and it’s only the two of us, and from this point onwards, everything changes, and you find yourself longing after his lips.

Maybe for once, things could change.

Maybe we can change.

Us.

part 2-?

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

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

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

[mandoalorian]

Happiness [Maxwell Lorenzano x f!Reader]

Author’s note: Please heed warnings before you read. This is angst. There’s a little fluff and a few spicy moments, but at its core, this is a pretty angsty read. It’s a different interpretation of Maxwell, post WW84. Reblogs are so appreciated. I worked really hard on this and it’s not showing up in tags so if you could reblog it... it would literally mean the world to me :( <3

Summary: After the dreamstone debacle, Maxwell Lord loses custody of his son, his home, his job and all his wealth. He has nothing, and what was once the simple task of ‘living’, is suddenly proving to be extremely difficult. Until a beacon of light enters his life. He can only hope that you don’t find out who he really is.

Word count: 4000+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: depression/suicidal thoughts, PSTD/trauma implications, poverty, starvation, binge eating, allusions to sex, male masturbation, food and drink mention.

Masterlist

Max is usually pretty good at keeping himself to himself, but when he hears the commotion from outside his small shanty apartment, he cautiously stalks towards the front door and leans into the wood, gazing out the peephole. He spots you, struggling to unlock the door located on the far side of the hall. Your arms are filled with brown paper bags and an abundance of cardboard boxes circle around your feet. He hears you curse as you drop one of the paper bags. It rips, and groceries spill onto the floor with a clatter. He swallows thickly, feeling his tummy grumble at the sight of fresh fruit and colourful veg. Max hadn’t eaten a single meal this week.

He spends a few more seconds watching you struggle, before the guilt swarms over him and he feels like a creep. He does wonder if he should leave his apartment and help you out though, but eventually he decides on turning his heel and walks back to the torn leather sofa. He just knows he’ll be some kind of intrusion on you. If Max has learned one thing, it’s that he needs to stay away from other people. Otherwise, he’d just hurt them. Even if hurting them was the last thing he intended to do.

Still, he finds himself marvelling over you. He wants to go over and introduce himself. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen a woman (other than his ex-wife) in just short of a year, or maybe it’s something more genuine -- like the way you wear your hair or that glimmer in your eye. Once upon a time, Maxwell would’ve strolled on over to your apartment with the utmost confidence and charm, with the sole intention of winning you over and taking you back to his place. He wouldn’t dare do that now.

He stares at the wall clock, and watches as the minute leg ticks. It’s painfully slow. It’s 5:52pm, and Maxwell is just waiting until 6pm, because he knows at 6pm he can call his son, Alistair. If he tries calling a second earlier though, he is certain his ex-wife will throw a rage, claiming that he’s breaking court order. Maxwell had never been one to follow rules, but now, he didn’t have much of a choice. As he waits for the leg to strike 6, all he can really do is think about you. Truth be told, he hates that he’s thinking about you this much. He doesn't even know you.

But you’re so pretty. Your features are soft and delicate. Your clothes fit you perfectly and hug your body in all the right places. He can’t help but think what you sound like. He wonders if you’re from around here. He wonders why you moved into this particular neighbourhood, out of all the other neighbourhoods in rural D.C. He should go over and say hello at least. It would be the polite thing to do. He considers bringing over a bottle of wine to make a peace offering, but then he remembers all he has in his refrigerator is a stick of butter and a bottle of milk that has grown old and fermented. He assumes that you probably wouldn’t care for such housewarming gifts.

Maxwell calls Alistair as soon as the clock turns six. As always, Alistair is more than excited to speak to his dad, beaming brightly down the line. Alistair tells Maxwell about his step-father, and how he’d built a pool in their back garden for Ali and his mom. Max’s lips curl into a frown when he realises that his ex’s new husband is giving Alistair everything Max couldn’t. And once again, Maxwell feels like he has failed as a father.

For a short while, Alistair babbles about his day at school and how he got full marks on a pop quiz. Maxwell is as proud as punch. He has no doubt that success will one day find Alistair, he just hopes Alistair has an easier time handling it. Max can hear a faint yelling in the background of the phone call and eventually Alistair is interrupted.

“Oh-- mommy is calling me to eat dinner.” Alistair says softly, his voice suddenly growing oddly timid. Max’s stomach grumbles again at the mention of dinner.

“But we still have ten minutes left of our phone call.” Max replies matter-of-factly. He hopes Alistair can’t hear the disappointment in his voice. This isn’t his fault. He hears his ex yell again and Max can’t help but feel his face harden with disdain.

“I know, I’m sorry daddy, but I have to go.” The croak in Alistair’s voice is enough to break Maxwell’s heart. He wishes this could’ve been different. It should’ve been different.

Max knows he can’t argue though. It’s only futile. So he accepts the fact that Alistair has to leave the phone call early -- at least he was getting something to eat. Maxwell remembers when he was Alistair’s age. His mom always struggled to put food on the table because his dad would spend all the money on drinks at the local bar. Maxwell is just grateful his son isn’t starving.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Maxwell reassures before taking a shaky exhale. “I love y--”

But then, the line went dead. Max assumes that Alistair’s mom has ripped the phone from his hand and hung up. Sighing, Maxwell forces himself to stand up and walk on over to his bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are several piles of dirty laundry all over the floor. He jams open the sticky window and climbs onto the balcony, inhaling the cool evening air and lighting a cigarette. Smoking was a habit he’d gotten himself into when he was much younger, but he’d grown out of it when he’d hit limelight. Now though, it was growing back in to be a shameful addiction that he just couldn’t shake. It helped him stop feeling hunger, though.

As he flicks the orange lit ash over the edge of the balcony, his eyes catch on you again. You are standing on the street, talking to some guy. You’re laughing, and it looks like this mystery man’s hand is caressing your arm. It’s probably your boyfriend; Maxwell assumes, and the pang of jealousy in his chest turns into unadulterated sadness as he realises he was probably never going to find love again. He peers over the edge of the balcony once more as he takes a final drag of the cigarette, and he wonders if the jump would kill him.

Maxwell’s eyes begin to sting, and he climbs back into his bedroom, knocking his head on the window pane in the process.

He can’t sleep that night, and he tosses and turns in his three quarter sized bed. He could feel every spring in his mattress. What he would give to just sleep one more night in the soft, plush king sized bed he used to take for granted. He switched on his amber tinged bedside lamp and swatted away a moth that flew towards it. Maxwell stared at the ceiling and wondered if the damp had gotten worse. Even if it had, it wasn’t like Max had the courage to bring it up with the landlord.

He finds himself thinking about you again. He lived to see the way you smiled when you spoke to that guy, or the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Max wraps his hand around his semi-hard cock and begins to jerk himself off. To nobody’s surprise though, he doesn’t finish -- the overwhelming feeling of revolt consuming him. He thinks he’s disgusting, and that nobody would ever want to touch him. He can’t even stand touching himself.

He falls asleep not long after that.

Max once had a pretty decent sleep schedule, going to bed at 10 and waking up at 6. But now he was up until the early hours of the morning, overthinking and hating himself. He wakes up three or four times a night from the same recurring nightmare. It’s a replay from the clear night of July ‘84, when he took over everyone’s TV screens. His doctor prescribed him therapy for it, which would probably help, but Maxwell just can’t afford it.

He wakes up to the sound of a bang on his front door. Max scrambles to his feet in a panic, checking the time on his alarm clock. It’s 2pm. And the person at the door could easily be his landlord, finally having enough and kicking him out. Max’s rent is two months overdue.

But it’s not his unforgiving landlord. It’s you. And you’re holding a fruit basket.

“Hey neighbour!” you smile pleasantly before introducing yourself to him. “I just moved in across the hall. I wasn’t sure what you’d like… but I figured everyone likes fruit!”

Maxwell stays quiet, standing there in complete disbelief. No one has shown him this amount of kindness in so long…

The prolonged silence makes you feel a little strange. He still hasn’t accepted the fruit basket, nor had he said anything. He was just… staring at you. It wasn’t a slimy gawk. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what his dark eyes were trying to tell you.

“—I’m sorry,” you continue eventually when he doesn’t speak, dropping the fruit basket by your side and turning away. “I uh— would you like me to get you something else?”

Maxwell’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he exclaims, opening his front door wider and taking the fruit basket from you. “I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I uh— I love fruit.”

You smile at his fluster, and you swear you notice a rosy pink blush cross his cheeks. It’s adorable.

“Oh okay, that’s good then.”

Maxwell prays you can’t hear his stomach grumble at the sight of the fresh fruit. He’s so excited to eat it all. “How can I repay you?”

You raise your eyebrows at his proposition and chuckle awkwardly. “Repay me? No no,” you laugh. “It’s just a fruit basket,”

It wasn’t just a fruit basket though. It was the only food Max had.

“I mean, you could tell me your name.”

Maxwell curses, realising he hasn’t even introduced himself. Gods— he wonders when exactly he’d lost his charm.

“Right, I’m sorry. I’m Max.” He extends his arm and offers you a handshake. You giggle, but accept.

He feels a bolt of electricity run up his arm when your fingers interlink with his, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Very formal Max,” you acknowledge with a smile.

Maxwell genuinely hasn’t communicated with anyone since July 1984. It’s probably about time he ditches the businessman persona, although he doesn’t realise he still uses it from time to time. Old habits die hard.

“I must say, I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

“No. You don’t.” Maxwell quickly snaps back and you’re afraid you struck a nerve.

There’s a longer silence and you find yourself wondering about your neighbour. He’s right in front of you and yet you can’t help but feel as though he’s some kind of enigma. Maybe it’s the crinkles in the corner of his eyes or his wry smile.

“Um…” you mumble, your gaze trailing behind him as you try and peer into his apartment. You can’t see much though. From where you stand it looks very empty… and brown. “If you weren’t busy tonight maybe you could come over and we could get to know each other. I uh-- don’t have many friends yet.” you explain shyly, nervously biting your lip.

You didn’t usually get nervous talking to new people, but there was just something about Maxwell that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His presence made butterflies flutter in your tummy and your hands feel clammy with excitement… or maybe anticipation. He stares at you blankly before clearing his throat.

“I uh-- yeah I mean-- maybe,” Maxwell shrugs cooly. “If I’m not busy.”

Pft, busy. Max hasn’t been busy since the dreamstone debacle.

“Of course,” you nod your head and smile. “Well, you’re welcome to come on over anytime.”

And then, without thinking, Maxwell replies. “And you’re welcome to come over here anytime too.”

You feel your smile grow into a grin and you reach out, placing your hand on Max’s arm. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.” you bite your lip.

Max’s heart stops when you touch him, and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away. You’re holding his bicep and… he likes it. It’s not sending him into a spur of anxiety, in fact, he feels better just for finally plucking the courage to talk to you. And now you’re touching him. You’re not repulsed or disgusted… in fact, you’re smiling. You look happy, and maybe Max is happy too. Maybe. Max doesn’t even realise the small smile that’s crept upon his lips.

“Nice meeting you too.” He swallows and you wave goodbye.

He watches you walk back into your apartment, drinking in your appearance. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today. It was casual… but he liked it.

Even when he finally gets back into his apartment and slumps against his front door, he’s still smiling. This feeling is so unfamiliar.

Maxwell finds himself pondering whether or not he should visit you tonight. He so desperately wanted to see you again-- see your pretty face and sparkling eyes and that perfect smile. Maybe Max could have a friend. That would be nice.

But he quickly gets scared again. He knows immediately that you’re too good for him, and that he’ll only end up hurting you. And then he’ll be left alone again. Max doesn’t know if he can survive another heartbreak.

Once again, he lights a cigarette and sits on the balcony, and wonders if the jump will kill him.

Then he realises he suddenly doesn’t want to die. At least, not yet. He wants to see you again first.

Max doesn’t even bother finishing the cigarette. He taps away the ash and climbs back inside, stripping himself of his clothes and turning on the shower. If he was going to see you tonight, he’d at least make the effort.

The soap he uses is from Dollar Tree, and it doesn’t really have a scent. It made a change from his favourite Jo Malone pomegranate fragranced soap, that’s for sure. He gets annoyed trying to squirt out the very little remenints of his shampoo bottle. Although he doesn’t have much, he’s satisfied when he comes out of the shower. He feels clean and fresh.

Maxwell rakes through his tiny collapsing wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that will make him appear somewhat presentable. He’s probably overthinking this whole thing -- after all, it isn’t exactly a date. But he still feels the strong inclination to impress you. He so desperately wants to be liked by you.

Most of his everyday wear is stained or ripped or very aged. But then he spots the small duffel bag at the bottom of his closet and he remembers he packed some of his old business wear when he moved out of his manor and into this apartment. He hadn’t looked in the duffel bag once since moving though, afraid that seeing the clothes would unleash some kind of trauma on him.

Max crosses his legs and hesitantly unzips the black bag. Inside, he finds a few fitted shirts, a few tailored pants, and one suit jacket. He even spots a belt and two patterned ties. He’s a little upset though when he can’t find the suspenders he used to wear. They were always his favourite part of his outfit.

Maxwell can’t bring himself to dress in the whole get up, but he does pick out a white button down shirt and grey pants. He tucks the shirt in, and wraps the belt through the loops in his pants, clicking it into place. Opting to look slightly more casual, Max leaves the first two buttons of his shirt undone and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.

And for the first time in a long time, Max likes the way he looks. He wishes he had some cologne to spray, and he could definitely do with a haircut, but this is good enough.

He doesn’t want to seem desperate, so he does wait (albeit impatiently) until 8:30pm to see you. In the meantime, he eats over half of the fruit basket. He tells himself he’ll stop after an apple and an orange, but strangely enough. He can’t. He can’t stop. It just tastes so good and he’s so hungry -- so he eats until he feels sick. He wants to lie down because he really doesn’t feel too good at all, but he’s not going to pass up this opportunity to see you for anything. He feels a little cold, so he throws on his suit jacket which is grey in colour and matches the tailored pants. Max chokes down a glass of water, straightens up his posture, and knocks on your door.

He’s not waiting for long, and he’s delighted when he sees you answer the door. Your lips are painted a ruby red colour and you’re wearing your hair differently. Not only that, but you’d changed out of your sweater and jeans, and now you’re doting a knee length flowy dress. Your feet are slipped into some fuzzy looking slippers though, and Max admires the small diamond stud earrings that you don. They really bring out the colour of your eyes.

“I was hoping you’d come.” you reveal nervously, opening the door wider and looking your neighbour up and down. He looks so incredibly handsome in his change of outfit. Max feels himself blush under your gaze and he smiles.

“I just couldn’t pass this up.” he laughs nervously.

You move out the way and gesture for him to enter your apartment. Max notes that it’s roughly the same size as his, but it’s already filled with more furniture. Judging from the plentiful cardboard boxes in every corner, you hadn’t finished unpacking either. You find yourself watching Max as he takes in your front room. You take his jacket and hang it on your coat peg which stands by your front door. You definitely do recognise him from somewhere, especially seeing him in that shirt and those pants…

You shrug off your curiosity temporarily though, and take his hand, pulling him into your kitchen. Max loves the way your hand fits so perfectly into his. He doesn’t want you to pull away. And you don’t, until you reach the refrigerator.

“I have cranberry juice, tea, coffee-- no milk though, uh…” you trail off and check the cupboards. You beam when you see the bottle of champagne that your friend had gifted you. It was to celebrate moving out. You present him with it and grin. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”

Max remembers the distinct taste of the bubbles on his lips and he nods in agreement. You don’t have any fancy glasses, let alone flutes, so you pour the pale yellow liquid into two plastic tumblers. You hand one to Max and cradle your own in both of your hands.

“You should propose a toast.” you laugh jokingly.

Luckily, Maxwell has always been able to handle being put on the spot. He only takes a few seconds to come up with something.

“To new friends.” he announces with a charming smile, and clinks his cup against yours.

Max hasn’t had a drink in a long time, so it doesn’t take long for it to reside in his system and he begins to feel a bit tipsy. It’s not bad though. Maxwell is relaxed, and he’s comfortable. You bounce off each other and make each other laugh right up until the early hours of the morning. You bring out Monopoly and you’re surprised at how good he is at it. He gives you advice on buying properties and investments and it truly sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. You wonder what he does for a living.

“I didn’t say this earlier,” Max says as you pour out the last of the champagne. The alcohol has him buzzing with confidence. “But you look breathtaking, really. That dress and those earrings and your lips…”

And you don’t know what it is, but Max just makes you feel so good. “My lips?” you repeat breathlessly, gazing into his honeyed brown eyes.

Max nods wordlessly when you climb into his lap and straddle his hips. You place the palms of your hands flat against his chest and nudge your nose against his, giggling playfully. Max feels scared -- he’d never been this close to anyone in so long, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself.

Gods, he’s so handsome too. A small piece of his hair has fallen out of place and it crosses his forehead. You’re quick to brush it out of his face with your finger, and one of your hands cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of your touch, humming in contentment. When he opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably shades darker.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low like it had dropped a few octaves.

You nod desperately and your lips crash against his.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline but he’s an amazing kisser -- perhaps the best you’ve ever had. You roll your hips over his lap and he moans, but doesn’t break the kiss once. His large hands roam around your back and squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs. The Monopoly game has been long discarded now, leaving only you and Max revelling in each other’s touch.

You want more. You want him. You dip your hand in between your bodies and find his belt, trying your best to undo the buckle so you can get him out of his pants. You’re certain you can feel his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you’d be right in thinking he wants this too.

But what he wants the most, is to not ruin things between you both, and Max feels like that maybe this is all happening a bit too fast. He doesn’t want to reject you, and he’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of you getting so close to him -- that you find out who he truly is, and the things he does. He doesn’t want to lose you because you make him feel so happy. For the first time in potentially years, Maxwell feels genuine happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up, not when he’s been doing so well.

So he pulls away from you breathlessly and moves your hands away from him. He holds them though, brushing his thumbs in comforting circles against your soft skin.

“I really like you,” he smiles. “And tonight has been… great. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed myself. But I-- I really want to see you again. And do this again. And have a good time with you. I just don’t think we should-- you know--” Maxwell tries to explain. He feels bad for rejecting you. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because trust me,” he sighs, closing his brown eyes. “I really really do. But--”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you smile, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I understand, and honestly, I think you’re probably right. I’ve had a good time too though.”

Maxwell can’t help but beam knowing that there’s no hard feelings between you both.

“So we can do this again?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes.” you reply, pressing a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips.

You wiggle off his lap and Maxwell stands up. “I should head back home then,” he says. “It’s late. But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I’d like that a lot.” you agree.

Max gives you one final kiss and part of you wants to ask him if he’d be willing to stay the night. You shake away the temptation and tell yourself there’d be plenty more opportunities for him to stay over. Before he leaves, you see him abruptly spin around on his heel and point his index finger towards you.

And your heart drops.

You freeze.

You think you can feel your blood run cold and the colour drain out of your face.

Because in that moment, when he points his finger at you, you recognise him.

You remember him.

You know who he is.

“I almost forgot my jacket.” Max laughs, sliding past you.

You feel like you can’t move though.

This was the man who single handedly almost destroyed the entire planet.

But how -- how could it be Maxwell Lord? He was so sweet and kind and funny. How could the man you just made out with, the man you shared a bottle of champagne with -- your own neighbour…

How could it be Maxwell Lord?

How hadn’t you noticed sooner. Hell, his name was literally Max Lorenzano.

“Goodnight.” Max tells you.

You try and force yourself to say it back but no words come out. Your throat feels dry and you’re panicking.

Max doesn’t even notice though. He’s too busy beaming with happiness when he leaves.

You aren’t sure if you’re going to see him again.

When Maxwell gets back home, he can’t rid himself of the grin that’s plastered across his lips. He sits out on the balcony and lights a cigarette, but this time, when he looks at the ground beneath you, he doesn’t wonder if the jump will kill him.

His eyebrows furrow together when he notices the florist across the road, and he wonders how much a bouquet of flowers will cost him. He wants to get you something; as a thank you for giving him a good time.

He simply can’t wait to see you again.

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[babykatsu]

PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

WORDCOUNT: 7k

RATING: nsfw ⛈

GENRE: smut!

WARNINGS: slow burn, swearing, kissing, no intercourse, foreplay, car sex, little bit of degradation, a littleeee rough!

⤷ SYNOPSIS:

as though fate had its worst intentions, bakugous car had broken down on the way to your high school reunion with you in the car as well. GREAT! Not only was it getting dark and chilly, you were also in the middle of nowhere... That really didn’t ease the atmosphere, especially when Bakugou was already hesitant on lending you a drive to the reunion. But with the discomfort, there always comes a way to ease it ;)

AUTHORS NOTE:

a special thanks to @laylahoran for not only helping me proof read and pick out the title for this scenario BUT also for just being there to support me through out this whole thing! Literally the purest friend🥺🥺💕💕 ilysmmm!!!

Also, this is my first detailed smut imagine so sorry if it’s a bit sloppy :(

Life after high school proved to be a lot more different than expected. For starters, after having moved to find better work opportunities in the city, you found yourself deprived of nearly all social interaction with your previous friends. Yes, you still caught up over text and call, but it was safe to say it was not quite the same. Not only did the hectic schedule of working for a hero agency clash with your friends’, when you were on your days off all your friends seemed to be busy with their own goals of becoming high ranking heroes. You sort of started living a more solitary lifestyle, a drastic change from your previous one.

So when you flopped down on your couch, your body sluggish and desperate for sleep after a bustling day of work, you felt suddenly energised. Eyes wide as you could just barely believe what you were reading. An email had illuminated on your phone screen, reading the following:

“Greetings class A! It has been nearly a year since we have all graduated and I’m in complete aw as to how far you have all come :) On a more dejected note, however, we have all seemed to grow more distant due to our work. I have missed you all dearly and believe the connections we all formed are amazing experiences we should not forget about! Though we may have kept in contact here and there, it’s evident that we all have been lacking. This is why I have taken it upon myself to set up a reunion party! More information is soon to be delivered in the next email, and I’m super excited to hear from you all. Arrangements with your agencies will take place as soon as confirmations come through. You’re previous classmate, Tenya Iida”

As though your prayers had been answered, you were greeted with that email. Now, this was an offer you couldn’t pass up! Without hesitation, your fingers started typing away at your phone, the pads of your fingers darting across the glass as though they had a mind of their own. You were determined to go, excitement flooding your sense at just the thought of the whole event! As your eager fingers hit send on the email a sudden thought crossed your mind.

Shit...

You hadn’t thought about it previously, mind racing and occupied with the general idea of a reunion, how were you going to get to the location of the party?

As said previously, life was not as expected after graduating, and though heroes lived a life with above-average pay, bathing in luxuries at times, it all took years of experience. No way could you have reached such a high status having worked for less than a year in this field. With the lack of money to your name, there were no chances of you owning a car at this very moment in time. Maybe public transport was a good option? But the delays, need for time arrangements and the entire coordination of your journey was already giving you a headache. The travel aspect was less than fruitful.

But you were going to get there one way or another.

Taking in a deep breath, you gently pressed the off button on your device, sinking your body further into the couch as you allowed your body to finally relax. Your mind pondered of all the different options, from uber’s and cabs to all the different forms of public transport available. But as your unresting thoughts echoed around in your head, you finally concluded. A conclusion that churned your stomach, a fluttery feeling pricking the goosebumps along your chilled skin.

You could ask Bakugou for a lift.

Though this plan seemed faulty, a high chance he would decline the offer to attend the reunion filled with “extras”, you still had your hopes up high.

Out of all the people who could have moved to the same part of town as you, Bakugou was the one. It was pure coincidence that you both had ended up not too far from each other, a block away in fact. Though throughout all three years that you attended u.a you had barely spoken to him. You had your exchange in words here and there, the occasional insult would be thrown your way, but oddly enough out of all people in the class, you received his harsh treatment the least. You just figured, he barley knew you so acknowledging your existence was a waste of his time. Yet his subtle acts of warmth towards you didn’t go unnoticed by your subconscious, a strange feeling invading your body. You developed feelings for the boy.

Shockingly, you found yourself attracted to him, even with the lack of a solid foundation for a proper friendship. You didn’t know what exactly enticed you so much, maybe it was his toned chiselled frame or perhaps his confident exterior. Whatever it was, it had your heart thumping faster at every glance you two shared, and the thoughts that lingered with these unexplainable emotions were even more hectic. It was as though every second you spent alone, confined by the four white walls of your room, you lay wondering of all you wanted him to do to you. A peak of curiosity soon turned into a full-fledged lust for him. The moment you batted your eyelids shut, you’d picture his muscular body towering yours, his hands pinning you down as he’d shamelessly make you a mess under his touch. A thought of him could make your entire body explode. It was all far too complicated for you to process.

That’s why when you moved to a new part of the city, in hopes to start work as well rid yourself of your weird infatuation, you went pale at the sight of him only a couple streets away from where you newly lived. You tried to convince yourself this was indeed a one-time occurrence, yet you’d see him again and again... and again. He most certainly lived near you, it was undeniably true.

Every time you’d return from work, shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk with an echoing tap, you’d always pass him. At first, you shared no words, not a single exchange between you two until one day he randomly spoke up. You remember that moment like the back of your hand, as though it happened just a few minutes ago. Admittedly, the conversation was nothing spectacular, but it still caused a rapid shock to strike through you as the memory of you exchanging numbers with him lurked your brain. The whole event was so bizarre and it still seems unreal now.

Snapping from your daydream, you came to a solid answer. This was probably the best time to put his number to good use. Unlike you, he had a car and could most likely drive you to where ever this reunion will take place... That’s if he decides he is going to attend as well. That’s where your plan seems to not be so successful.

Yet, you had no other choice. He was your best shot at finally getting a break from this borderline isolation.

Nervously, you picked your phone up once more, gently scrolling through your contacts until a familiar name was visible: ‘Katsuki Bakugou’. A nervous feeling burnt at the pit of your stomach as you anxiously went to type out a message. Your shaky fingers tapped the keyboard, with every additional letter that was added to your sentence, your heartbeat sped up even faster until you felt it pound against your ears. Who knew you could feel so nervous about a generic message... It was Bakugou you were texting after all. Not only was he known for being an uncontrollable hothead, but he was also the guy you often fantasied about. You were more than flustered by this point.

Finally, after rereading your message frantically over and over again, you hit send. You felt your heart quickly sink before a chill ran through your entire body. Now you play the waiting game...

On the other end of the line sat a pouting Bakugou. Just like you, he had received the same email, his face crinkled into a frown as he read the disgusting email present on his screen. Like he’d show up to watch a bunch of extras overly excited for no reason. The entire thought of a reunion made his blood boil. At the same time, however, he wouldn’t mind seeing a few faces.

Sure he hated the class, but there was no denying he missed the ‘old days’. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff, in complete annoyance at how soft he’d become. Was he really contemplating going to that shitty reunion? Apparently so, as he decided to type up a quick response to Iida's invite.

A thought he had tried awfully hard to suppress soon made its way to the surface. It was you. Out of all the people he’d want to meet at the reunion, it had to be you. Though he didn’t necessarily have to be at the reunion to view you.

Similarly, he found himself drawn to you for some obscure reason. All throughout high school up until now. During school, he would always gawk at the way your skirt swayed side to side as you walked or even the way you leaned against the desk arching your back most perfectly. It had Bakugous eyes adhered to you. He just wanted to run his hands across your entire body, his lips bequeathing marks on every soft sweet spot on your skin. You’d be his, the deep hickeys that scattered your delicious skin marking his territory. Never had he felt so sexually frustrated, desiring a person so bad it was making him lose his mind. He had better things to worry about, like brining the number 1 hero for starters, but no matter how much he tried denying his deepest desires they just wouldn’t leave.

He tried so hard, he even moved just to get away from you. Of course, that didn’t work, when he saw you strutting down the sidewalk, your clothes hugging all your curves in a way that made his mouth water. He wanted you, and he wanted you bad!

And Bakugou gets, what Bakugou wants.

Just as that memory swirled his mind, a ping came from his phone, the gentle vibration of the device in his palm breaking him from his fantasy. His vermillion eyes went wide as he glanced down at the notification that had just gone off. The name he wanted to see most displayed.

‘Hey! It’s [name], hope I’m not being a bother :) I’m sure you also received the email about the reunion party, I hope to see you there. That’s if I can get there... Maybe you could give me a lift? Don’t worry if you don’t want to, I understand!’

Bakugou bit his bottom lip as he squinted down at the information in front of him. As much as he wanted to agree, his pride didn’t permit him an agreement to your proposal so easily. Rather than cooperating the way he wanted to, he typed out a message juxtaposing his real desire.

And there started your exchange in messages, the back and forth and your “convincing” to give you ride. Though we all know Bakugou was going to give in to it either way.

Weeks had passed since then, the texts that followed after between you two was kept to an evident minimum. The only exchange included a catch up on your plans for the reunion and that was about it. You were more anxious by the day, knowing the reunion date was coming closer to existence.

Next thing you knew, the day had arrived.

You were seated in the passenger seat of Bakugous car. Nervously, you shifted in the leather seat, hand resting on the inner door handle as your eyes followed the passing trees that came in and out of view.

The sky was faintly clouded, a ray of golden sun piercing through parted clouds, dripping a soft sunset hue over the ivy leaves of the trees. You sat inside the car, yet you remembered the faint chilly winds that caressed your skin. Overall, the weather was decent, far from perfect but not awful either.

The tranquillity that filled the car was apparent, the most noise that was present was the hushed sound of the radio playing, the music placid. It only intensified the awkward silence that was held between you both.

Playing with the hem of your dress, you spoke up in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “well, aren’t you the conversationalist” you spoke sarcastically, a hint of playfulness in your voice. Though you spoke suddenly, Bakugou didn’t seem to divert his focus from the road. His face stayed in its usual state, not even a smirk dared to spread across his lips. Clearly, your playfulness was not reciprocated. The silence engulfed you both for a while longer before he finally responded. His reply was less than adequate, a simple hum.

You shifted your attention back onto the view outside, watching as the car drives deeper and deeper into some sort of forest. The trees grew larger, the suns light being swallowed by the towering greenery above. Cars began passing more infrequently until you had not seen one in ages on the road that had become more narrow.

It felt like you had been in this car for an unbearably long amount of time. You couldn’t tell if time was just moving slower than usual at how bored you were at this very moment in time or if your destination was farther than you expected.

Pulling your phone from your bag that rested atop your lap, you checked the time.

‘6:23 pm’

It was confirmed that time was just moving awfully slower than usual. You had only been in the car for a little under 15 minutes. There was still a fair amount of time left until the party started, so there were no worries on being late though you still had quite a few kilometres to cover. Relieved, you placed your phone back into your bag. You slowly let your eyes rest shut, hoping a quick nap would pass time more sufficiently.

And as you had just calmed your nerves enough to sleep, your body suddenly jolted forward. Your seatbelt immediately binding around your chest, pressing your body flush against the seat as you braced the impact of the sudden stop of the car.

“For fuck sake” Bakugou finally spoke up as he kissed his teeth, gripping the steering wheel remarkably tight that his knuckles were becoming white.

“what just happened?”. Out of curiosity, you questioned the man, his face now looking more annoyed than ever. His hand fiddled with the car keys, the engine roaring repeatedly as he tried turning the car on. “What does it fucking look like, dumbass?” he barked at you, still frantically trying to turn the car on. It didn’t help that he had now started slamming the steering wheel between each attempt.

“Are you out of gas?” You spoke up innocently. There was no denying you were now, in fact, feeling less hopeful that you had enough time to make it to the reunion.

For the first time, he finally made eye contact with you. His rose eyes staring at you in frustration, in complete disbelief at how oblivious you were.

“Of course not! You fucking moron, the shitty car just broke down” He barked at you before flinging the car door wide open, slamming it with a harsh bang as he made his dramatic exit.

You watched him pace up and down with distinct stomps, muttering something under his breath while typing away at his phone. Taking the hint, you exit the vehicle as well. “So, what now?” you irritate him further with your persistent queries.

“How the fuck is there no service? HOW AM I MEANT TO GET THIS SHIT FIXED?” his yells echoed through the vast scenery that surrounded you.

With him stressing, you couldn’t help but taste your mouth go dry as panic began settling in as well. It was no use having the two of you in a frenzy. Rationally, you walked over to Bakugou, your phone gripped in your hand as you formed the only logical suggestion. “Try my phone”

He didn’t even question or ridicule your suggestion like he probably desired to, instead yanking the phone out of your hand and attempting to dial-up a number. It didn’t take long until his eyes rolled back in failure and his jaw flexed with gritted teeth. No luck there either clearly.

“Guess we aren’t going to the shitty reunion. You're fucking welcome!” He yells once more, slapping the phone back into your palm. The worst somehow ended up playing out, complete defeat washing over your body.

Resting against the car, you dropped your bottom lip into a slight pout, the chilly air growing cooler.

You were in the middle of nowhere, the only form of transport for miles was now down and to top it off you were getting cold. Your body rapidly began to shiver, goosebumps pricking along your exposed skin.

“Aren’t you fucking smart” Bakugou scoffed as he stared at you, arms crossed over his broad chest. “didn’t even bring a jacket while wearing some stupid dress”

Rather than yelling like he had been doing for the last couple minutes, he was calming his nerves by teasing you. It may have been the adrenaline that made him feel so open to being more playful, or maybe he attempted to distract himself from how much of a loser he currently felt with a broken car. Whatever it was, he was now smirking at the girl in front of him, tantalising her about the cold.

“I didn’t know I’d be stuck outside, did I?” You teased back, rolling your eyes at him. The fact he was being so calm on the outside was making you feel less worried, yet more nervous at his sudden change in mood than anything.

His eyes stared you up and down, analysing your shivering state as the wind began picking up. Another sigh left his parted lips before resuming to speak. "Go sit inside the car. No use shivering like a dumbass if you can't handle a bit of wind" he chuckled slightly as he spoke, as though to assure you his comment was in fact not as rude as he intended it to come out.

Though you obeyed, taking careful steps around the car to sit back in it, you decided to throw your own snarky remark his way. "Not one to talk when you're wearing a jacket". You give him a 'look', before fully submerging yourself in the cars shielded warmth. It may have broken down not too long ago, but it was still well heated. An instant chill rolled down your spine as your body quickly adjusted to the sudden change in temperature.

"Sorry, princess. Didn't realise I had royalty as company". That devious smirk sprawled itself across his tanned face as he followed your move, getting in the car himself. Something about the way he addressed you made you quiver, the innocent word was also oh so seductive. That sudden feeling of arousal pent up inside you, fogging your thinking.

"I- don't get too cocky now". Your reply came out as a jittery stutter, senses overwhelmed by his playful tone that had you heated. Senses scattered, too flustered by his seemingly unintentional words. It's not like he knew about your fantasies of him or how your sinful thoughts begged for him to call you such names. And now as you were in the midst of it all, you couldn't help but lose yourself.

He let out another husky laugh. The way you broke apart at the simplest words only stroked his ego. No denying he purposely chose those specific words to see how you'd react, and to his surprise, it went far better than expected. "Here, have my jacket then if you wanna keep yapping about it"

Speechless, your vision was once again fixated on him. Gawking at the leather jacket that slipped of his physique, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You swallowed the nervous lump in your thought down, butterflies invading your system as you watched.

You expected him to carelessly throw the jacket your way, alternatively he leaned over. His significantly larger body mounted over yours as he placed his jacket over your exposed legs, instant warmth tickling your chilled skin.  His hands felt so smooth as they lightly brushed against your thigh, the accidental touch shooting straight to your core. It was humiliating at how quickly you discomposed around him, cheeks red and breath hitched. You just couldn't help it, a presence like his was way too intense. Especially, at this moment.

"U-um, so what are we going to do now?" you try to change topics as you felt your current heated state become far too overwhelming, whole-body hot as your thoughts began drifting to all the wrong places.

He peeped his eyes, as though deep in thought."Wait until someone hopefully passes, I guess?". The uncertainty in his tone had you feeling concerned again. The worry bombarding you, diverting your inner emotions elsewhere. You've wanted to meet your classmates so vigorously for ages, all fired up for weeks as you obsessively counting down the days, only for this to happen. Not a single car had been in view for ages, god knows until the next one would come. That's also assuming that the car would even stop for you two. This was so disappointing, a hollow feeling in your chest as you sulked.

"I guess? For god sake, we aren't even going get to the reunion in time!"

Bakugou had noticed your sudden change in mood. In all honesty, he didn't quite understand why you wanted to see those annoying dickheads anyway, but he felt strangely sympathetic towards you. "Oi, I'm fucking sorry. I'll drive you to see your friends another time".

"What if there isn't another time?" you mope at him, facing your body towards him. He doesn't reply right away, mirroring your actions instead to examine your current behaviour. There was no way he could make this situation better unless the car magically fixed itself. Which to be fair, would never happen. As his eyes scanned you, he noticed the way you were still shivering, the once heated car losing its warmth. It was his best shot at diverting the conversation.

"You're still shivering, dumbass". His red orbs were fixed on you as he reached out his arms towards you. They felt considerably warmer than you as they rested on your shoulders. You followed his gaze that watched his own hands as they rubbed you up and down carefully. The slight friction between his hands and your skin bringing you some heat. It only sunk in then that his large hands were tracing your arms, his warmth transferring to you. Flusters took over your sense again. As much as you wanted to speak up right now, you knew you'd only choke up on your words, far worse than your stutters. As your stomach swirled, you felt ardour rush to your face. A rose haze coated your skin, eyeing the way Bakugou rubbed his hands against you.

"Looks like you've warmed up, that's for sure" he grinned at you, noticing the way your chest began rising and falling, heartbeat thumping rapidly. The way your face flushed scarlet as your eyes danced around your atmosphere, all at his touch. He noticed it all. And boy was it rubbing his ego.

"I-uh, yeah. I mean- no?". Your words came out jumbled, unable to form proper sentences when his ruby eyes finally gazed up at you. The mysterious glint in them made you feel overwhelmed, unaware of what move he would make next.

"So you need to be warmed up a bit more, huh?". His hands swiftly grazed your arms, just about hovering over your soft skin. Careful touches traced it, your words departing from your brain. The entirety of your focus was on the way Bakugou's fingertips tickled you delicately, the electric feeling flowing throw you. "Speak up for me. Do you still need to be warmed?". He snapped you back into reality without warning, only to put you in a trance again. The way he spoke with such dominance, demanding for you to speak, only stirred your imagination further. You had pictured moments like these so many times, him ordering you to do as he says. And as these thoughts rushed to the surface, you started to feel heat build between your thighs.

"Yeah, sorry!". Frantically, you attempt to respond, a nervous giggle followed your sentence as it came out of your mouth. "If that's what you want, princess". He emphasised the nickname, his lips curling into a sneer as his hands began to wander. The soothing touch travelled upwards, his hands gliding over your skin, one resting on your warmed rosy cheek. His sudden action had your breath hitching. You'd portray such touches numerous times yet nothing could have appointed you for this moment as your nerves fell apart.

As you tried to ration the situation out in your mind, his eyes finally locked with yours. The intimate stare had you holding your breath. Gently, he massaged his thumb against your cheek as he slowly moved his hand to the back of your neck, chills dripping down your spine. His eyes flickered between your eyes and mouth, hinting at a kiss. Was he going to kiss you? You must have been dreaming or something. But it was all happening, right now. There was no time to contemplate the event at hand. His face was edging closer to yours only inches apart, his proximity to you titillating. As you waited for his lips to finally come in contact with yours, you began losing patience. It's like he purposely was a millimetre away from your lip just to taunt you. You took in one more breath, easing your nerves before crashing your lips against his.

Your initial cold shivers were a way for Bakugou to change the subject from his broken car, and it all had worked out in his favour. Admittedly, this was not the outcome he was intending for, but he was not complaining either. He was finally able to seel a kiss with a girl that had invaded his thoughts for years. A dream come true if you will.

His tender lips felt so soft against yours, the sweet caramel taste engulfing your senses as they oozed from his lips. The once overwhelming anxiousness that had you falling apart beneath his touch was now easing as you melted into the passionate exchange between the two of you. Bakugou's lips moved in sync with yours, sucking and tugging at your bottom lip hungrily, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His pearly whites sunk into your bottom lip, giving them a smooth tug before sliding his warm tongue in. As he did so, his hand explored your body, slowly descending down the side of your torso, gripping you tightly. His other hand, that had itself placed at the back of your neck, suddenly wrapped around your throat. A rough squeeze was given, encouraging a gasp to erupt from your voicebox. His unforeseen move made you feel sensitive, clenching your thighs together to relieve the desperate ache between your legs. The warm wet muscle that had slipped inside your mouth earlier adventured in your mouth, swirling around your tongue and trailing every inch. It all felt so unreal.

Suddenly, Bakugou pulled away with a string of saliva connecting you both. His hands were still firm on wherever they were on your body. Through parted lips, he panted as his gaze darted. "Fuck, looks like you got me warm as well now". His signature smirk was back, his hand that held you by the neck pulling your face closer to his. Vermillion eyes analysed you, watching the way your face was flushed, lips were wet and lipstick was smudged. Realising he probably had some red on his lips as well from your makeup, he brought one hand to his face, wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand. The image before you only made you wetter, thighs already tightly clutched. And as though he could read your mind, he brought that same hand down to your thigh with a slap. The impact of his hands against you instantly shot to your soaking core, though the actions didn't hurt you much. You felt a tingling sensation to dance across your skin. Rubbing the impacted area, Bakugou continued to look at you, his eyes occasionally diverting to were he was soothing your thigh. His hands began needing your thigh higher and higher until his fingers dipped into the gap where your two thighs made contact. Teasingly, he drove one thigh from another to part them. "And you're definitely warmed up now, baby". His words insinuating how flustered you were.

He brought his lips back to yours as he worked his fingertips up your leg. His touch was so close and you felt so sensitive, you couldn't help but let out a shaky moan into the kiss. You wanted him so bad, craving to feel every inch of him against you. Your hands eager, you brought them up to his shirt. Clenching your hands around the piece of fabric, you tugged him closer to you, the distance between you two unbearable as you sat in separate seats. Your actions brought him to a sudden pause, causing him to pull away. "Are you that desperate for me?". His seductive tone made your face heat up and even more aroused. By now, you sure as hell knew your cunt was drenched. "You want me so fucking bad, don't you?". His hand was back in motion, fingertips almost touching you through your underwear. All you could do was moan in response as you craved his touch. "I can't fucking hear you". He taunted you once again, before his fingertips finally stroked your wet panties, massaging your folds through the cotton. You felt your breath tremble as he applied gentle pressure.

"Y-yes, I've wanted you so bad for a long time". Voice unsteady, you could just barely articulate. You felt the way his fingers caressed you through your underwear, index finger circling your clit so that the fabric would trigger your sensitive bud. Another moan emerged out your lips as you took in a profound breath. "I can tell. Your fucking soaking and it's all for me, babygirl". His cool breath trickled down your ear as he murmured against it.

You couldn't bear it anymore, the distance practically eating away at your patience as sexual frustration overflowed your senses. His fingers continued to shower you in affection but it was no longer enough. You needed more. "Please, Bakugou. I-I want you so bad right now". Hitched breaths and shallow moans rolled off of your tongue as you spoke, Bakugou's eyes sinful as he observed you.

"You'll have to be more specific than that". The same mockeries filled your ears, craving to see you flush as you spoke of all your desires, embarrassed by their explicit nature. As he awaited your response, he slowed his movements down, only teasing you further as it stript you off the pleasure you so desperately yearned for. "Shit, I want to feel you. I want to be closer- please".

The words dripped from your mouth as though it was second nature, the thirst for him more than unambiguous by your needy state. With that, his hands left your core, the cool air surrounding you as his warmth departed. You watched him carefully with longing eyes. The way his cherry centres locked on you as his grip came to your waist. His firm hands grabbed hold of you as he granted your wishes, placing you on his lap.

You sat on top of him, his toned legs holding you up and his hands pursued your body. The way your thighs rested atop his, your sensitive core throbbing against his hardening cock and the way his palms massaged your curves felt all so surreal. Subconsciously grinding against him, you felt his cock brush up against your folds, and with every stroke of your hips, the friction was shooting an electric buzz through you. "Didn't know you were such a needy slut for me". He purred at you with that deriding look in his eyes, smirking smugly. All you did was hum in return to his taunts.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you lingered your fingertips along his neckline, gradually pulling his face in for another kiss. Devouring each other's lips once again, Bakugous hands slipped beneath your dress, lifting it to loosely drape around your waist. Your legs fully displayed, the frigid air hurried to leave goosebumps along your skin. Resuming his excursion, his fingers wandered back to where they seized you previously. As he leaned into the makeout, he rested your back against the steering wheel before tearing away from your mouth. Keen set of eyes watching you."Tell me exactly where you want my hands to go, baby. Your lucky I'm willing to take directions". For a moment you realised the exception he was making.

Bakugou was known for listening to no one but himself. So the fact he considered something like this, even if it was during an odd time, spoke volumes. It only stabilised, if not boosted, the feeling that you harboured for Bakugou. Yet there was no time to ponder over his actions. You hesitated to respond at first, slightly embarrassed to provide him with an answer.

"I want you to touch me". You deeply flushed at your reply but Bakugou only squinted at you. "Babygirl, your such a needy bitch but won't even get into specifics. Come on, you can be open with me". His words only strengthened the blush that overlaid your skin to deepen, if that was even possible. Even in your profoundly flustered disposition, you needed him and retaining your mouth shut was not an option.

"Bakugou, you know what I mean. Here". You childishly whine before grabbing hold of his hand, guiding it to your heat. His firm hand was resting on your bound cunt, not making a single move but rather looking at you intently. "Good enough" was his only response.

Swiftly, his slender fingers submerged under the fabric of your underwear, coming in contact with your wetness. The suddenness of his actions provoked a gasp to emit from your mouth, his fingers already exploring you. The feeling of his warmth travelling tenderly up and down your folds, with the occasional attentiveness to your clit made you squirm as you sucked deep breaths in. Your chest came up and down as air raced to pervade you, your moans getting gradually louder as you rubbed and arched against his touch. His attentive touch began centring more on your delicate bud, picking up his pace as he soaked in the sight of you falling apart atop him. Your heavy breaths and moans that filled the air and the way you desperately moved against every circular motion of his finger. Fuck was the sight something he had dreamt of for so long, and it was far better than he imagined. "You fucking like that huh?" he uttered through gritted teeth as his face crept closer to yours, observing the way you tightly squeezed your eyes shut, mouth dropped open.

"Shit, yes. Just like that" your breathy response came out as just above a whisper, too caught up in the pleasure of his touch. And just when you thought it couldn't feel any better, you felt his two fingers slip inside you. Your warm pink walls instantly sucking his fingers in, frantically tightening against them. A lusty moan shot out of your mouth, the overwhelming feeling of him fully submerged within you, pumping in and out. His fingers curled to hit just the right spot before you could fully adjust. The sensation was all too much and you felt the desire consume you. Panting and moaning, you could barely make sense of your surroundings as he didn't hesitate to advance his movements by pumping harder and faster, your wetness trickling down his bronzed palm.

His pace only intensified, his fingers gliding in and out of you, rubbing against your contracting walls that made your stomach burn. Burn in a way that made you almost lose control as it tied knots in your abdomen. Every spot that made your body arch against its will, legs jutting and twitching, he hit it all. And just as you edged nearer to your orgasm, moans building up at the back of your throat, ready for release as your nails dug into Bakugou's forearms. He came to a sudden pause, retreating his fingers, now soaked in your juices. You felt the dissatisfaction of his lack of attention, yearning to be touched again. Thick pants filled the car as Bakugou smirked at you and at the way you couldn't help but grind against him to supply for his loss of attention towards you.

"Princess, you didn't really think you'd get it that easy" he spoke tauntingly, rubbing your thighs as he trailed kisses on your collar bone. He'd wanted to mark up your delicate skin so many times, his presence forever embedded on you. Sinking his teeth on your flesh, he sucked and licked it, earning a soft moan from you against his ear. The tickling sensation of your breath against him accompanied by your lewd noises only hardened his growing erection. The restricting tightness of his trousers becoming infuriating for the boy.

He left mark after mark, immersing in the way you rubbed and groaned into him. "Bakugou... I need you. All of you.". Your words were like music to his ears, a combination of sounds he'd wanted to hear for so long. You begging for him to please you, make you his. It didn't even take him a second thought to know what he wanted to do to you, almost agreeing instantly. "Show me how bad you need me then". The challenging statement made you feel more heated, already in complete aw at the way his lips marked your skin.

You gently pushed him off you, pressing his back into the black leather seat, planting a delicate kiss on his lips before ducking between his legs. The position was cramped, the compact space of being under the steering wheel, legs crossed as you shifted your body further back until you could feel the disengaged pedal of the vehicle.

Bakugou sat with eager eyes on you, waiting for what you'd do next. To be honest, he felt uncomfortable at his lack of control at this very moment, already plotting how he'd regain it once more once he caught onto what your plan was. "Is this your way of proving yourself" he snickered at you, your hands on his belt, the clinking of the metal drowning out his voice. Through the material of his trousers, you could see the outline of his bulge, tight around the fabric restraints.

And just as you went to undo the restraints, unravelling the package that was contained, your head had hit the soft padding of the steering wheel. The sudden beep of the car horn went off, alarming the two of you. "What the fuck," Bakugou spoke up first in confusion. The car had obviously broken down only a few minutes ago yet it had finally decided to cooperate and disturb your guys' self-indulgence.

"Perfect timing" You giggled as you let your hands fall from his belt, slightly disappointed by the interruption. You wanted to continue this fantasy, see where it would take you both but you had other priorities on your mind as well. Like getting to the reunion for starters."Don't look so distressed, baby" Bakugou spoke softly as he lifted your chin, admiring you and the marks he left all over. "We will finish what we started, after all, I've been wanting this for so fucking long" He admitted and you couldn't help but redden at his remark.

You delicately slipped from under the wheel, dragging your dress down to cover your flashed skin. "I'll be looking forward to that then" You fire your own flirt his way, tipping over to leave a gentle peck against his lips before cleaning your lipstick from his face. He responded with a scoff and a rolling of his eyes, diverting his attention to the road to start driving again.

"I would say cover up the hickeys, but I want all those damn extra's to know who you belong to now" He smirked giving you the side-eye. Only then did you notice your wrecked state, desperately trying to fix your appearance in the small overhead mirror.

Bakugou steadily drove to your destination as his large hand rested on your thigh, you both wondering where you'd finish this excursion...

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[pricetagofficial]

Warning Signs -WW

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, reasons to yell at me

Pairing: Wally West x Reader

Part Two

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @kishony-the-geek​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @unknowntoanyone​ @subtleappreciation​ @catxsnow​ @nightwcngs​ @screennamealreadyused​ @river-bottom-nightmare​ @woahjaybird​ @bikoncon​

A/N: Thank you to the anon who sent in this request! I hope this is something along the lines of what you wanted, and if no one is yelling at my after reading this are you even human?

Your romance with Wally was anything but slow, but that came with the territory of loving a speedster let alone the fastest person alive. You knew from the moment you met that he was going to be a part of the rest of your life, and you hoped that it would be in a good way. It was no secret that Wally West was famous with the ladies, he was as smooth as he was fast and his words had you stumbling for a response.

What was once just simple flirting, turned into tense training sessions filled to the brim with sexual tension. It got to the point that the rest of the Titans could see your obvious attraction to each other but Dick knew your past.

In fact, he was the only one who knew it.

You had a dark past, one that you weren’t proud of and was actively trying to leave it behind. Deadshot had made you a lethal weapon someone who could shoot a target from hundreds of yards away and hit your mark perfectly. That kind of skill got you noticed, and not in a good way. It was what led the Titans to you in the first place.

Deadshot had brought you along to make you see that the Titans were really just what he said, a bunch of kids who had no idea what they were doing. But to you, they were anything but. He had ordered you to take them out one by one, and that’s what you planned on doing before you were interrupted.

Your first bullet didn’t hit its intended mark, instead, it landed in the shoulder of The Flash because you were knocked over by a blur of blue and black. Nightwing had stopped you from killing his best friend that day, and The Flash never even knew about it.

The mask you wore hid your face from him, so he couldn’t see what you looked like but with one well-placed hit, he caught a glimpse of just how young you were. It stopped him in his tracks, Deadshot had brought a girl no younger than he was to murder them for him.

Nightwing had tried to make you see sense, convince you that Deadshot only had his intentions in mind and cared nothing about you. With how young and naïve you were, you refused to believe him until you were captured and he left you there to take the blame.

For someone you thought you trusted, it hurt when he disappeared from sight as you yelled for him to get you out.

Nightwing gave you an option, you could join them on the team or go to jail. Considering the better of the two options, you joined the team. Dick, as you had come to know him, gave you a new background that you needed to fool the rest of your team into thinking that you were who you said you were.

Now here you were months later passionately in love with the very same speedster that you had almost killed.

Looking over at him while he slept, you could count the freckles that decorated Wally’s face. His brilliant green eyes were hidden by his closed lids with his bright red hair spread out across your pillows. Your naked form was pressed into his side as he held you close to him in his sleep. You had never felt like this about anyone before and it scared you that you cared so much about him.

Deadshot was still out there, and he knew who you were. If you were to run into him again, there was no guarantee that he would not try to ruin the new life you had tried to build for yourself.

Wally rolled and pulled you on top of him with a groan, a soft smile on his lips. Slowly, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the not wanting to wake him. But it seemed that he already was.

Feeling your lips on his, Wally’s grip on your waist tightened as he cupped your face and fully kissed you. For someone who was dead asleep only moments ago, he seemed to be very awake with the way he was kissing you.

Your free hand tangled itself into his hair, tugging it every so often causing him to let out soft groans that you loved so much.

“Hey babe, what’s got you up at this hour?” he asked, his voice filled with sleep.

You giggled and looked down at him, your hair framing your face. “I could say the same about you handsome.” You teased, brushing his bangs back.

“I was dreaming about the most beautiful girl I know, only to realize that while I dreamt of her, she was pressed against me in reality. I couldn’t pass that up.” He grinned, holding your waist. “Now, what’s keeping you up beautiful?”

You blushed at his pet name for you. “Just thinking about when Dick-“ you didn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before Wally’s face changed to a dangerous smirk.

“You mean to tell me that you are in bed with me naked, and you are thinking about my best friend?” he asked sliding his hands up your sides.

You scoffed and hit his shoulder with a laugh. “Wallace West! If you let me finish you would know that it was about when Dick brought me here to meet all of you.” You giggled, watching Wally look you over as his hand ran over your bare body.

“I remember that day too, the moment you showed up I knew that I had to have you no matter what.” He started. “It’s weird though, Dick told me that I shouldn’t get involved with you but I couldn’t be gladder that I ignored him.”

Hearing his words, your mood dropped but you refused to let your smile change. Dick didn’t approve of your relationship? That was news to you, but if you were honest with yourself you weren’t surprised. Dick was the only one who knew of your true past, he just wanted to keep his best friend safe. But he had to have known that there was nothing you would ever do to hurt Wally.

Wally noticed that you were quiet for a long minute, and his eyes filled with concern. “Y/N, babe, you alright?” he asked as he forced himself to sit up with you still straddling his lap. His large hands held your hips as he looked you over to make sure that you were alright. “Are you bothered that Dick said that?”

Quickly you shook your head and placed a kiss on his forehead before leaning yours on his shoulder. “it’s not that, I’m just really glad that I met you, Wally.”

He wrapped his arms around you and held you close to comfort you. Laying back down, the two of you drifted off to sleep while you thought of confronting Dick about what he had said to Wally about staying away from you.

The confrontation with Dick didn’t happen for another few days. He was stuck in Blüdhaven working on a case and the day he got back was when there was a threat on Jump City. Within no time, you and the rest of the Titans were suited up and ready to go. Wally gave you one final kiss before he sped out the door to head off your adversary and you ran across the roofs with Dick and Roy. Donna flew above you with Garth taking the waves from the harbor with him.

Dick could tell that there was something off with you but it was placed on the back burner when he was bolts of lightning streak across the city as Wally fended off the city as he waited for the rest of his team.

“Hey Flash, any sign on who it is?” Nightwing asked.

“It’s our favorite sharpshooter here Rob, Deadshot is back in town and he seems pissed.” Flash’s voice sounded through the com system.

The look you and Nightwing shared didn’t ease your nerves at all. Deadshot was back in town, and he was most likely looking for you.

“What’s the plan Nightwing?” Donna asked as she flew above.

“Flash, Garth and Donna, you three distract him so Arsenal, Barrage, and I try and get in close to take him out. If we play this right, we can finally put him away after months of tracking him down.”

There was a murmur of agreement as Donna and Garth shot ahead to give Flash the assistance he needed It didn’t take long for you and the other two to arrive, but the second Deadshot saw you, you swore he smiled.

Pulling out a rifle of your own, you set up in a hidden location so you could try and get a good view and possibly a few good shots in at him. The man who made you a killer was not going to get away with it this time.

The battle raged on for what seemed like hours, but finally, with a combined effort of you, Nightwing and Flash Deadshot was finally down for the count. But that didn’t stop him from talking.

“Barrage you said your name was? You remind me an awful lot about my last partner Deadeye, the last time I saw her was here in this city. Any idea where I could find her?” he asked.

Before the others could ask, you punched him hard enough that his nose broke and a couple of his teeth chipped. Giving the others the signal that you were heading back early, you disappeared down the street leaving a very confused Wally and a frowning Dick.

The second you got back to the tower, you showered and grabbed a snack from the kitchen. Moments after you grabbed a bowl of food, you felt a rush of air beside you. Within seconds, Wally placed a kiss on your lips, took a bite of your food, and promised to “be back in a flash” before zooming off to the shower and dressed.

One by one the others filtered in with Dick being the last one. His gaze went to you immediately and you followed him to the training room. Dick shut the door and stood with his arms crossed as he watched you walk towards him.

“I know you have questions, but I have a few of my own bird brain. First of all, who the fuck gave you permission to tell Wally to stay away from me when I first got here? Isn’t that a choice to be made by us, not you? I would never hurt him like that, you of all people should know this!” you snapped at him, poking him in the chest.

“Yeah, I of all people also know where you really came from. What’s he going to think when he and the others find out that you were Deadeye and almost killed us only a few months ago? I’m thinking of more than just you; I’m thinking about the entire team.” he snapped.

“I left Deadeye behind before I ever fell for him! If I was going to hurt him, I would have done it already. But what about you? How are you going to tell your best friend that you lied to him about his girlfriend? I am not the only one at fault here and if I go down, I am dragging you with me, Richard Grayson.”

You were going to say more but you caught the expression on Dick’s face. He was staring at something behind you, and you had a bad feeling about what it was. Turning on your heel, you saw Wally standing there with a look of shock on his face with the apple he was eating long forgotten about.

“Y/N, Dick, what the hell is going on?” he asked slowly.

“Walls-“ Dick started towards him only for Wally to back away and shake his head.

“Don’t, I want the truth.” He said sternly. “The whole truth.”

You dropped your head and took a deep breath. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you about who I am. I wasn’t always Barrage; I was Deadeye Deadshot’s apprentice.” You said slowly.

Wally’s eyes shifted between you and Dick. “You knew, you both knew and kept it from me?” he asked.

The look on both yours and Dick’s faces said it all. The two people he loved most in the world lied to his face about who you were and it hurt him more than that bullet wound you had apparently given him.

Dick moved to step towards his friend once again only for Wally to shoot him a glare. “I want to hear what she has to say, not you.” He snapped, only for Dick to drop his head and leave the room for the two of you to try and talk things out.

The silence that fell over you was deafening and it seemed that the tension was choking you. You loved Wally, you loved him more than anything but the way he was looking at you broke your heart. He trusted you with everything, including his secret identity only to find out that you had tried to kill them only months before was a shock.

He was the first to break the silence, “How long have you been lying to me?” he asked. The lack of response only told him that it had been from the beginning.

“I wanted to tell you Red, I really did. But I knew that if I was honest about who I was, none of you would have trusted me. Floyd left me on that rooftop knowing what could have happened to me, and Dick decided that I deserved a second chance. So, with his help, I came up with a new past and joined the team.” You explained.

Wally stood there quietly and listened. “So, you thought that lying to a whole team who trusted you was a good idea?” he asked.

“Wally, would you have trusted me if I told the truth? Would we be what we are if I was honest?”

“Dick warned me about this.” He said softly, looking at the floor.

“About what?”

Wally’s green eyes finally met your own after almost ten minutes of avoiding your gaze and you could see the heartbreak hidden behind the traces of his anger and betrayal. “You.”

His words cut you deeply, Wally’s opinion of you was the only one you actually cared about and you could see it changing in front of your eyes.

“Red please,” you begged stepping closer to him. “We can work this out, I don’t want to lose you.”

Wally shook his head, pulling his hands away before you could take them in your own the term for endearment you had for him leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “You and I both know that you lost me the second you decided to lie to me and the rest of the team.” He turned around and quickly walked out of the training room avoiding his best friend that stood right outside the door.

The gravity of the situation was crushing you, what else were you supposed to do? Wally had just broken up with you and was likely going to tell the team that you and Dick had been lying to them. So, you did the only thing left for you to do.

Before Dick could ask questions or express the guilt he felt, you darted out of the training room and ran to yours and packed. Within half an hour your stuff was packed into two duffel bags and you dashed for the elevator.

The last thing you saw before the doors closed was the look on Wally’s face before you left Titans Tower, never wanting to come back.

[fresh-bag-of-ham]

ok let’s talk SUNSCREEN

SO the UV filters available in the US can at this point be considered truly terrible. One of the main reasons you’re supposed to reapply sunscreen every two hours is that many of the filters we use are destroyed by the very UV radiation they are designed to block. Killed in the line of duty, thank you for your sacrifice, etc. Counterpoint: sunscreen is gross and reapplying it every two hours is the worst. I am not doing that. Fortunately, Europe and Japan/Korea have been much quicker to approve newly developed more stable UV filters for use and at this point they have some really good ones. They also have much better UVA protection, both because of the better filters available and better labeling regulations.

A quick simplified summary: UVB causes sunburns, is directly absorbed by DNA strands which causes the mutations that lead to skin cancer, SPF measures protection against this only. UVA does more generic damage, creates free radicals associated with aging, wrinkles, collagen loss, pigmentation, etc. etc., but can also contribute to immunosuppression and therefore skin cancer. It’s more complex than this obviously but that’s not really the point of this post.

My sunscreen criteria: I hate wearing sunscreen. However, Accutane + sun = an extremely bad time. My ideal sunscreen is something that doesn’t feel disgusting to wear so I will wear it regularly in the first place (i.e. dry-touch), something I ideally don’t have to reapply super often under normal daily use (i.e. photostable UV filters, water-resistant when necessary), and has maximum protection. As long as I’m wearing it, I also want as much UVA protection as I can find, without compromising the former criteria.

Note: The sunscreens I tried are almost all chemical UV filters and several are loaded with alcohol, so if that upsets your skin then proceed with caution/ask me for a specific rec!

Note 2: All of these are SPF50+ (the highest rating allowed in the EU (meaning they tested at at least SPF60) unless otherwise specified *cough*Supergoop*cough*)

Best Face: Kao Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Essence (x)

Best feel, best protection, best price point. This gets recommended everywhere for a reason. Bit of a silicone feel on the face. No white cast. Smells like alcohol at first. Really, really quality daily face sunscreen. Water resistant. Caveat that because of the alcohol I would make sure to throw a layer of moisturizer on beforehand to make sure I’m not totally drying myself out.

Also make sure you get the name exactly right, there’s a blah blah Watery Gel that’s totally different consistency, totally different filters, etc. etc. It has to be Watery Essence.

Best Body: Eucerin Sun Sensitive Protect Dry Touch Sun Gel-Cream (x)

This was a sleeper hit, so shout-out to Eucerin for the greatest body sunscreen I’ve ever tried. This stuff is SO protective and dries SO. DAMN. DRY. Zero grease somehow, feels like nothing. It’s even water resistant. I tried a couple LRP body sunscreens but they honestly aren’t worth mentioning. Eucerin or bust babey!

More Face Sunscreens:

I’ve also tried all top five sunscreens from this Stylevana listicle of Asian face SPF (x). The thing about face sunscreens that they’ve started doing is loading them up with silicones and acrylate polymers, which leaves a silicone-y feel on your skin like a makeup primer. As far as I can tell from poking through various patents, these polymers are doing a few things in the formula: a) emulsifying/stabilizing the newer/bigger UV filter molecules, and creating an occlusive layer over the UV filter molecules on the skin to a) improve water resistance and b) reduce eye stingy-ness. At first I thought I wanted to avoid these seemingly unnecessary additives but considering their function, these are all features I want/need in a face sunscreen so we’re living with them.

1. Shiseido - Anessa Perfect UV Sunscreen Skincare Milk: really good, sliiight white cast but absolutely no streaks, more like a foundation just a hair too light for my skin tone. However I can’t imagine buying this because #2 on the list is better and 1/3 the price. Medium silicone feel. Something I’d probably only break out for when I went to an outdoor summer wedding.

2. Kao - Biore UV Aqua Rich Watery Essence: I have already sung its praises.

3. MISSHA - All Around Safe Block Essence Sun Milk: closest to a US milky/greasy sunscreen experience here, though very fluid and still absorbs nicely. No silicone feel. Not a bad choice but nothing special.

4. Canmake - Mermaid Skin Gel UV: probably second favorite after Biore. Similar, bit less of a silicone feel. I’ve gotten red a couple times using this though, possibly because less silicone feel = no layer of protection against sweat/physically rubbing off? I bet this would be perfect under makeup though, it’s super light.

5. COSRX - Aloe Soothing Sun Cream: SO moisturizing, almost a dewy feel that sits on your skin and never dries. I wanted to love her, but unfortunately she is so loaded with the aforementioned polymers that when you reapply/put the appropriate amount on to begin with, it completely gums up and pills and you lose all protection. Also definitely not water resistant. Probably my top pick for a winter daily face sunscreen that I wouldn’t ever be worrying about reapplying though.

Other Contenders:

La Roche-Posay Anthelios Invisible Fluid (x) and Bioderma Photoderm Max Milk (x)

These two bad boys have the highest rated UVA protection currently on the market, 46 PPD for La Roche-Posay and 42 PPD for Bioderma. The LRP is extremely watery (technically alcohol-y) and comes in a teeny bottle(though same size as a lot of these I guess) but it is The Best UVA protection money can buy. The texture is really nice too, and feels super water resistant. If I’m outside sweating or on the water in the summer, this is going on my face. I've also seen it on sale multiple times since I’ve started researching sunscreens (because it’s extremely popular) so you can definitely find it in the $0.30/mL-or-less tier if you keep an eye out.

This Bioderma is cheaper and also extremely protective (thanks Helena @bronyraurmp3 for the rec!) but unfortunately it stung both my and Mr T’s eyes like a BITCH. Extremely unpleasant experiences for both of us. TBH if I’m out in midday sun, swimming or kayaking or something, I’m gonna be wearing a long-sleeved UPF rashguard to protect my arms and upper body and not worrying too much about whatever cheap greasy sunscreen I put on my legs. This Bioderma stuff would be going on my neck, ears, and hands though bc it’s super water resistant.

Eucerin Sun Sensitive Protect Mattifying Fluid : bit of a white cast, really slippy texture going on and nice dry touch texture when it dried down, but drying down took foreeever. Probably really nice if you’re sensitive and pale.

Eucerin Sun Oil Control Gel-Cream Dry Touch : VERY matte and dry-touch, would have loved it if I hadn’t gotten burned using it (doesn’t have all the newest most stable UV filters). Approaching the expensive end of things too, but would be a lovely option if you really prioritize non-greasiness and don’t need the premium protection? Mr T really liked using it on his bald head lol.

Supergoop Unseen Sunscreen SPF40 (US): This is recommended many places but it has to be a joke that people are actually paying Shiseido Anessa prices for old American UV filter selection, only SPF 40, and no UVA rating to speak of, right??? (ok they do have a PA+++ rating meaning a PPD of 8-16, so. this is acceptable.) I did not test this one but damn wtf. The texture is probably nice though and it looks perfectly sheer in the photos on their website, so maybe as a last resort for darker skintones that show a white cast with everything else? At that price tho... you do you but damn.

Jigott Snail UV Sun Block : This had good reviews on Yesstyle but it sucked. White streaks, bad.

La Roche-Posay Anthelios Ultra-Light Tinted Mineral Sunscreen SPF60 (US): Another in the outdoor-wedding only price range. There’s a tinted and a non-tinted mineral version and I ended up mixing them together to get a shade that looked pretty good on me, but needing two bottles for that puts it in the extremely ridiculous price category. Really slippy nice texture that takes a bit to dry but dries down perfectly matte. I guess the person who wants to shell out for a high end all-mineral tinted sunscreen exists somewhere out there but I would bet there are many nice cheaper mineral options out there that I haven’t tried.

And that’s it! For EU sunscreens, I was able to order them on caretobeauty.com, and Japanese/Korean ones from yesstyle.com or stylevana.com, though I had to go to eBay for the Biore and Anessa. I ordered some Biore from a seller on Amazon but they shipped from Japan and I think they got taken by customs because the last known location on the tracking info is Chicago, so finding a seller in the US that has already imported them seems like a good idea (vendor lullabellabeauty on eBay worked great for me, fwiw, I will definitely order my Biore from there in the future).

If you have specific questions about any of these, or if you have any recs you think I should try, hmu! You will be shocked I’m sure to hear I have a whole sunscreen database at this point.

[bimswritings]

Armorer x (Blacksmith) Reader 1/2

Warnings:Canon Typical violence

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! If anyone has fic recs for her send them my way! The next part of the Savage series and a new chapter of Our Way will come out next week!

_______________________________

The Armorer had experienced more in her lifetime than anyone else would care to. She had watched the rise and fall of small rebellions, crushed under the foot of the Empire. Seen her people hunted and killed until their numbers weren’t even fractions of what the great tribe of warriors once was. Chaos and bloodshed, hiding and waiting, had become as normal as breathing to her. That’s not to say she missed the many good things that happened. 

The sounds of foundlings and young ones as they ran through the halls of the covert, not yet burdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, acted as a reminder that her people were still alive. And there was no greater sense of peace to be had then when they would all meet in the karyai and dine together like the family they were. 

Well, except for her forge. 

Her forge was a sacred place. Not only for her but for the others as well. It was here that the most important and private of discussions were held. Talks about individuals as well as the coven as a whole. Who would go out and hunt, what responsibilities would be given to who, and where they would go for their next supply run to get food and medicine. It was important that they never went to the same place too many times, least someone followed them back, and the amount always had to be different as to not let in on their numbers.

All these choices, all this planning, was run through her. Their Armorer. Their Alor. They trusted her with their lives, leaning on her as an elder would a walking stick. Despite the immense pressure put on her, she never let it show. Never asked for anything in return. Seeing her people happy was enough to keep her strong, and looking towards the future instead of the horrors of the past.

Besides, when she watched the bigger picture, it left the others able to focus on the smaller things. Namely the continuation of their tribe, which they were doing an outstanding job on if her current project was anything to go by.

The three pieces she was working on would fit together perfectly. Though each their own unique piece, they were all made from one base ore.

The mother would come to possess the intricate dagger currently sitting off to the side, being highly skilled in close quarter combat it would serve her well. The handle of the blade would slide smoothly in the bottom of her eagle-eyed riduur’s blaster, and make it even more dangerous than before. The weapon would have no weaknesses, each piece supporting the other, and be usable in any scenario. Of course they would still need a way to be locked in place. Something that would make the connection between the two weapons stronger. The insignia would be worn by the child until they died, and then given to their closest of kin, be it friend, lover, or child. It was of the mother’s clan, which they would all take the name of, and the metal ranicor already shone with a radiant pride as she pulled it from the blue flames, quenching it the basin of oil beside her.

It would fit at the juncture, locking the weapons in place with an unbreakable bond. 

The two adults would present each other with the weapons, a symbol of their promise to protect one another both in and out of battles. Then, together, they would tie the insignia to the child with a leather thread. The only addition would be a Mythosaur skull, which they would receive should they take up the creed of the Mandalorian. If not, they would still bear the mark of their clan and wear it with pride.

It was hard work, but the Armorer would do it all over again in a heartbeat. After all, the exchanging of vows between two Mandalorians was enough cause for a celebration, but for the same couple to have a claiming ceremony of a foundling at the same time? It had sent the enter tribe into a nest of bustling activity in preparation. The elders were particularly excited, constantly coming in to inform her of any updates or changes. 

It was one of them that she had expected when she heard footsteps enter her forge, not the young warrior she was faced with when she turned around.

“What can I help you with, child?” For a young Mandalorian such as himself to enter without invitation or a offering to the tribe, it must be of grave importance.

He remained kneeling as he spoke, head bowed in respect to his Alor.

“Alor, I have heard troubling news during my patrol. A matter I fear has to deal with the pride of the Mandalorian name.”

Underneath the helmet, her brows furrowed though he could not see it. From his tone, he seemed almost hesitant to deliver the news, and she waited silently for him to continue.

“There...there’s been word that another possess the armor of a Mandolrian a few parsecs over on the moon of Quilon.” He swallowed thickly, audible even through the modulator, before continuing. 

“Someone not of any tribe or clan, nor a foundling or anyone who claims our identity.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the Armorer couldn’t blame the heat rising within her on the fire she had been previously toiling over for so many hours without issue. Though she concealed it well, any who knew her, who could tell by the way her helmet tilted up or how her shoulders squared slightly, knew that she was absolutely furious.

“Then we must retrieve it immediately.” 

“Of course, Alor. Which of the warriors would you like me to retrieve so they may be briefed.”

“None.” She replied, hooking her tools into her belt, moving to grab her cloak from it’s hook, where it had been previously gathering dust.

“Alor?” He questioned. She had told him that they would retrieve it, but if she wanted none of the warriors then how would they?

“It is time that people are reminded of who we were. Who we are. Though we remain hidden in our covert, we are not weak. We bide our time until we once again rise.”

She tucked an extra blaster into her belt, though she knew the weapon would come second to her hammer. If it turned into an altercation of shots rather than strength, she would be prepared.

“I will retrieve it myself, and make an example of those that thought they could tarnish our name.”

With that she was gone, stalking down the maze of corridors on a warpath. Everyone who saw her coming was quick to jump out of the way. If there was one thing more dangerous than an angry Mandalorian, it was an enraged Armorer.

__________________________________

Landing the ship just outside the town, the Armorer followed the coordinates given to her before leaving. 

Just like every other planet in their system, Quilon was nothing special. Another small rock in space abandoned by the Empire and left to be overrun by bandits. Though their presence here was even more prevalent than on Nevarro. 

She paid no mind to the eyes that followed her from the shadows, hidden under masks and hats and behind drinks as she made a direct line to the center bar.

The man behind the counter was an aged Weequay, his already wrinkled skin dull but still showing the strength that lay in the muscle underneath. Though old, he was clearly someone who could still hold his own against any patron who had too many glasses of brandy.

He had no hesitance in walking up to her, despite clearly knowing who she was a part of.

“What can I do for you?”

She placed a stack of credits on the counter, gently sliding the pile over to him.

“I’ve heard that someone here has the armor of a Mandalorian. I wish to know where to find them so that we may...talk.”

The Weequay picked up the pile,clinking the metal as he tested the weight before looking back towards the Armorer.

“A matter of great importance for you, I’m sure. However, the person you seek is also of great importance.”

Silently, she reached into her pouch and retrieved a few more credits, the clinking sound they made as they were deposited with the others into his waiting hand causing a smile to stretch his face, revealing a number of missing teeth.

“You’ll find your person on the far west side of town. The shop will be located just a bit out. Had to relocate it with all the noise bothering the townsfolk.” He laughed, turning back to his other patrons as he deposited the money. “Just follow the cursing.”

Twenty minutes and another exchange of information later, the Armorer found herself in front of a shop reading ‘Galactic Metalworks’.

If she had been angry before, she was positively fuming now. For someone who was supposed to have an understanding and appreciation for all things forged, the fact that they would have Mandalorian beskar, undoubtedly knowing its importance and what is signified, was the ultimate insult.

She could only hope that they would have enough sense not to have tempered with the armor, else she would have to hold herself back from killing them too quickly.

She walked through the door, pulling the fabric flap aside as she stepped inside. Instantly she was greeted with the sight of a surprisingly organized space, with weapons of all kinds lining the walls and a case displaying more decorative items sitting just behind what she assumed was the front counter.

There was no one in sight, prompting her to move further into the shop. As she passed, she couldn’t help but admire the works as she went. Though more elegant than what she would have done with some, there was no doubt about the quality of each item. Every blade, trigger, and handle was carefully shaped and sharpened, each having a softness that one would not expect of such weapons. It seemed to be the artist's signature stamp, present in everything she saw.

He attention was drawn away from the shining metals as a loud, and rather brash, string of curses flowed from the back of the shop. Once again reminded of her reason for coming here. The Armorer walked past the counter and its items, following the sounds of metal being hammered around the corner to reveal an open aired forge. 

There you stood, in all your soot stained and sweaty glory, cursing like a Trandoshian pirate as you inspected the item before you. A crude imitation of a helmet, she realized, though the eyes were horrendously off center and uneven, and being far too long for any but a Kaminoan to wear without hitting their shoulders. 

Were you really the same person who had made all the items out front?

No. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She was here for business.

The intention was for her to take you by the element of surprise, leaving no room for a fight with the point of her hammer pressed into the vulnerable skin above your carotid. That was thrown out the window before she could even reach for the weapon as you quickly turned around, eyes locking onto her and going wide before frantically backpedaling. 

As luck would have it, the hammer you had been previously using was knocked from its stand and clattered to the floor, being stepped on and causing you to tumble.

Narrowly missing falling into the forge itself, your head still cracked painfully against its stand and your vision went black. By the time it cleared enough for you to stop seeing stars and your brain to process what had just happened, you found the very person who had startled you into such a state standing above you, feet on either side of your hips as a hammer was pointed dangerously at your face.

“H-hey!” You managed to stutter out, still dizzy and most likely concussed. “No need for that!”

Holding your hands up in an act of surrender and defense, should they still decide to attack, you balanced your weight onto your elbows despite the way it sent your head spinning.

They said nothing, only staring down through their owl-shaped visor as the golden shine of the helmet cast rays of brilliant light around the forge. Despite the situation, you could help but admire the stunning craftsmanship of the piece with envy. Each spike, every curve, was so beautifully done.

“I know you’re here for the armor, and I can get it for you! It’s right here!”

The Mandalorian remained still for a moment, contemplating, before moving back enough to let you get up, exchanging their hammer for a blaster, keeping it trained on your figure as you slowly rose and moved to the far wall.

Producing a key from beneath your apron, you moved one of the many boxes and unlocked a hatch hidden beneath. From there, you produced a chest that had yet another lock on it, setting it on your workbench and placing the key beside it. Backing away with your hands held up one again, the Mandalorian moved closer to the chest.

Hidden under the helmet, you couldn't see the way her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, laced with a hint of curiosity. You had gone through quite the effort of hiding it. Without your guide she might not have found the hatch, which had blended so well into the floor that when you had first moved the box she hadn’t seen it even with the filters of her visor. Why give it up so easily when you could have easily denied even having it in the first place, and no evidence to say otherwise?

Unlocking the box, she was even more surprised by what she found inside. While keeping a watch on where your figure had backed into the corner, she began shuffling through each item, peeling back layer after layer of fabric until she had constructed a full suit of beskar.  Not only was it stored with such care, the metal skillfully wrapped to prevent one item from damaging another if jostled around, but it appeared to have been freshly cleaned by a polish well known and used almost exclusively by smiths. It was meant to bring out the best shine and remove any scuff to increase the appeal and chances of someone buying the item.

“Where did you get this.” She put the items back in their case, closing it before turning back to where you were, blaster now lowered to her hip but ready to raise and fire in an instant.

“Bought it from some pirates who stopped by here to refuel.” You squeaked out. Despite knowing that all Mandalorians were warriors, you were still surprised to hear a woman's voice come from the helmet. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, you could only imagine the prestige and skill she had to back it up.

“I would have returned it sooner, but you guys are kind of hard to find.” You attempted to joke, letting out a nervous laugh as you shakily smiled. “I tried to keep it on the down low as much as I could to keep others from trying to come and take it. Paid a kid to let it slip when he saw one of you at a cantina you’re known to frequent.” 

The Armorer tilted her head slightly, still not believing you completely.

“Why not sell it, or melt it down for your own use?” She gestured to the space around you, at all the projects currently displayed or were waiting to be finished.

Your own brows knitted in confusion, as if you couldn’t believe why she was asking you that, and in reality you couldn’t.

“Well, I respect you too much.” Your shoulders shrugged lightly. “Growing up, my father told me all the stories of your culture, your people and what the armor meant to you. How it was more than just a piece of equipment, that it was like an extension of your own body and identity. Rather poetically, he would always put it.”

A small laugh made its way past your lips, taking the Armorer by surprise.

“If he could have met one of you and studied the armor he would have died of happiness. Probably would have even sworn an oath and donned the armor himself if he had the chance, no hesitation.”

Any thoughts of ill intention from before were reduced to nothing in the Armorer’s mind. The way you had spoken so fondly when describing your admiration for her culture, the same way you had when speaking of your father, was so gentle and sincere. Even if you had a helmet like hers she would have been able to tell just by your voice.

“You have my thanks for keeping it in such good condition until we were able to collect it. I know my people would share my sentiment if they were here.” She dipped her head in thanks, missing the blush that spread across your face at the action.

“It was no trouble at all, really! I hope you don’t mind but I did study it before hiding it away.” You nodded to the crude helmet she had found you swearing at when she had first entered. “As you can see, my attempts were less than successful. It’s like my father always said; If I could make armor the way I could make everything else, I would be far too dangerous.”

The Armorer silently agreed. If the display in the front of the shop was anything to go by, if you were able to make armor then you could potentially even give her a run for her credits.

“You are quite skilled in your craft. It would be a sight to see how you would interpret your own armor.”

“Rather poorly.” You laughed once again, and the Armorer found herself straining to hear its cheerful air, much to her own embarrassment.

It was time she left. She had gotten what she had come for, so there was no reason for her to stick around any longer. The more time she was away from the covert the more worried she became, mentally berating herself for being so ill-tempered and short sighted to have stormed here right away without thinking much of how the others would fare without her presence. Paz should keep a good handle on things, but it was still best not to be gone much longer.

Before she could excuse herself though, you had dropped the helmet you had previously been sourly glaring at and focused back on her, excitement evident as a bright gleam shone in your eyes. 

“You must have come quite a way to get here! Please, allow me to compensate you for having to come out to such a place.”

The Armorer tried to argue, to explain that it hadn't been a problem and that the beskar being back where it belonged was enough, but you wouldn’t listen, pushing her to the front of the store and practically demanding that she choose at least one of the items to take with her.

“They are all so well crafted. I could not even begin to know where to choose.”

Humming, you closed your eyes in thought before bounding back towards the forge, yelling over your shoulder for her to keep browsing while you went looking for something.

So she did, walking up and down and displays, taking in all the weapons and items as she duly noted that your leather work seemed to be just as good as your smithing if the wrapped handles and weapons holsters were anything to go by. Any choice that she made would make a fine addition to their armory, and Paz would be overjoyed with each item, though she made a mental note not to let him learn of your shop. The last thing she needed was him coming here and spending all the tribe’s money on your works, undoubtedly scarring you with his sheer size and gruffness as well.

It was in the middle of her browsing that a flash of color caught her eye. Many of the metals you worked with were the same shades of grey and black, even the occasional gold. But there, amongst the sea of cold steel in the display case, was the warmth of bronze. She moved closer despite knowing that nothing she would find there would be beneficial for the tribe. It was as if it were a magnet though, pulling her closer by the metal covering nearly every part of her.

The item was less flashy than those surrounding it, simple and to the point, if jewelry could be described that way. The charm was a small rectangle, no longer than an inch and less than a quarter of which thick. In elegant and delicately etched letters was the word ‘loyalty’. Nothing else.

“I never took you for someone to appreciate jewelry.”

She started, helmet looking up to see you coming back from your forge. In your hands was a cloth, wrapped around what could be anything.

“I was admiring the work. The detail is remarkably clean despite its size.”

“It's been here a while. Not many people come here looking for something other than weapons, and those who do usually want something a bit more eye catching. One of my favorite works though.”

Putting the item down, her attention turns to the bundle you’ve placed on the table. Carefully, you unwrap the fabric to reveal the blade underneath. The blade itself is silver, coming to a spearpoint tip without so much as a chip. It’s longer than a normal throwing knife but shorter than one would typically consider a dagger to be. 

“My own take on a vibroblade. Easier to throw but still small enough to be easily concealed.” You hold it out, prompting her to take it.

The handle fit in her palm like a glove, as if it were molded specifically for her. The weight was perfectly balanced, allowing her to switch into a reverse grip and back with ease. At just a glance she could tell that the ridge was perfectly straight, ensuring a smooth flight through the air to its target.

“From my own collection. I figured if a Mandalorian was going to use it, then nothing but my best work would suffice.” You took the blade back, wrapping and binding it before placing it in the chest alongside the armor.

“Your hospitality knows no bounds. I am glad our meeting can end on such terms.” 

Waving your hand, you brush away the compliment despite the burning of your cheeks. Something you blamed on the heat of the forge.

“It was the least I could do. If you’re ever out here again, don’t hesitate to stop by. It can get rather lonely out here.” The forlorn expression you took on despite your ever present smile pulled at something inside the Mandalorian. Something she had not felt in a long time.

“Though don’t expect another free weapon if you do. I have a business to run after all.”

“Of course.” She said, allowing you to lead her to the door, holding the fabric as she passed through.

The whole walk back, her mind was on you. Even after she had boarded her ship and set course for home, arriving much quicker than she expected, she was thinking of you. The fact that there were still those out there that thought of and revered her people as you had, it gave her hope that not all creatures in the universe were against them.

The others were eagerly waiting for her arrival when she returned, following as she made her way back to the forge where she would store the beskar until it was decided what to do with it.

“Did you kill them and take their weapon as well?” Paz questioned when she handed him the blade, immediately pulling it out to admire the item.

She didn’t answer, focused on putting away her haul and moving to clean up her space. Leaving so quickly had resulted in a cluttered mess for her to come back to, and she once again found herself cursing her temper. Traveling far distances was something she didn’t often do, and the experience had left her tired, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and rest. She had to make sure everything was in order before she did so though.

“What’s this?” 

She turned, facing Paz as he held something in between his large fingers. She walked closer, eyes locking on to the item with laser focus.

Its familiar bronze sheen shone with a new brightness in the dim light, the etched words now hardly visible. She didn’t know when you had snuck it in, nor how you had when she had been right there the entire time.

So, for the first time in years, the Armorer took something for herself.

Plucking the small charm from his hand, she dismissed him, pulling the shutters of her shop down and leaving her mind to wander back to you as she caressed the cool metal, which did nothing to dampen the sparking embers in her kar’ta beskar.

__________________________________________________

In all honesty, you hadn’t been expecting the golden helmed Mandalorian to return to your shop. After nearly a month and a half of seeing not even the faintest glimpse of beskar you had given up hope of ever seeing her again. Sure, you were still hopeful, but when you entered your shop for some late night smithing and found the silent warrior leaning against the outside wall you nearly screamed. If it hadn’t been for the light of the flames reflecting off her helmet you wouldn’t have even realized she was there.

“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. I don’t get visitors this late.’’

She tilted her head, gesturing for you to continue her work and decline the offer for a seat. Nothing more was said as you got to work, soon shedding your long sleeves in favor of the cool night air that flowed in from the open wall, exposing your toned arms to the Mandalorian. It was something you had always been proud of, the muscle earned from years of bending and forming metal with precise blows from your hammer.

After a few minutes of watching, the woman began moving about the shop, taking her time to inspect every inch of the workspace. Your previous encounter hadn’t left much time for her to admire it. Even though it was far less sophisticated and more worn than her own, she still felt a sense of familiarity within its heat, finding herself wondering if you would have a familiar feeling in hers. 

The thought was banished almost as quickly as it appeared. After all, an outsider not only entering the covert, but the armory as well? One of the most pivotal places of their people? Preposterous. She didn’t even know why she was here in the first place. One moment she was relaxing in a rare moment of peace she was allowed, and the next she was aboard her ship, coordinates for your shop already typed in.

From the corner of your vision, you watched as she approached your latest project; the same armor you had been working on for weeks. A warmth rose to your cheeks when you saw her inspecting it, picking up the helmet and rotating it between her hands. 

The visor had been fixed a significant amount, she noted, but it was still shaky at best. Both sides were still uneven as they dipped down into a point at the chin, and anyone who wore it would have the top of their heads pinched by the too shallow curve of the top.

“Your work has improved.” She noted, voicing it more to herself than anything.

“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I know it's not very good.”

“Not good no.” She admitted, setting the heavy helmet down and moving closer to where you were and setting every nerve on edge. “But there has been improvement, which shows that you’re learning.’’

Watching as you bent a thin metal pipe into shape, sparks flying everywhere as you didn’t even flinch when they landed on bare skin, then quenching it before moving over to your workbench and beginning to assemble it with an array of other items. She admired the speed and confidence with which you worked. Leaning against the wall, she watched as the weapon began to take shape under your hands.

Hours later, you were finished, a new blaster sitting before you. Just as beautiful and dangerous as the ones out front, with intricate vines crawling up the hilt and along the barrel, soldered on by your skillful hands before her very eyes.

“So, what can I help you with?” Turning towards the Armorer, you were surprised at how close she had gotten since you started, now almost touching and forcing you to crane your neck back to look her in the face.

“As much as I enjoy the company, I doubt you would come here without a reason.”

She remains silent for a moment, simply staring back at your smiling face before reaching around you to pick up the newly constructed blaster. The soft leather of her arm brushed your skin, and your nose picked up the familiar scent of forge iron from her gloves, causing your breath to catch in your throat as she turned the weapon in her hands.

“I have a proposition for you.” Her visor locked onto you, and despite the slight shiver of fear you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

“You will make weapons for my people and repair any that need it. Should we need it, we will park our ships in your space and you will pick up anything we can not.”

Your brows rose as she rattled off the list. Though you would be glad to do anything involving the warriors, just for the simple fact of being able to see them up and close, you still had to question why she would choose you. There was no reason for them to trust you, even if you had returned the armor.

The Armorer took it a different way, thinking you were expecting a form of payment for your work, which only made sense.

“Of course, your efforts will be compensated. Should you ever need passage or protection, we would be more than willing to offer aid.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving a small device that she held out. Upon taking it, you discovered there were only two buttons on the disk. It might look like random scrap metal to someone else, but your trained mind recognized it as an old communications device. 

“Press the blue when items are done or you request a meeting. The green is for emergencies only. Life or death situations.” You nodded, turning to tuck the device on a higher shelf where it would be within reach but not have the risk of being accidentally pressed, and somewhat hidden should any unwelcome guest find their way back here.

“And,” she hesitated a moment, unsure of her next words. With just one visit, you had managed to lower the carefully raised walls she had constructed, penetrating its defenses in a way not even her own people had. But now, here with you in the peace of the forge, her tongue was loose and brain foggy, as if the heat was melting away every shred of common sense and survival instinct she had carefully honed.

“I will teach you how to make armor. One that will protect you. Under my guide as the Armorer of my tribe it will be nothing less than perfect. Though you must swear to never trade or sell it.”

Your eyes widened a fraction at her words, hardly believing what she had just said. Not only had you just learned a new fact about the stoic woman, that she was a smith just as yourself, but she was offering to teach you how to make some of the best armor in the galaxy. No, the universe.

“It...it would be an honor.” You tilted your head down in respect, only to have her leather clad gloves grab your chin, the worn material forcing your gaze up to meet hers. Though there was no way for you to truly see her eyes, you could almost feel the flames burning within them.

“Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.” 

__________________________________________________

If you had thought that your father had been harsh when he was first teaching you how to smith, then he had graced you with a mother’s love in comparison to the Armorer, a name she had given you to call her after multiple visits.

“It just feels kind of cold to keep calling you Mandalorian, especially with all the time we spend together.” You had told her when she questioned why you asked. There were other reasons too, namely being that she had her own name for you. Instead of calling you by the name you had given her, she had taken to calling you ‘goron’ or ‘tracinya’, in that unknown language of hers. You could only hope they weren’t insults.

She visited once a month, always arriving just before dusk and leaving at dawn, two to three weapons heavier and the occasional small trinket you had made between meetings. All night you would be bent over your forge under her watchful gaze, correcting your technique and giving the occasional tip when you were struggling more than normal.

At the end of the night you would offer your work to be inspected, glowing at any praise only to deflate with every critique, and she was nothing if not someone who was unafraid to express her opinion.

The entire time you talked with one another. Well, you did most of the talking, but it still felt nice to have someone other than the stray loth cat listen to your ramblings.

Every once in a while she would answer one question or another, though she never divulged too much information on her own tribe, apart from mentioning another Mandalorian in passing or treating you with one of her occasional stories from the covert. You respected her wishes nonetheless, and as much as you wanted to ask her about everything you resigned yourself to the fact that she would only tell you what she wanted you to know. Mandalorians were still very much sought after prizes, and the secrecy would only make sense, as it ensured their survival.

She also never picked up a tool, as much as you wanted to see her work. Her instructions were always verbal, with the occasional instance where she would place her hands over yours, moving them the correct way and never failing to send your cheeks ablaze. Thankfully you could blame the color on the heat of the flames and not your own growing feelings. Those were a different issue entirely.

You don’t know when it started, almost like it had always been there, building until they attacked with a snap. The fact of the matter was that you harbored feelings for the armored woman, and you couldn’t deny them, no matter how much you tried to push them down. Alone for the most part, she was the only person to regularly visit your empty residence. Ever since your father had died and left you the successor of his forge, both the shop itself and the small living quarters behind it had felt empty, haunted by his memories that couldn’t be chased away with any amount of plants you bought or how much time you spent working. 

The first time she had accepted your invitation for a drink after much begging was the first time the space felt complete in ages, though she simply sat on one of the only two chairs in the living room, drink remaining untouched in her hand.

You were content hiding your feelings. As long as it meant that she would come around, you would do anything. Though you feared your meetings may soon come to an end. While you were overjoyed with the progress you had made over the months, constructing enough armor for a single arm and leg, as well as a chest plate. Not much longer and you would have your armor complete, and her reason for coming around would be gone. No longer would she need to teach you, and there was no reason she couldn’t send someone else from the covert to collect weapons and drop off items for repair once a month. You remember her mentioning how their top heavy infantry warrior had asked to meet you, and as interested as you were in meeting other Mandalorians you didn’t want it to be at the expense of seeing her.

“What’s got you so distracted tonight, tracinya’ika?” she asked after you dropped your current project, a shoulder pauldron, for the third time that night.

“Nothing!” You managed to squeak out, only to feel her familiar presence behind you, growing closer until you felt her brush against your back, making you spin around only to be pinned against your forge. The heat burned your back, hardly noticed by your brain as you processed how close she was standing now, arms on either side of your body and helmet tilted to look you in the eye. 

“Tell me.” Her voice crooned, smooth even through the modulators and nearly causing your knees to give out.

Swallowing thickly, you struggled to get the words out.

“When...when you're done teaching me, will I ever see you again?” It sounded stupid to say it out loud. Needy, like a child wanting their mother. It made you feel foolish, believing she surely thought you weak and helpless now.

You were prepared for her to laugh or scoff, to chastise you for how foolish you were being about such emotional connections. 

She did none of those.

“Ni tracinya, as long as you still desire my presence, I will come. Until you give the word, and even after, our destiny will be intertwined.”

You didn’t, couldn’t, say anything after that. It was as if she had stolen every thought from your head, every word from your mouth, leaving you nothing but a gaping fool, staring at the powerful warrior before you as the sound of the spotted owls filtered in through the open wall from the cool night air beyond.

It was the Armorer who finally broke the trance, stepping back and pausing for a moment before collecting the prepackaged weapons from the table. She said nothing as she left, heading back hours before the sun had even begun to rise and leaving you with nothing to do but stare after her, wondering what you had done wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, the cause of the Armorers swift exit had not been your fault, but her own. The entire way back to the covert she berated herself for how foolishly she had acted, allowing her body to move before her mind yet again, putting you in a compromising position. Even while berating herself, the memory of being so close to you stuck in her mind. The way your hair stuck to your damp skin, practically glowing in the light of the flames as you stared up with large, innocent eyes.

She had wanted to take you into her arms then and there. Her kind hearted little smith. So gentle and warm despite the rough profession and living conditions in which you found yourself in. It made her feel all the more guilty about having allowed herself to grow so attached to you, bringing along all the dangers that came with being associated with a Mandalorian as well as the knowledge she provided.

With each visit the feeling only grew, and by this point her draw to protect you as she would one of her tribe was just as strong. You were a weakness. A chink in her armor that she would allow none to exploit. 

Unfortunately, she was just one Mandalorian, and there was a limit to her strength, as she would soon find out.

_______________________________

It had been a week since your last meeting with the Armorer. The way she had practically sprinted out played on repeat in your head, reviewing every second leading up until then in search of what you could have possibly done. Yet no matter what angle you looked at it from, you always drew a blank.

Well, what else were you expecting from a Mandalorian. As skilled as they were apt to run off without an explanation. On to whatever adventure was next. You could only hope that she would have some explanation the next time.

‘Or at least the decency to apologize for being rude.’ you huffed, slamming the door to the cupboard after retrieving a cup. You settled down with a mug of warm bantha milk and honey, still fuming. Hopeful a bit of reading would calm your nerves for now, ignited every time you thought back on the encounter. Hopefully you would be calm enough not to give her an earful when you saw her.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only source of sound as you skimmed through the pages of the novel you had picked up. A cheesy romance that you wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public, highlighting a lowly dancer attracting the attention of a bounty hunter who bought them for their own operations, only for the two to inevitably fall in love.

The rough and brash nature of the bounty hunter in the story reminded you of your own Armored crush, and you found yourself daydreaming more than reading as you finished off your drink. 

If only real life could be like that. You were all too aware of how unlikely it was though. Such a warrior could never have feelings for a simple smith like yourself, no matter how much she admired your works. 

Still, there was no harm in dreaming, right?

That’s exactly what you allowed yourself to do, curled up on the seat with the book drooping just as low as your eyes. The warmth of the fire and a stomach full of warm bantha milk only helped the progression of sleep along, lulling you into a sense of security as the light humming outside grew.

That’s how the first shock wave found you, knocking you from content to the floor as it rattled the entire shop.

You scrambled to your knees, dazed and confused, unable to make sense of what had just happened before the next hit. This was much closer, rattling the windows and knocking items from the walls. Even from here you could hear the sound of metal clanging as weapons and trinkets were thrown from their shelves.

Above the ringing, just barely, you processed the sound of fighters as they blazed overhead.

The Empire, you realized with a chill. You had heard rumors of them doing this, decimating entire towns and villages in the dead of night while everyone slept. That was only for those who were suspected of housing rebels or acting as supply lines though! The most you ever got out here was the occasional ship stopping to refuel or gather supplies, which was done so quickly and infrequently you wouldn’t even know they had been here.

Now wasn’t the time to question why you had been targeted. Now was the time to act.

Stumbling to your feet, you ran to the only option of help you had. The shock wave of each sending another small tremor through the ground and causing you to stumble as dust rained down from the ceiling. Dimly, you could hear the shouts of the village as those still alive realized what was happening.

The transmission disk sat in the same place it always was, thankfully not knocked to the floor and hidden in one of the many small crevices of your now disastrous shop. Tools and metals of all types lay scattered about, creating a minefield across the floor for you to navigate and attempt to not trip.

She was the only one that could help you. There were no friends, no family. No one who visited outside of her. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting her to do. Take you to another planet that the Empire hadn’t marked for destruction? But what would you do once you got there. Your skills were that of a blacksmith. Even if she helped you to escape for now and come back, who would be left for you to sell to? As much as the thought of abandoning the forge you had grown up in hurt, there would be no profit in staying. If there was any place to stay at that is.

Still, you ripped the item from its shelf, frantically pressing the ill-fated green button and watching as a loading signal popped up. It jumped in small increments at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving you to watch helplessly as the distress signal transmitted.

Amidst the chaos and adrenaline, a flash caught your eye.

The armor you had been working on for the past few months sat openly displayed on the worktable, left over from when you had been tinkering with it earlier. It wasn’t yet finished, but there was no time better than now to test it out. They might have tie fighters in the sky, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any troops on the ground to ensure there were no survivors, and there was no way in hell you were going out without a fight.

So, while the message continued loading, you stumbled over and yanked on the equipment, cursing each time your hands fumbled with a strap or you dropped a piece. By the time you managed to get all of what you had finished on, as well as the half-worked pauldron and grabbing the closest weapon, the bar had only reached seventy two percent.

You watched with bated breath as it continued to climb, praying to the maker for it to finish already. You didn’t know how far away the Armorer was, but hopefully she would get here in time. To give your body a proper burial and out of the reach of scavengers if nothing else.

You never got to see it finish.

The agonizingly loud and now familiar scream of fighters your only warning before they unload their ammunition onto your home. It fell apart like paper, no match against the green energy beams as they took out whole sections of the ceiling and walls.

A flash of light, stars from the night sky now peering down from the open ceiling, before you were buried under the rubble. It pressed down with seemingly the weight of a moon, forcing every ounce of air from your lungs and preventing nearly any oxygen from entering as you desperately tried to pull in more air, only to choke on the thick dust that permeated and covered everything. Every movement brought a fresh wave of agony tearing through your body, and you could taste iron in the back of your throat. A sign of internal bleeding, if the stabbing pain in your side wasn’t enough. Your unarmored arm also hung limp and uselessly. Broken.

The chunk of rock that currently pinned and left you defenseless  was far too heavy to move with both arms, let alone one, leaving you scrambling nowhere to get out. The very building that had protected and provided you shelter, a place to work and thrive, had turned into your own personal death trap.

It was getting harder and harder to breath. Your movements became slower and weaker with every move until, finally, they slowed to a stop, left weakly grasping at the rubble around you. Everything had now gone silent. Not even the sound of fighter jets could be heard.

You were completely, utterly, alone. That’s how you were going to die.

Alone.

No tears escaped as you set your jaw, accepting your grim fate. You had no regrets in life. None that could be rectified by living any longer anyways. You had created a great deal of beautiful and skillful items. Whoever happened to stumble upon your shop's ruins would surely have themselves a treasure trove. 

The one thing you found yourself wishing was that there would be someone to mourn you when you were gone. To look upon memories and smile with fondness as you had with your own father’s passing.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Your name would fade into nothing, just as insignificant and unknown as a shout into the empty space of the stars above. Stars that you would never be able to see.

It became darker, black spots dancing across the edges of your vision and growing. With one last shuddering breath, your body gave out, succumbing to its injuries as your consciousness faded.

Mere feet away from your impromptu crypt, the cracked yet unbroken transmitter blinked weakly. Two words flash and flicker across its screen. 

‘Message Sent’

___________

Mandoa translations (Roughly. I did my best)

Baskar-armor

goron-blacksmith/metalworker

Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.- “I know you will not disappoint me, my blacksmith.”

kar’ta beskar.- Iron heart, center of their chest armor

Karyai- gathering place for relaxation/eating, center of the home

Tracinya-flame

Ika-little

[lethargicsunlight]

'Demon': Prologue ♡ BakugouXFem!Reader (Book 1)

Alright I'm doing it.

I'm doing the thing.

It literally keeps me awake at night I gotta write thisss *cough* okay

Originally I was only going to post this unto Wattpad, but getting traction on their website is a little more difficult than good ole' Tumblr, so I'll be posting it on both. Feel free to visit my Wattpad here: LINK if you want to support my writing on that end. (I would so appreciate it)

This post is going to run pretty long, as it will host both the prologue of the story and my author's notes. Just a heads up.

Summery:

A slow-burn action/romance where you begin in the bowels of a Villain base and rise up to join U.A.'s top Hero Class. This life was your choice. In the event of learning then losing the love of a friend, you make a decision that changes your reality at the core--to become an imposter among villains and bring them down from the inside out. The organization that ruined your premature perfect life was known as H.H., after their leader Head-Honcho. His crime of choice: intelligence. Training and conducting espionage agents and assassins across Japan as a means to further the dark underground network. Your training began at thirteen, after managing to impress the multi-faced villain with your stealth and your conviction. Rumors would soon spread through the dark alleys of Naruhata City of a masked assassin known as Demon, whose bare face could steal the souls of her targets. Everything appears to be going to plan; but the Hero Agencies you've been slipping information to are calling for an end to your superior sooner than you had anticipated. Your time as 'Demon' is limited. What will happen when your world comes crashing down? Where will you go, when everything you had known you helped to destroy?

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is a slow burn fan-fic; and I am not italicizing those words without reason. This is going to be an agonizingly slow action-packed adventure-romance. This is a self-insert story, just like my three-part series 'Some Combat Training' (link) where you as the protagonist will not be described outside of being female, general physique, and a generalization of your uniform(s). Skin, hair, eyes, etc. will not be described at all--besides ambiguous adjectives. That said, I am taking liberties with physique and stature due to the nature of the story. You're abilities rely on stealth as well as close and fast combat, therefore you are described as 'small', 'lithe', 'athletic', and all of those other fancy little ninja woman words. Your personality has been shaped by the events of your life and the people within it; but if I were to describe it I would choose words like: Intelligent, determined, self-sacrificing, quiet, humble, and studious. The story will follow along with the anime for the most part starting at around the time of the USJ event, though at some point the story will branch off and become more my original concoction. (Such as, fast-forwarding the time-line to when the characters are older.) Some information about you as the protagonist will not be written here, as I plan for those to be revelations within the story. There will be angst, blood and gore, adult-humor, trauma, death, bad language and warnings will be listed with each chapter as needed. Feel free to comment on those chapters as soon as you see something that isn't mentioned that might make someone (if not yourself) feel uncomfortable. I will not be offended. This story is meant to get a little dark. Please comment if you can about your opinions! I have never posted an on-going fic before, and anything you have to say I would appreciate! <3 Now, please enjoy this short prologue~ Chapter 1 is being reviewed and edited, to be release very soon! 👹🖤⛓🔪💣 ...four...five...six.. You counted the footsteps behind your left ear, round the corner of the dim abandoned subway. You'd been stationary; still so long that your digits had all but numbed. Turn... one...two...three... The footsteps were distancing from the hall your attention had been set upon. A T-section, where the entity had gone down and away from your destination. You had to cross that 'T' to get to the junction--where you needed to leave a note completely undetected. The slightest mis-step would lead to suspicion. Suspicion would lead to investigation. Investigation lead to the five percent chance they could find that note--and no percentage was too small. It all hinged on absolute perfection. Nine...ten...eleven... This was their fifth round. A patrol. You had to make sure their movement were predictable before this would work--despite having successfully delivered the note fourty-two times and counting--you did not have the luxury of assumption. Only if their stride was even, only if you absolutely knew they were moving at a certain pattern, could you depend on the following information: It took fifteen steps before they would reach the broken light on their route. The haze of the dust and pollutants reflected in the working lights prior to that was your cover. Cross the 'T', leave the note, and cross it again. Out of sight and out of earshot, mission successful. Fourteen... f-- You turn, and it takes three steps to arrive at the drop to the tracks. You bunch and leap, and even the quietest friction of fabric from your uniform creases your brow. You land, just outside of the light's reach on the thin concrete slab beyond. Your eyes track the metals, the jutting wall tiles; that with which the barest touch could emit a sound--and you maneuver around them. Under, creeping low--and over, leaping to land on the balls of your feet and checking your balance before moving forward. Careful to not cast a shadow into the hall. Paced, so as not to move too quickly nor too slowly. Counting, because every second was controlled and calculated. You reach the juncture, and once again

edging the light you propel yourself to land back on the main thoroughfare. The next obstacle--removing the loose brick. Behind a metal bench centered between two closed-in stair cases, where the tile meets what had once been a decorative brick mosaic; eight bricks right and eighteen bricks up, was your note's destination. Just above your head, where you had to bend at an awkward angle to reach. Not practical, less detectable. You're wearing tight fabric gloves with grips on the pads, but thin enough you can feel the texture of the brick as you gently lace your fingers at each of the corners. Lifting, centering, and pulling the brick from its slot. Holding it just right, you can avoid the loud scrapes and grinds--but you have to hold it perfectly centered. Success. In goes the note. As does the brick, back into the wall. But you're only half-way done. Leap. Quiet, maneuver, avoid, measure. Silent. Leap. Hide. You're back is once again at the wall, the footsteps of the lackey you'd been avoiding closing in proximity to the Hall you'd just left. Four... five... six... Your eyes focus on the wall opposite of you as you ground yourself. The next few seconds determined a new reality. Either they followed their pattern, or they didn't. You had to be flexible. No assumptions. If they move towards the junction, you have to follow. If they move towards you, you'd calculate on your feet. Seven... eight... nine.. Turn. ...one...two...three.. You don't relax. Even after you count their steps to fifteen, even as you slip away back through the hall, even as you exit the unattended vent and breathe in fresh air--you don't relax until you're sitting on the floor in your room, calming down, your mask in your hands. After checking to make sure your door had not been opened, and no one had looked for you. No tracks in the dust. Only then do you allow yourself to ruminate on the contents of the note you had written, because you could still see every letter of it in your mind. ------ 55-1, Minami Senju 5-chome, Musutafu Target: Fukui Mitsuo Floor 8 3 AM. 7. Accompanied. Head. ------ For the briefest moment, you feel your hands shake. They always did on these nights. Realistically, you'd left no openings. Tested and re-tested every method. Calculated every movement. Left nothing to chance. But the 'what-if's' still linger, and you let them. The fear is good. It keeps you on your toes, your mind on edge, your tongue to the roof of your mouth. If he found out, you wouldn't know it until it was over. So you pretended he already did. Below you, underground in his base, plotting how to get at you when you were most vulnerable. Tear you to pieces, throw you in a pit or in a cage. No--too risky, he'd just kill you. A dead-end is better than a possibility. You'd learned that from him. You swallow, head turning so the amber morning sky is in your peripheral. All things considered, you would still unfortunately need sleep. You cherished the brief moments of sunlight and let your mind swim in the memories of your childhood spent in the daytime; before retiring to the broken and borrowed mattress. Seven days. You would check the location of your note in two. If there is another note in response, you would create a reactionary plan. The pattern continues. Until he finds out. ...Until he finds out.

[cakesunflower]

Between The Aisles [Prince!Calum AU] One Shot

A/N: this is just a random piece i drummed up. it’s 5.3k which is relatively short for me LMAO. i MIGHT do a second part to this but i’m not too sure yet; it depends if i’m in the mood to write second person again since we all know how much i hate that. but anyways. happy reading hehe

        The palace library is where you felt most at ease. It was, unsurprisingly, the quietest part of the overwhelmingly large estate, and you spent countless hours roaming the aisles, fingers brushing along the spines of the books, before finding a comfortable spot or a leather chair and losing yourself to a book of your choice. There were large windows on one side of the library, the glass actually taking up the entirety of the wall, allowing for endless natural light to bathe the room. The view was that of the valley below, the greenery as bright as the sunlight that streamed in—save for this time of year, where snow blanketed the grounds in pristine white and provided a haze through the sky. And sitting on a chair by the window, the snow falling gently outside, a book in your hands, was your favorite way to spend your time in the library.

           Along with, of course, the moments the Prince caught sight of you.

           The shelves in the library were many and stood tall, full of any and every novel and textbook and document the royal family and its curators could get their hands on to stock up. And through the gaps of the shelves down the long aisles, you would catch glimpses of Prince Calum making his way through, though never towards you—despite his attention being solely on you. You could feel it, every time—feel him. The way his dark eyes burned on your skin, a delicious sensation that simultaneously warmed you and sent chills down your spine. His wandering through the library would appear innocent, but you knew it was anything but. Knew that he was a predator on the hunt and every time, it was you who he was after. And you were compliant every time.

           Sometimes, the Prince would join you by taking a seat across from you, a book in his own hands. You two would sit in the quiet of the library, both doing your best in keeping your interest strictly on the books you were reading, never giving away the glances you’d lay upon the other. It was a game; always wanting to look at the other, but never wanting to be caught.

           It wasn’t as though your dalliance was forbidden; you were the daughter of Calum’s father’s, the King, most trusted advisor. You’d been living at the palace for as long as Calum had, were practically treated as royalty—though, not to the same extent as Calum, of course. But the only relationship you showed the world you had with Calum was that of being his friend, nothing more. It was easier that way, less attention.

           You didn’t enjoy it—the attention. But if it was Calum’s, during your private moments, you reveled in it.

           You often thought of that first night, where your friendship had turned into something more intimate, where you crossed a line neither of you expected to. It had been during one of the many parties the royal family threw in the palace—you couldn’t hope to remember what it had been for—and unsurprisingly had grown bored of the festivities. You were more prone to spend most of the night reading rather than drinking and entertaining people, which was why you had snuck off to the library. As the daughter of a high ranking member in the palace, just below the King and Queen, you were expected to present a smiling face and adapt to the role you were given. Unfortunately, your pretty face also deigned the attraction of the sons of noblemen and local lords—sons you didn’t want to entertain. So off to the library you went, the wine you had drank giving you the motivation to do so.

           It hadn’t been long after until there was another presence in the grand library, and you had been surprised, that first night, to look up from the book you had been reading to see the Prince himself wandering inside. How you two ended up hidden between the aisles as he took you against the shelves was a blur—but the memory of it actually happening was one burned in your head.

           It wasn’t as though the library was the only place where your trysts occurred; you’d often fall into one another’s beds, or the various hidden spots around the palace you grew up finding together in your explorations. But the library—it was a mutually favored location. A spot amongst hundreds of stories where you participated in one of your own, just for your eyes.

           Tonight, you were lost in the corner where the wall met the historical fiction section of the library, your bodies hidden by the rows and rows of high rising shelves, the setting sun dimming the room. How easily had Calum slid the leggings off of you, hands gripping your bare thighs, rings chilly against your heated skin as your legs wrapped around his hips, while he devoured your moans with the kisses he gave you. He tasted like peppermint, smelled delicious, and fit in you perfectly, familiarly, as his hips drove into yours at a wondrous, greedy pace.

           The world slipped away when it was just the two of you, and you tried not to think of how dangerous that was. To be so in tuned with the Prince, in how he made you feel, that everything else seemed second-best. But thoughts of anything else seemed impossible when you were with Calum, ever since you started seeking each other out for intimate companionship. You’d gotten a taste—more than a taste—and you were worried that you had grown addicted far quicker than anticipated.

           When you finished, heavy breaths mingling with his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble tickling your skin as your fingers remained tangled in his growing blonde hair, you closed your eyes. Still joined intimately, you waited for your heart rate to settle, were all too aware of the electricity still coursing through your veins in the aftermath of your shattering release. That’s what it felt like every time Calum brought you to the edge—like the world had slipped from beneath your feet and you were falling, falling, falling.

           Calum pulled away as his dark eyes met your gaze, and the windows high on the wall behind you provided for just some of the setting sunlight to gleam against his eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, lips kissed. Your own gaze fell to them briefly, a tug in your chest to kiss him again, but you remained pressed against the wall, trying to ease your labored breathing. “You’re comin’ to the party tomorrow, right?” Calum asked, voice hushed and raspy, just a hint of breathlessness present.

           You reveled in the feel of one of his hands raising so the back of his knuckle could graze along your cheek, his touch gentle. A small, lazy smile tilted at your lips as you gazed up at him, appreciative of the rasp in his voice that always trickled in when he was with you. “Of course,” you answered, just as quietly. With a teasing tone, you added, “I wouldn’t miss your Highness’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

           He rolled his eyes, though the amusement danced in them, as well as in the tilt of his lips. Calum wasn’t too fond of you referring to him by his title—at least not when it was just you two, absent from the eyes of the public—but he was all too aware of your tendency to call him by such in a playful manner. He couldn’t lie, though—the look in your eyes when you did so, mischief glimmering in them, always stirred something in the pit of Calum’s stomach. Something desirable, something wanting.

           “You have the habit of running out of parties early,” Calum pointed out with a ghost of a smirk, heart thudding when the flush on your cheeks darkened.

           You leaned your head back against the wall, never breaking your gaze. Your voice was soft as you responded, “Nothing’s ever as riveting as what I find in this room.”

           Calum quirked an eyebrow, smirk widening. You often found him in this room, just as he did you, so Calum was inclined to agree with your statement. He leaned in, fingers dragging up the warm skin of your thigh as his lips brushed against yours, the electricity of the touch singeing his veins. In a low voice, he persuaded, “At least wait until after the cake’s cut.”

           A breathless laugh escaped you, knowing there was no significance in his request other than the fact that the cake was always cut hours into the party. Calum just wanted you to stay longer than you normally would. Since it was his birthday, you were inclined to let him have this. So you tilted your head, just enough to brush the tip of your nose with his, words coming out in a whisper, “As you wish, sire.”

           You had expected his gaze to darken at your words, had expected them to push him towards the desire that still burned him enough to kiss you again. It was why you’d said them, after all.

*****

           The party was more or less a masquerade ball. You knew it wasn’t Calum’s idea as much as it was his parents’, but you knew he didn’t entirely mind. The grand ballroom was decorated fittingly in blacks and purples, several tables along the sides of the room filled with delicious food, while the room itself was brimming with guests dressed in their finest suits and dresses, pairing them with intricate masks that covered their eyes.

           You had gone for a red dress, the top half lace with off-the-shoulder full sleeves and a long, slim skirt of tulle that swayed with the slightest of movements. Your mask was of a matching red lace against a white velvet, the click of your heels against the sleek floor drowned out by the music playing and the chatter of the guests mingling. In your hand was a flute of, rings and nails clinking against the glass when you had grabbed it, sharp eyes taking in your surroundings as you moved about. There was an odd sense of relief in your chest that came with this being a masquerade—maybe you could get away with not being the daughter of the King’s advisor but just you.

           Though every face was hard to place, there was one that you recognized right away—how could you not? Calum was the man of the night, and he certainly looked like it in his custom made black suit, the jacket glittering with swirling designs that gleamed under the bright lights of the ballroom. Even his mask, black with gold details, did next to nothing to hide his powerful personality. You recognized the rings on his fingers, the jewelry leaving imprints on your skin after every time you sought each other out for your private moments. You would know him anywhere by the way he carried himself, tall and proud and the next heir to the throne. You didn’t even need the stunning golden crown, bedecked in jewels of deep red and blue, to know that it was him. You’d know him anywhere.

           You hadn’t seen each other for most of the day, so you were patiently waiting for the moment to go up to him and wish him a happy birthday, to smile at him from under your mask without worrying too much of people looking at you too closely. And you watched, in that moment, as Calum glanced around after breaking away from a couple of people he’d been talking to.

           For a moment, you foolishly wondered if he was looking for you.

           But then, through the space of guests in gorgeous gowns and elegant suits, somehow Calum’s eyes found yours. You noted the curve of his lips, expecting to see a smirk, feeling the air get knocked out of your lungs at the sight of the grin that he wore. Then he made his way towards you, and you started moving towards him as well, stopping right when you were in front of one another. You smiled, sweet and adoring. “Happy birthday, Calum.”

           His smile widened when you uttered his name, raising his own glass to clink it against yours. “Hope you’re not planning your escape now that you’ve made an appearance.”

           Your cheeks flushed but smile remained, shooting him a mock offended look. “I would never,” you soothed, adoring the amusement dancing in his eyes.

           The music changed then, a whimsical ballad sweeping through the room as people sought partners to dance with. Calum’s dark eyes never left yours, and he offered his free hand with a gentle, “May I have this dance?”

           One simply doesn’t reject the Prince with such a request. Ignoring the escalating beating of your heart, you and Calum both put your glasses on a passing waiter’s tray, throat tightening as you placed your hand in Calum’s and his fingers wrapped around yours. You were all too aware of the gazes that weighed you down, the eyes on the Prince and the girl he was pulling towards the center of the room, whether they knew who you were or not. The attention wasn’t anything you enjoyed, though you should be used to it at this point, but you tried to focus on just one thing: Calum.

           He moved seamlessly through the crowd that made way for him, turning around to face you as his left hand grasped your right, your left resting upon his shoulder and reveling in his other arm wrapping around your waist, tugging you towards him, too intimate to be casual. But what the others in the room didn’t know just how far your intimacy went—far beyond the would-be innocent closeness of a slow dance.

           You tried to put it out of your mind, the stares, as you and Calum moved to the ballad amongst the other dancing guests, your body taut as your front pressed against his, your dress swaying with your movements. “You’re not nervous because of me, are you?” Calum questioned, the teasing tone easing into his voice.

           You were grateful for it, knowing that he was all too aware of your issues with too much public attention. Making light of it helped and he knew that. “You think too highly of yourself,” you replied quietly, a secretive smile curling at your lips.

           A smirk pulled at his mouth, looking down at you through the mask. “I’m a Prince—it’s in my nature.”

           “As is all this attention,” you said, almost breathlessly. You wished you could ignore the gazes completely, but it seemed next to impossible. With a small smile, you asked him, “Are you sure I can’t sneak off before the cake’s cut?”

           Calum raised his eyebrows, fingers holding a pleasant grip on yours, the metal of his rings clashing with your thinner ones. “You’d leave me to fend for myself?”

           A huff of a laugh escaped you, gently rolling your eyes as the small grin played on his face. “You’d be just fine without my company.”

           “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

           Your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body because of Calum’s words—and his own front pressed against yours. Your gaze slid over to your joined hands, a clear picture of crossing the line of casual and treading into intimacy with the way your fingers were linked together. It was difficult to block out the images flashing through your mind of your hands joined exactly like that, except it occurring during the moments where he took you against the wall in the library or where you both were tangled in either of your bed sheets. It was the way Calum held you that always had your thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, wondering if it could possibly be something more than just the two of you biding your time with each other’s company.

           Was there room for something more? Did he want that? Did you?

           Deep in your heart, you did. You couldn’t hide that even from yourself. But he was the Prince. And you often tried to escape whatever spotlight you already had in the palace—being with Calum would only intensify it.

           The voice in the back of her head reminded you of what you already had accepted, He’s worth it.

           “Hey,” Calum said softly, giving a squeeze of your hand until your gaze met his again. With a slight tilt of his head, he asked curiously, “Where did you go?”

           When you got lost in your thoughts just then, you knew he meant. Calum had the ability to read people pretty well—it was something he learned to do effortlessly in his upbringing—and it never slipped your mind that he could do it exceptionally well where you were concerned. He could read you like his favorite book.

           You were surprised you didn’t quite trip on your feet as you took in the way he was gazing at you. Brown eyes soft beneath the mask that glittered against his golden skin, an encouraging tilt on his lips. But you couldn’t tell him where your thoughts had taken you, couldn’t speak out about the imagination that held you captive most days, cruelly making you think about a relationship you didn’t believe would ever come to fruition. Calum was a Prince—he was destined to be with someone of royal status, or close to it, despite the way you, yourself, were treated because of your close affiliations with the royal family. Your name bore no title; you weren’t worthy. Not of him.

��          Before you could even think of an answer you could casually pass off, someone stepped up to you. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, loves,” Calum’s mother, the Queen, spoke with a smile, always kind. Her eyes went to her son from behind her emerald green mask. “But there’s some people who want to wish you, sweetheart.”

           Calum glanced at you as you pressed your lips together in a kind smile. You’d stopped dancing at his mother’s arrival, but your touches remained. Calum glanced at you, as if he needed your permission to cut the dance short, and it pulled something in your chest as you gave just the barest dip of your chin. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you excused herself, reluctantly stepping out of his grasp. You didn’t dare acknowledge the coldness you felt without the warmth of his body.

           You watched as he was whisked away, biting the inside of your lip as you made your way out of the dancing crowd. Like you had said, you grabbed another drink, this time going for some red wine as you found a spot to linger at by the wall. You watched, sipping your drink, as the Queen led Calum to a small group of people, and you knew immediately they were some of the local lords—their wives and daughters right by their sides.

           Calum smiled at them, that charming Prince smile that effortlessly melted people, and you could just hear the giggles of the daughters despite the distance between you. You were so busy watching them, observing them, that you didn’t even notice the person who came to stand by your side until Luke huffed out a breath. “And so it begins.”

           You glanced up at your friend, the silver mask making his light blue eyes pop as you raised an eyebrow. “What begins?”

           Luke jerked his chin over to where Calum was, a wry smile on his lips. “The matchmaking. He’s already twenty-five, which means they’re gonna try to marry him off before he’s crowned king.” Luke shot you a glance, raising a curious eyebrow. “Come on, you know this.”

           You did know this, and suddenly your skin flushed from embarrassment. He was the Prince—the next to become King, and everyone knew that it would be sooner rather than later. That in itself had never slipped your mind—the notion of him marrying, however, did. And you couldn’t understand how, not with the conversations the two of you sometimes had when you laid in bed, staring at the high ceilings of your rooms. Where Calum would talk about his excitement of becoming King despite the pressures that came with it, only ever worried about the thought of getting married.

           He had made it clear to his parents, you knew, that he wanted to marry for love. Calum was never one to take something as significant as marriage lightly, and his parents understood—they, after all, had married for love. Still, that wouldn’t stop them from introducing their son to daughters of high ranking members of their society in hopes that one of them would catch Calum’s eye. It never escaped you that when Calum did talk about marriage, he always ended the conversation—before it could even start, honestly—by simply stating he’d only marry someone he loved, someone who wanted him and not his title. He could easily tell which girls were like that—most of them were, he had said.

           And you’d just listen, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that loving Calum was easier than breathing—and that it was his very title that suffocated the confession in your throat before it could ever escape.

           Your eyes were glued to Calum, watching that easy smile on his face as he chatted away with the women, and your chest tightened almost painfully. Every single available woman, you knew, would trip over their feet for Calum’s attention, to be the one he takes a second look at and be curious for more. And it twisted something in your stomach at the thought of it someday happening—of it happening tonight.

           You and Calum—you weren’t anything. Just two friends who were fooling around, to put it crudely. Who were you to be allowed a seat next to him other than the daughter of the crown’s advisor?

           The truth—one you already knew—slapped you in the face as you forced down the rest of the wine. How could you have been so stupid, so foolish, to fall for the Prince? How could you have believed that sleeping with him on more than one occasion wouldn’t lead your heart into despair? How naïve.

           You barely managed another hour of the party when you finally slipped away, feeling some guilt pool in your stomach at not being able to stick around for as long as Calum had wanted you to. But he was busy; many beautiful women were surrounding him in hopes of securing a future—he wouldn’t miss your presence too much, you figured.

           Of course you ended up in the library once more—getting lost in a fictional world with made up characters sounded much more enchanting than being stuck in reality. It was empty, unsurprisingly, the music and chatter of guests in the ballroom muted as you ventured into the one place you felt most comfortable. Despite it being nighttime, the sky beyond the glass wall was light with the haze of snowfall, frost icing the glass.

           You ventured down a random aisle, deciding to pick a book by whatever its title was, hoping it would be enough to distract you from the weight that had settled in your chest. You didn’t know what you were going to do; you desperately hoped this feeling, this ache and yearning, would disappear soon for your own good. But it was wishful thinking, a bitter part of your mind reminded. Falling in love with Calum had been effortless; falling out of it seemed impossible.

           You didn’t dare acknowledge the idea of him not feeling the same way about you at all.

           Your retreat to the library remained undisturbed for about twenty minutes when, in the quiet of the room, you heard one of the large doors creak open. You had found refuge on one of the leather chairs, your mask sitting on the table beside you as a novel about witches and witch-hunters sat open in your lap, legs folded beneath you as your dress pooled around your lap.

           Your heart raced at the thought of who would come to the library while there was a party in honor of the Prince going on, and it damn near stopped when Calum himself appeared, his mask missing as his dark eyes found you.

           The breath hitched in your throat as he frowned, approaching you, features shadowed thanks to the dull lighting you’d set the room into. As you peered at him, your stomach sank when you saw the disappointment etched into his face, mixing in with the hurt you hadn’t entirely expected. You knew it was a shitty thing to do, to leave his birthday celebration so early, but you had been thinking with your aching heart. Getting away in order to free yourself from the view of Calum with potential suitors had become a selfish priority.

           He stood just a few feet away from you, shrugging bitterly as he asked, “Did you even try to see your promise through?”

           You wanted to tell him you didn’t technically promise him anything. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a muttered, “Didn’t think you’d even notice I left.”

           Calum frowned, eyebrows knitting together and lips pulling downwards. “Of course I noticed you left. I would’ve come here sooner but Mum kept me by her side.”

           Dropping your gaze back down to the open book in your lap, you scoffed lightly. “Right—to introduce you to a potential bride.”

           You were losing control of yourself, you knew, with how easily the sarcastic and bitter remarks were slipping past your mouth. It was pathetic how unabashedly you were letting your feelings be known, practically shining a light on your jealousy and resentment. And it wasn’t fair—not to Calum, that you’d fallen for him. That you never let him know that there was something more you wanted with him. That putting aside your reluctance of being in any kind of spotlight would’ve been so easy so long as he was by your side.

           “To introduce me to potential suitors, yes,” Calum corrected carefully, slowly, and you could just hear the bewildered frown in his voice. You watched from your peripherals as he took a step towards you. “But I’ve told you—and Mum—that if I were to get married, it’d only be for love.”

           There was a burning in your eyes and you cursed yourself for becoming emotional. You couldn’t cry, not because of this. You willed the tears to keep at bay as you looked up once more to look at Calum. He was still frowning, confused as to what was happening, probably wondering what had gotten you in such a foul mood. Too quietly did you respond, “What’s stopping you from falling in love with one of them?”

           Dangerous. You were creeping towards dangerous, exposing territory, but you no longer found yourself caring. If he found out about your feelings, then so be it. You wouldn’t shy away, wouldn’t hide. Not anymore. He would know, and then it’d be up to him what to do with it. And maybe that was a coward’s way out, giving him the power so you wouldn’t have to make a decision, but it would make it easier to breathe.

           Calum’s lips tightened as his jaw clenched, the muscle feathering under the skin as he looked down at you. Emotions swirled in his dark gaze—too many for you to grasp. His crown glinted against the lights, but you couldn’t help but think his eyes glittered far more beautifully. His throat worked, voice a deep rasp as he held your gaze and stated evenly, “I won’t fall for any of them. I’m already in love with you.”

           The air rushed out of your lungs, almost audible in the silence that followed his unwavering confession. You were frozen where you sat, drinking in the sight of him as his words hung in the air. The honesty was bright in his eyes for you to see, open and true and needing you to believe the sincerity in his words—his feelings. Your throat locked as you took in the Prince before you—a King in every right—who had just laid himself bare in a few short words that meant everything.

           He loved you. Calum was in love with you.

           The tears you had tried to keep away ran freely down your cheeks. You didn’t even care that you could taste the salt on the corner of your lips. Something in Calum’s face crumpled when he saw your tears, and suddenly the Prince was on his knees before you, hands grasping yours in your lap as he looked up at you.

           “I’ve been in love with you long before we started finding each other in this library,” Calum said, his voice low and raspy and honest. His hands were warm around yours, the chill of his rings enticing as always. But all you could focus on was his brown eyes. On his earnest words. “It was torture—being with you but not being with you. But I kept it to myself out of fear that you didn’t feel the same, that you didn’t want the. . . Attention of being with me.” It was terrifying—and exciting—how well he knew her, in regards to his second statement, of course. Calum cracked a smile, small and hopeful. “Because holding you like that. . . Kissing you. . . and still being just your friend was better than the alternative.”

           Your heart was erratic in your chest, breath shaking as your trembling lips parted and you whispered, “You want to be with me? Outside of the library?”

           Calum tipped his chin up, maintaining your gaze, a softness in his eyes that melted your heart. “I want to be with you in any way you’ll have me.”

           You would be lying if you said there was no fear in that idea. It was present, of course, derived from your aversion to the attention you would no doubt receive by being at Calum’s side. You wanted him, not his crown, even though most would say it was one in the same. But if being with him meant being tied to the throne, then you would bear it. For your happiness, you would do it. For him, there was no question about it.

           Calum was waiting for your response, for you to say something, hands still clutching yours. And although this turn of events was unexpected, slightly frightening—it was all the more exciting and relieving. He loved you. He’d beensilently loving you, perhaps for as long as you have him, and you would have laughed at both of your cluelessness if you weren’t so deliriously happy.

           So you leaned forward, the book in your lap long forgotten, gaze never leaving Calum’s. The brown of his eyes was always so compelling, so alluring, his mouth waiting to be kissed. Your lips tilted up, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you told him quietly, “I’ve spent so long loving you between these aisles. I’m ready to do it out there, too.”

           The smile he gave you wasn’t the one he wore as Prince, wasn’t the one he offered to lords and noblemen and their daughters and the media. No, this smile was one especially reserved for you; a smile that softened his eyes and decorated the corners with those happy crinkles, a smile that sent your heart racing and skin warming. It was the smile he gave you when you were in bed together, one he would shoot towards you during events neither of you were particularly fond of and your eyes met from across the room.

           It was the smile he wore right before he kissed you for the first time since both of your feelings had been made clear, lips soft and eager. This smile was yours.

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @loveroflrh​ @meetashthere​ @astroashtonio​ @loverofhood​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbabiesss​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @highfivecalum​ @malumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @miss-saltwatercowgirl​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @mindkaleidoscope​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @tpwkcal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @wildflowergrae​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @gosh-im-short​ @notinthesameguey​ @mycollectionofnuts​ @cthwldflwr​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @socorroann​ @talkfastromance4​ @calumftduke​ @musichoney​ @treatallwithkindness​ @partlysunnycal​ @dead-and-golden​ @kaeleykaeley​ @harrys-sun-flower​ @br-hoe​ 

[ggyuwwoo]

heaven's cloud : Paradise

- in the afterlife where we get to choose our own paradise, two souls unexpectedly meet.

genre: soulmates!au, but also involves idolverse, kinda fantasy whimsical, afterlife-paradise world; fem!reader x lee chan warnings: mentions of death, magical creatures, not really sure what else i guess word count: 2.4k + i generally am not good at making these infos, bear with me sorry! also not really fond of the fic picture, but i also suck and still is learning,,,,

next | masterlist

-

Lee Chan, for your exemplary journey in life, you are hereby bestowed a place in Paradise.

"I'll take the clouds if I may,"

Then to the clouds you shall ascend, Heaven's Cloud.

-

Eleven months of (not) living in paradise, Chan had adapted well into his afterlife. The Guides had placed him in his own haven of his choosing, the Clouds. Fluffy white and softer than cashmere, the touch is cooling and healing, peace and quiet were also a given. To Chan, it's his very definition of heaven.

Despite being the only soul - apparently, no one has chosen the Clouds for centuries - Chan has been never alone. He had the little fairies and spirits to keep him company while wandering around the forests. Stars often appear in his nights to cast a light show for the boy. Cancer loves to see Chan's awe-stricken face as the constellation shows him a few tricks.

The Clouds inhabitants and surrounding astronomical beings grew fond of the boy. Hence, Lee Chan never felt alone.

Though it was a blissful experience and a beautiful memory, there was only one month left. One month until the end of his livelihood above the world.

You will be given twelve months of afterlife until your next life begins.

Chan still doesn't understand why they must be sent back to Earth, living another full life that may or may not be 'great'. Though the thought of living on Earth, whatever their life might be, is already a disappointing thought. After having to exist in a paradise of your own, nothing else would come close.

But apparently, the universe believes differently.

The fairies and spirits told him once, 'Universe sought in a cycle, to them it's the perfect way as it does not end, leading to the continuation of life and its purposes.'

"But what exactly do those purposes serve if there is no end to it?"

'There is none silly, if there was to be an end to it, then life itself would cease to exist. It serves to preserve life as we know it, and well - the Universe.'

Chan pondered the thought for a while, "What if, just really hypothetically, someone happens to break the cycle, what happens then?"

The fairies' expression saddened, 'Hopefully it never happens.' Some of them flew to sit on Chan's shoulder, a calming place for them. 'But if it were to happen somehow, life wouldn't perish instantly, but the Universe and everything in it will meet its end, including the afterlife.'

The boy nodded before noticing the frowns on the beautiful faces of the winged creatures, the atmosphere had taken a drop turn. Choosing to lighten the somber mood, Chan raised another question. "Well then, um, what about aliens? Do they exist?”

-

Throughout the time he was there, Chan spent it listening to the stories of the creatures, exploring the cloud haven that seemingly doesn't end, and conversing every now and then with the astronomical beings -- when they so happened to be passing by.

It didn't get boring for the boy as the stories that the fairies had been plenty and new, never losing the interest of Chan, and the beings were more than happy to talk with him about almost anything.

Of course, all this was okay and fine, revealing the Universe's secrets and whatnot, Chan wouldn't remember this anyway when he enters his next life.

On the first day of his twelfth month, Chan woke up from his sleeping quarters in the usual well-rested sleep. Walking out to do his routine of visiting the forest and later on relaxing by the Serenity Sky Lake. But before he could reach the outlines of White Forest, he saw a figure walking through the field, he couldn't see clearly who it was, but what he registered in his mind was enough to make him gasp.

It was another soul. A human.

As quickly as his feet could take him, Chan sped through the flurry landscape of clouds, wanting to figure out this stranger.

"Hey you! Hey!"

The figure turned to the general direction of where Chan was coming from, revealing its appearance. Upon view, Chan stumbled over nothing, causing him to fall forward into a roll and tumbling on the ground until he laid flat on his back. Luckily, there were clouds under him.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" He heard the figure shout before rustling and someone appeared by his side. Chan scrunched his eyes trying to block the light coming from above while identifying the person looming over him. The first thing he noticed was long brown hair, the strands were flowing almost magically. As if hypnotized by it, Chan could only stare. Until finally, he saw the stranger's face.

She’s ethereal.

~

You were quite confused as to why you were where you were. All you could see for miles were… white? Your body was standing on nothing, or at least that was how it looked. A sudden voice interrupted your wonders.

Welcome _____, you are in Paradise.

You turned back to find the source of the voice but all you found was a blinding light that caused you to squint your eyes.

“Wh-what? Where?”

Paradise dear, the afterlife.

Your mind went blank, the afterlife? No way. Your brain tried remembering the last thing before waking up in this weird place.

There’s no use child, your memories are long gone. But I can tell you this, you went in peace. You weren’t in pain.

Were the voices capable of reading minds? And who were they? You were a bit frightened.

To answer your question, yes we can read minds. We are the Guides, here to assist the souls in the afterlife. There’s no need to be afraid.

“Uh, okay, ...thank you?” You voiced out, still a little overwhelmed with whatever was going on.

Well then, perhaps we should take you to your choice. Please, follow the green path.

Just as the voices finished speaking, a sudden green line appeared in front of you. You couldn’t see what was ahead, just the green line until the end. You decided to follow through, whatever this was.

As you walked on the path, you were gradually transported to a different place. When you were finally able to understand your surroundings, there were screens that had different landscapes and writings in different colors under them. The scenes displayed were (what you could only describe as) heavenly. Each of them has its own set of vibe and warmth to it. Unconsciously your hand moved itself to touch one of the screens, but then the voices returned prompting you to pull it back.

What you see in front of you are the places in Paradise, according to how one lives their life on Earth, you have a series of options that you may choose from. I shall provide you a look-through.

The screens suddenly disappeared and now you were standing in what looked like those busy city streets, only not so busy.

First is the Silver City. Its appearance resembles the metropolitan areas down on Earth but without all the pollution, noises, and busy traffic. Many people who had used to live in these areas usually choose them, sensing a familiarity to it, they say.

As the Guides explained its landscapes, you were admiring the tall buildings and skyscrapers around you. The architectural designs were marvelous and even if you didn’t remember if you had studied such things, you can’t help but stare in admiration.

Aside from the buildings, the streets looked beautiful as well. The sidewalks were arranged perfectly as if it was placed with the most proper city planning. But one building stuck out to you most, it was majestic. A silver mansion, with tall gates and filled with all kinds of trees and plants. Before you could step towards it, the Guides were already finished explaining the Silver City and had transported you instead to another location.

Second, the Golden Countryside. As the name states, this place is best likely your ultimate countryside farm paradise. A quaint farmhouse with animal livestock to nurture and many forests to explore and spend time in. Families often choose this place for their resting, it’s quite homey.

True to their words, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was a vast field of grass with a simple two-story house that looked like it could fit six bedrooms. Beside it was a giant farmhouse and animals roaming around it. The view itself was doubled in beauty as the sun (or whatever source of light that existed here) sets from behind, casting a soft orange glow over it. Somehow the silver mansion from earlier was placed way aside in your head. Yet again, before you could ask any questions, you were immediately transported once more.

The third is Cosmic Space. Ever wondered how it is to live in Space child?

You heard the voice give out a sound that was similar to a laugh, but somehow not quite.

More people than you’d expect actually dream of this. It may not be as simple as the City or the Countryside, but it’s nonetheless paradise. To them.

Now you were most definitely floating, though despite floating in the middle of random space, you could breathe easily and see easily as well. You thought that space may be too wild for you but as you were looking around, you saw one of the most magical things you have ever seen.

“A comet shower…”

The Guides seemed to have heard you as they projected the shower closer, now holographic space comets were right above you, shining as they continued the rain of them. Mesmerized was all you could feel, the meteors were almost hypnotizing you.

“Whoa…”

Beautiful isn’t it?

Was the last thing you heard before you felt the sudden pull of transport again, at this point you were no longer fazed with the continuous changing of locations, though you did wish to have been able to watch the shower longer.

Number four, the Pearl Waters. For those who favor the deep sea and vast oceans. Of course, many souls who felt close to the waves chose this. The afterlife here is often intriguing, staying with the many creatures and traveling wherever paradise takes you.

You found yourself standing on a deck of a ship, it was modernized though some parts resemble that of an older version. Heading to the flanks you watched the blue ocean as the waves sloshed around the sides. As if welcoming you, dolphins suddenly jumped above the sea, whalebacks spurting water, and schools of fish could be seen from the clear water. You were most surely amazed. As the sea creatures displayed a water show, you felt something touching your arm on the railing. You looked to find a woman with green-blue hair, her cheeks had features similar to scales, and as you peered further you realized it wasn’t a woman at all.

“A...mermaid?”

Ah yes, indeed. Each paradise also has guardians that help care and maintain the afterlife. Mermaids are the Pearl Waters guardians. As for the Silver City, we have the Elves. Golden Countryside has the Shapeshifters while Cosmic Space has Angels.

“Wait what?” You were pretty much confused all together, mythical creatures? Well, then again, it is the afterlife, who knows what actually exists here. But still, you found yourself in confusion and quite the shock.

Not to worry dear, you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted. Now for our last destination.

The mermaid who was staring at your side gave you a small smile before disappearing back into the ocean. You continued to stare at her general direction before your view changed into that of...clouds?

Last but not the least, Heaven’s Cloud. It’s truly magical here. Not many people find it appealing though, but of course it always depends on who’s choosing. Essentially, it's the skies. The guardians here are the fairies and spirits. Quite the peculiar and very friendly creatures.

As your eyes set on the landscape, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. It was breathtaking. It was as if you were standing right in front of the Sun but at the same time, you weren’t. You knew for one you’ve never been in a place like this yet all you could feel from the surroundings was home. You leaned down to touch the fluffy ground and it was the softest thing you’ve ever felt. As quickly as the previous location visits, the surroundings changed again back to their original place with screens.

Now _____, because of the well-lived life that you have gone through. You, _____, are given the choice of one of the five Paradises that you have just seen. Speak now for your choice.

You didn’t know if it was your own voice and mind that spoke, or your conscience, because the sound that erupted from your body sounded firm and almost unbreakable. You didn’t even realize that you had spoken your choice after it was said.

“Heaven’s Cloud if I may,”

The Guides paused for a moment as if they were thinking about something, before continuing.

Very well then, your heart has spoken. To Heaven’s Cloud, you shall go.

One last time, you were again transported to a field with white clouds, similar to the earlier landscape you visited. This time without the voices. Somehow you suddenly felt alone, scared, and unsure of what to do. Wandering aimlessly, you tried looking for the guardians - the fairies and spirits. Then you suddenly heard someone shout.

“Hey you! Hey!”

You turned back to see a man, brown fluffy hair swaying atop his head, running towards you. Well, was running, until he stumbled down and started rolling across the field.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” you shouted before heading towards the boy. As you reached his side, you saw he was unhurt and fine, just squinting his eyes. You sighed in relief, although it should make sense, after all, it was clouds underneath them. Before you could say anything to the stranger, you caught him staring right at you, and somehow you stared back as well.

The boy looked mesmerizing.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 24

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Keeping busy makes the day go by.

Martin and Jon discuss household chores.

Martin took great care to not make too much noise as he walked down the stairs. He still avoided the creakiest steps, and down he went as quiet as the house would allow.

He didn’t wonder whether the night before had been a dream. His dreams weren’t like that, so vivid and specific. They weren’t narratives he could make sense of, if he remembered them at all. On waking, he was usually left with the anxious certainty that he had made a horrible mistake or had forgotten to do something important. But that night had been real.

Still, when he made it to the ground floor he peeked in the downstairs toilet to make sure Jon’s clothes were hanging on the shower rod along with the small bag he’d been carrying. Those items were present. What he didn’t find was the seal skin.

Martin continued to the living room door. Curled up into a tight ball, Jon remained buried in the blanket and couch cushions. Martin let loose the breath he’d been holding. He continued on to the kitchen to make his breakfast in silence.

It was nothing to dwell on. Jon must’ve stowed the coat somewhere while Martin was asleep. They hadn’t known each other that long, so it wouldn’t do to keep something so important openly hanging in the shower when Jon had had such a scare with the thing. He’d trusted Martin enough to tell him the truth. It didn’t matter that Jon had squirreled the skin away in the dead of night.

Had Jon believed what he’d said about his mother leaving? Was it suspicious that she was gone?

Toast popped up hot and ready, making him jump. He looked back into the living room, checking if the noise had been enough to wake Jon, but the man was sound asleep in his little cocoon. Perhaps all of the caution wasn’t necessary with someone who was sleeping well for the first time in weeks. Longer, if his habit of calling without any thought to the time was any indication. 

He should’ve checked on Jon. Even if he hadn’t had reason to suspect anything it’s what he would’ve appreciated in Jon’s place. Just because he hadn’t felt like making the effort-

Would it have helped, though, if Tim and Sasha were ready to cover things up? What excuse could they have given except that Jon had lost his mobile or switched numbers and hadn’t given out his new one yet? He hadn’t had a real reason to pry into Jon’s business. A barely established friendship didn’t count.

He could have tried anyway. Hopefully letting Jon stay would make up for it, even if there was no bed to offer.

While he wasn’t against letting him use his own bed in theory, Martin knew he was too bloody tall to sleep comfortably on the old couch all night. If things went on long enough it could be discussed, but it was better for both of them to get sleep.

Hers didn’t count.

Thinking that far ahead wouldn’t do any good, so he pushed his mess of thoughts to one side and focused on eating breakfast and scribbling onto a small piece of paper.

‘Jon,

Help yourself to food. Be back in the evening.

-Martin’

Martin considered the note for a moment, then scribbled his number at the bottom. 

‘For emergencies.’

What emergencies he could help with he couldn’t say, but he left his number all the same. The chance of Jon having it memorized was slim to none and it wouldn’t have been fair to keep Jon with no contact at all. It was the best excuse Martin could hope for.

He gently laid his plate in the sink in one final attempt to keep the silence, and got ready to leave.

--

Jon didn’t call him at any point that day. And rightly so, following prior agreements of safety and secrecy. It was fine, no calls meant no emergencies, but as the hours passed it was easy to forget the outside world and its greater goings-on. The window on the front door wasn’t much of a reminder, not with how tiny and far away it was, and not with the crappy weather blocking any light other than what could seep through the endless grey. 

The wall clock was placed in an awkward location from where he sat, so timekeeping felt like guesswork. He’d stopped checking the clock often to avoid the disappointment of finding himself only five minutes closer to leaving. It could be any day of the week if he kept his mobile out of sight. 

But he could feel lunch time. He could feel when he was to climb the stairs and complete his tasks by muscle memory. And he knew in his bones when he was meant to leave.

In the dark of the evening the timelessness clung to him. It wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the cliffs and saw the windows lit up from the inside of his home that he felt himself settle back into the present. There was a person in his house, and for a while he stood back by the forest path and stared at the little square of light that was his kitchen window. 

He felt like an intruder, a spy peering in through his own kitchen window from afar, and it took a particularly large gust of rain-splattering wind in his face to get him moving again.

It was his house. There was just a person in it other than himself.

The smell of cooked food was the first thing he noticed when he walked inside, even before he saw the small and scuffed brown shoes on the rug, or the thin jacket on the end hook he normally used. Something was being cooked, fried, and he spent a minute on the front rug not knowing how to proceed.

From the kitchen, he heard a tentative, “Martin? Is that you?”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s me.” Finally placing the damned coat somewhere, he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the kitchen. 

Jon peeked his head through the kitchen doorway, wariness falling from his face as he saw Martin for himself. “Barely heard the door open over the wind outside. How were things today?”

“Fine, I guess? What’s-” Martin looked over Jon’s head and saw a pan hissing on the stove, alongside a boiling pot of water. “What’re you making?”

“Something easy and not made of fish,” Jon replied, heading toward the stove top. “Hope you don’t mind, I used some of the chicken in the freezer and box pasta. Should be enough for the both of us.”

Head running on empty, Martin could only nod and take a seat at the kitchen table, threading and unthreading his fingers in front of him. It felt wrong to be sitting there in his own kitchen without a task, but Jon had already put in the time and effort to make dinner. Still, his hands were painfully idle in his lap.

He said quietly, “Smells good.”

From the stove, Jon raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the pan in front of him. “I’d hope so. Can’t go much more basic than this.” He lifted the pan to show breaded chicken frying away.

“Still, it’s nice of you. Thanks.”

“Mm.” He flipped the stove off and went to strain the noodles. “Anyway, now that I’m awake, thank you for letting me stay the night. Hopefully this helps make up for my sudden appearance.” 

“It’s no trouble. Would’ve liked more warning, though.”

Jon frowned. “Well… I would’ve called if I could.”

It didn’t feel like a purposeful accusation, but it stung anyway. “Can’t change things now. Speaking of calling, though… Did you want me to get in touch with Tim or Sasha about this? I know you said you wanted to wait until they were here, but I don’t know when that’ll be.” 

“No, not yet.” Jon placed a strainer full of noodles back over the pot and leaned against the counter. “Call me over-cautious, but I don’t trust anything traceable right now. I’d considered calling Georgie over your phone line to pass on a message, but I don’t think her going in a second time would fly under the radar.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Martin said, “So until they get here…”

“Until then, I’d like to stay here. We can explain things to Tim and Sasha, figure out your situation, and then-” His face fell. “I’m not sure what comes after that.”

In the silence that followed, Jon busied himself with assembling two plates of food, turned in such a way that Martin couldn’t see his expression. It was an uncomfortable quiet that ate away at the composure he’d managed to pull together throughout the work day. 

When Jon set the plate down in front of him, he jumped in his seat.

Jon’s brows scrunched together. “Are you all right?”

“Just… tired, is all.”

“Right. So-” Jon set his own plate down and sat on the other side of the table, a perfectly natural choice of seating. “We didn’t talk for long last night. I know part of what you’re going through isn’t- it’s not by business, but if I’m going to help then I need to know if you’ve noticed any changes, with the lighthouse or with- with other things.”

Martin stared down at his dinner. It was plain, breaded chicken with noodles. Smelled a bit of lemon and garlic. 

“Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed besides what you already know.” 

It was fine. The taste was about what he would’ve expected from the smell, and it was better than anything he’d been planning to make with his remaining energy. It was a nice thing for Jon to do. He forced each bite down through the sting of his throat.

“It tastes all right?” Jon asked casually. 

Martin nodded with a raise of his eyebrows, taking another bite of chicken.

“Good. I’m not out of practice.” 

After that, the only sounds remaining were those of clinking silverware and the beating of rain on the kitchen window.

It should’ve been nice, but as Martin ate the pain in his throat only grew, spreading through his head and upper chest. It was nice that Jon had made dinner, and he’d kept it simple enough that even Martin could pay it back in the future. Something as tiny as this shouldn’t have made him feel anything other than full. Instead his head pounded behind his eyes.

“You… You don’t have to eat it,” Jon said. When Martin looked up he was met with an expression of mild exasperation. “It’s fine if you don’t like it. I’m not holding you at gunpoint. Though if I’m going to be living here we should probably settle what we each don’t like.”

“What?” God, that wasn’t a pleasant sound, especially with food still in his mouth. Martin swallowed down hard, realized he had nothing to drink, and stood up. “I need some water. You?”

Thrown off somewhat, Jon sputtered, “N- Well, yes, but-”

“Great.” Martin strode across the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet to fill in the sink. As he held one under the faucet, he noticed there were no dirty dishes underneath.

From behind he could hear Jon shift in his chair. “It’s really not a big deal if you don’t like it.”

With two full glasses he returned to the table, taking a sip of his own and then setting them both down. “What is? No, right, yeah, dinner tastes fine. Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Martin, that’s not very convincing when you were just staring at it like it was a lump of mud.”

“I wasn’t-” He took his seat and reached internally for some excuse with no luck. What kind of faces had he been making? Reaching for his fork, he said, “It’s fine. Good. It’s good.”

“There’s something else, then.”

“I… The food is good. It was very nice of you to make it.” His throat went tight and he said no more.

Frowning at his meal, Jon said defeatedly, “Okay. If you say so.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. If he made any other sour faces then Jon ignored them, and Martin did his best to be more aware of what his eyes and mouth were doing while eating as quickly as he could manage. 

It wasn’t soon enough, but he finally finished and put his plate in the sink. God, he’d barely gotten home and was ready to run upstairs and hide away for the night. Was eating dinner with someone always so exhausting? The answer came easily to mind, but this felt worse than meals spent with stubborn silence or bitter exchanges. 

Jon had wanted to be nice, and-

“So, we should discuss… things. Not the food-” Jon said from directly behind him, dirty dishes in hand. He inched around Martin to place them in the sink. “-but we need to talk about how it’s going to work, me being here. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

Martin cleared his throat, taking a step to the side to give Jon some room. “You’re not a nuisance. You didn’t have much of a choice in this, if any.”

“And you didn’t ask to have me knocking in your door. Here, let me-” Jon rolled up his sleeves and got to work scrubbing the dishes.

Martin bristled. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m the one who made dinner.”

Martin’s face scrunched. “I don’t think that’s how it works. You made dinner, so I should clean up.” He watched with some irritation as Jon continued his task.

“Next time, then. I already got a head start this morning.”

An even better reason for Martin to be the one to wash up after dinner, but that ship had sailed without him apparently. 

“Look, I’m-” He pushed through the tightness in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here, all right? Better than you getting eaten by a shark or something.” 

Jon squinted at him. “So… we’re fine?”

“What? Yeah, ‘course we’re fine!” In spite of everything, a laugh crept into Martin’s voice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

A troubled look crossed Jon’s face. “No, you’re right. The last few weeks got to me I think, not seeing people.” 

With some hesitation, Jon continued, “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have something to do.” He paused, sudsy glass in his hand. “Sitting around all day doesn’t come naturally to me, and I’ve been all but useless for weeks.”

Ah. Martin felt the indignation seep out of his jaw and shoulders, leaving him rather deflated all of a sudden. All that bristling on his part and Jon had only been bored to the point of doing chores.

“That’s... not your fault,” Martin replied quietly. He leaned back against the counter top and tapped his fingers on the rounded edges. “But okay. Sorry.”

Resuming the job at hand, Jon kept his eyes down and stayed quiet. There wasn’t much to wash off of the plates, but he was diligent in scrubbing down the frying pan until not a speck of grease remained. His fingertips began to prune.

Eventually, he spoke up. “As I was saying before, we should talk about me staying here because of situations like this. If you have… particularities with housekeeping, I should know.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s not a- whatever, do what you like. I suppose it’s better to live with someone who keeps clean.”

“As much as the average person,” Jon said, rinsing off the last bit of soap from a plate. He reached out to grab a hand towel. “Don’t expect me to always be this eager for chores.”

“What, is the excitement wearing off already?” He’d been aiming for a light, teasing tone but ended with dry judgment.

“You know me, always looking for the next thrill,” he deadpanned.

Martin leaned back on the heels of his hands. “Jon, you’re a professional ghost hunter.”

Jon tossed the towel back onto the sink. “I am not. I research the paranormal and complete necessary field work.”

“By looking for static in recordings and breaking into buildings.”

“That’s not- your situation is a special case. I assure you, my regular days are based almost entirely around paperwork and fact-checking.” He walked into the living room and with a scowl plopped onto the couch. After a moment his mouth untwisted into a small frown. “They were, anyway.”

Martin followed behind and looked at him, looked at the lines on his forehead and under his eyes, at his bouncing knee. He looked better than he had the day before, but it would take more than a single good night to make up for weeks of wandering and disconnection. Another apology sat behind his own lips, but he let it die as the useless thing it was. 

There was one thing he could help with. Walking over to the ancient desk in the corner, he picked up a bulky old laptop from the drawer and brought it over to the couch with him. “Probably should’ve mentioned it in the note, but I do have wi-fi. Technically.” 

The laptop was old. He’d bought it for himself years back but with the weak signal he got it wasn’t easy to deal with, and in his mind the very concept of social media was never going to work for him. So, it was largely a clunky and underused alternative to his phone. It sat heavy on his lap and he remembered why he rarely bothered with it.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up, and he scooted closer on the seat. Voice dripping with relief, he said, “I’m shocked you can get a signal down here.” 

The sudden proximity made Martin’s heart skip. He opened the computer on his lap and focused on the screen. “Mind you it’s not good wi-fi, but it should help pass the time. Still has a disc drive as well.”

It took far longer than he would’ve liked for the thing to boot up, but against all odds it reached the desktop with its default background and sparse folders. He really hadn’t done much with the thing, had he? Perhaps when everything was done with he could sell it.

For the time being, though, Jon was clearly itching to get his hands on it, so after a quick check that it still connected to the internet he passed it over. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he immediately hopped onto a site for sifting through journal articles, but Martin stifled a laugh. Whether pushed by professional diligence or personal interest, Jon was too engrossed to notice. 

With a small sense of accomplishment, Martin pushed himself onto his feet and moved toward the hall. He made it halfway across the room before he was noticed.

“You’re not going to bed already.” 

The tone of the sentence sat between incredulity and a statement of fact, and it gave Martin pause. When he glanced back, Jon was still looking at the laptop screen. 

“I mean… no, I was just going to get into pyjamas?”

“Okay. There was a short documentary on architecture I found when I was still doing research at my flat. It might be helpful to our ends.” He typed something and made a face. “It might also be complete bunk, but I should be able to track it down while you’re upstairs.”

It was enough of a dismissal that Martin could only say, “Oh. Um, all right?” Then he left the room in a hurry, as he apparently had things to do that night.

Back upstairs he went with a new if unexpected purpose to change out of his work clothes, still skipping the loudest steps as best he could.

Around the time he’d managed to slip on some flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, tears had leaked from his eyes and then ceased almost immediately. There were no sobs to choke back, just streaks of warmth on his cheeks that dried as quickly as they’d formed.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, grateful that his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy, and then walked back downstairs.