#i was probably well into my teens before i was fully comfortable sleeping with my forehead uncovered and my hands exposed

[rabbiteclair]

I'm not going to make this a thread on the post about reading in the bathroom, but mine did also. even though by the age of, like... nine I was able to figure out "hmm, the Weekly World News said the world was going to end last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, and also that Elvis was going to be elected president last year, and that aliens were going to reveal themselves on national TV, so maybe this isn't the most reliable source."

prior to that point, of course, I lived in a state of constant terror

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi, I hope you are having an amazing day (js as amazing as you), and have eaten, slept, and drank water. You are beautiful, and a very and I mean VERY kind person. Make sure to take care of yourself, I'll probably annoy you with how often I say but I do care, make sure your in good health before going to to our entertainment I would like to share my thoughts, this one I js thunk,

so I've been thinking a lot about that one drabble you did with Dokusha being Obanai's best friend. Well if that were in the Kimetsu Academy! Au, would Dokusha be like a fellow teacher or a friend (outside of work). But I feel like Dokusha still would help him with courting Mitsuri. But how close would they be? And I was thinking about, how would Kimetsu Academy au! Obanai react to sharing Dokusha as his favorite student with another teacher like Giyuu or someone. Anyways, srry for popping up again in your inbox, I js have a lot of thoughts. Anyways have a good day! Eat, sleep (you update a lot, ik), and take care of yourself, you are amazing, and I hope you wake up feeling like you could take the world on (bc you sure as hell do). Drink water, and if you do go out, be safe (ik I sound like a mother lol).

Bye!!! ILY!!!

-S.P.

Hmmm. This is pretty simple, I like the idea and yes. You do sound like a mother but that’s okay! It’s just being a good caring person and I don’t mind. But anyway, Jealous father figure teacher Obanai be like~!

Iguro Obanai- Back Off

Obanai is so jealous… he is jealous and he can barely keep himself calm at this rate. He’s a fully grown man(with the height of a child). He shouldn’t be jealous over a student bonding with another teacher, even if the student is his absolute favourite. He can’t help but feel jealous over the idea of you liking another teacher as much as you like him

Obanai’s favourite easily is you, a simple teen but you’re so sweet, caring and you don’t bother him like all his other students do. You follow his orders and you always do your best. You treat him with respect and for that, he treats you with respect as well

Obanai doesn’t want to be possessive or creepy over you. You’re just a child after all but he can’t help but feel so sour and distasteful over the fact you’re bonding well with Giyuu Tomioka, the strict P.E Teacher. You’re so kind that even Giyuu can’t help but feel comfortable with you and talk to you when you arrive to his class

Obanai would never ever personally pry you away from the teachers you happen to like and befriend very well but he hopes he is never replaced by another teacher. He views you like a surrogate child of his own and he actually wants you to view him as your favourite

Obanai, also, won’t try sabotage or ruin your relationships with other teachers. He may really like you but he isn’t going to do anything awful. You still need other friends but he just wants to be the teacher you like the most. He likes you the most of all other students in this Academy after all

Obanai will force himself to willingly share you around with his fellow teachers since your happiness matters a lot to him. If you want to do tutoring with somebody else, other than him, that’s fine. Just do come back to him at one point, please…

Obanai is kinda like a clingy protective and jealous papa to you. He and his beloved Kaburamaru are always happy to see you come into their classroom and sometimes, the two will give you cute nice candy gifts

Obanai just grits his teeth and bares through the jealousy over you bonding with teachers, especially with Giyuu. At least, you’re not miserable and you have even more skills and teachings being taught by other teachers. He is proud and thankful over that fact, drowning out his jealousy

“Dokusha. Please come to my classroom at this moment, say goodbye to Tomioka-sensei and follow. We must talk about your latest test”

[desultory-novice]

Hello! I had a silly idea :0 - Yume Nikki Fangame with Adeleine as protagonist.

She has the perfect age range and body type for it!

...I will say, I don't think Adeleine is a good fit for a YNFG protagonist thematically. Those games are often about exploring powerful subconscious TRAUMA through dreams. Can you imagine this Adeleine with the, "iya, iya" ("no, no") reaction in front of a door?

Now, while I've nitpicked once before on the issue the fandom (and I'm not innocent of it) has with stretching and squeezing Adeleine too much to try and cram her into any of a dozen different roles she's not a good match for because she's the only human member of the cast and–at least on the surface–the easiest one to project onto (Really, KIRBY should be the easiest one to project onto, and indeed, Kirby is primed for a YN fangame, as Ondaja already figured out! ^_-) her being seen as Kirby and friends' grounded-in-reality Christopher Robin does mean it at least wouldn't be that unusual/unexpected.

So let's explore the MOST cliche scenario we could use:

I call it, "Dess McGee's Adeleine" XD

Adeleine is a patient undergoing therapy in the real world because Dream Land, Popstar, and everyone there are merely delusions she's having to cope with something awful/frightening in her life. This is her "iya, iya", where she doesn't want to leave her bedroom and continue getting treated so she can face the real world. She wants to go back to sleep so she can keep crutching on her comfort fantasy, though the two "realities" are now battling in her subconscious.

Her dream realms might consist of twisted versions of familiar Kirby landscapes that have intersected with or been awkwardly fused with elements of the real world and various psychoses that might hint (but never explain) why she withdrew from reality in the first place.

The characters might superficially resemble the familiar Kirby cast but not be acting like themselves. Some would shake their heads and walk away or ignore her, some might act aggressively and blame her for trying to "kill them" by getting treatment (these would probably be your chasers), others might look normal but start to decay in a jumpscare-like manner if you interact using certain Effects.

One could even play with the Adeleine/Ado thing here. Perhaps "Adeleine" is part of the delusion. The forever-young child who never has to grow up while "Ado" already resembled someone in her late teens. You could have a series of chasers who look like Ado, or are tall and lanky and represent other aspects of becoming a "grown-up"

Among the Effects are things like Kracko and Ice Dragon as rideables of different speed + inducing various handy weather effects, as well as her trusty paintbrush which could have a variety of functions including a return to hub effect? She should have a Dark Matter-adjacent Effect too, as a former possession victim in 64.

She miiiight also have the crystal gun as her Weapon, though to be true to the YM-style, using it on people should be more violent and semi-permanent than expected. (Oh no, real world consequences are invading my comfort space!)  And of course, there is a "Ribbon" Effect that gives her fairy wings if you equip it.

The Good (?) End has Adeleine embrace her reality as the now grown up Ado and leave her room at last. The Bad (?) End has you go to sleep one last time, only to return to a fully restored, fully healed Dream Land with all her friends happy that she's back at last! ^_^

[wondermacaroni]

Happy 4/13!! Since I’ve been posting group doodles lately, it was obligatory that we draw something to celebrate. Mine is in green (except for the shading, lol). Some thoughts on my history with Homestuck and my reread of the comic with friends are under the cut.

I’ll say preemptively, forgive me if the paragraph spacing is wonky. I don’t post a lot of big text posts, if any at all, so I have no idea if this will show up in a bearable to read format or not. Anyways.

I first read Homestuck on an early morning in April, soon before that year’s 4/13 and a little ways out from my 14th birthday in late May. I hadn’t slept at all that night, and my normal internet circles had slowed to a crawl as the sun began to rise. Bored out of my mind and too energized to sleep, I decided it was finally time to check out that one webcomic that I had seen some people post cool art for.

To keep it simple, I had a pretty big scare in the family that same day I started reading. Everything ended up and has been just fine regarding that, but I think it cemented Homestuck in my mind as a way to process things somehow. Now that I’m about to graduate college, I’ve returned to needing to process things, and of course, my way to process it.

So, one night a month or two ago, I’m looking into some Homestuck browser game (shoutouts to Wigglersim) when my friend asks what it’s about. I get a little clammy, but I do mention the game, Homestuck and all. Imagine my surprise when they ask for a link to check it out as well.

I could hear the interest egging me on like the Green Goblin mask at that point.

Over the next few days, we went from the browser game, to the doll maker, to installing the collection, to almost-nightly streams of our read-along with the comic. It has been a BLAST so far. Sure, we probably could have blazed through on our own much faster. But having someone there to break things down and engage with, especially for a work like Homestuck, has made the whole ordeal even more enjoyable overall.

To be honest with you, I could never really get myself to reread Homestuck before then. I had the collection installed on my laptop but I could never get past some feeling of shame that came with opening it, or even looking at it for too long. Even when I had finally forced myself to get comfortable with Homestuck Posting or die trying, the thought of fully reengaging and not dwelling in the bliss of memories was a little too much.

Having a friend there, one who has been willing to engage despite it all, has made the reread much less daunting. Despite all of my warnings of the future like a frenzied oracle, I’ve been able to expose that long-hidden soft spot after all these years. It’s like unclenching your jaw, in a way.

The time we’ve spent taking it all in has REALLY spurred us to put something out lately as well. Every turn of the New Year, my friends and I boot up a group canvas and collaborate on one big slab of doodles. Lately though, I’ve been wanting to do that a lot more, and so have my friends. With the reread, I finally decided to rip off the bandage and do something I hadn’t really done as a teen first reading through Homestuck— I decided to make some fanart.

It felt like uncorking champagne. Though it was probably more akin to uncorking sparkling grape juice. Whatever. I hadn’t done it, I did it, and it felt GOOD to do it. You get it. If nothing else, waiting to draw that fanart for eight some odd years meant that I didn’t have any old drawings to painfully reflect on, for better or for worse.

I don’t like doing much other than lurking. However, with all of the drawings we had made, it’d be a shame not to share them beyond like ten people. My friend started posting some, to some really surprising amounts of engagement, at least for us. I followed in suit for support, and I’ve seen much of the same myself. It’s intimidating to be perceived, but it has been nice to shake hands with the community from the other side of my normal lurking perspective. Thank you meowrails fans for your support, maybe I’ll cook again soon, who knows?

We’ve now gotten to the point in the comic where this reread just becomes a read, and right before 4/13. I never finished the comic past the second Alterniabound flash, though I’ve picked up on little spoiler things here and there. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I can’t wait to see what horrible ick I’ll get next.

With streaming this to my friend, I have accidentally convinced more friends to look into Homestuck as well. The network slowly grows, and with it, another ticket is reserved for a group movie night of Con Air. I can’t wait to see how it goes.

Anyways, that’s all for my yapping. Have a happy 4/13, consider a reread with friends, and thank you for your interest in my lecture if you’re reading or skimming through this.

[mischas]

Ok so I think about them an unhealthy amount so here's the ask I asked about a while ago.

Their sexual dynamics are kinda fascinating and in another show that would've been explored more. (I have so many questions- some of them are on a literary level and the others not so much lol)

Marissa said that they never had a problem with attraction and being emotionally unavailable made them want each other more. Their difference in experience and how it might have affected their dynamic- ex: Ryan sleeping with Theresa soon after splitting with Marissa (who had a regretful sexual experience with her ex and was waiting with Ryan) because of old habits, but she said like one line about it and that's it. (Now that I think about it, it's weird that Ryan said before their date that he's never, like, fully dated girls before aside from hooking up even though Theresa existed, I guess he wasn’t counting that because it was on and off?). We saw how Marissa's trauma of being assaulted affected their sex life but only for like one time when it's an interesting discussion too, and so could've been the Gabrielle predatory thing (when he said that he was with another girl and Marissa pointed out that she was a woman- knowing this show she probably meant it in a "omg she's so experienced im so jealous" kinda way but it's clear that her being older wasn't ok for her, at least not as ok as it was for him.

There's also all the sexual jealousy (as it's apparent from my asks, MV jealousy era was my favourite for being funny af, but there's also Ryan/Gabrielle and Luke/Marissa which were just painful) but also despite the intensity, there's a bit of assurance and comfort there ("what strippers? I don't know any strippers"/"you got a lap dance?"). They were being walked in on all the time and Marissa did say she wasn’t into PDA much (but I'm not sure if it was about Trey?) they were also "one of those couples" which means they didn’t keep their hands off each other, either. Ooh there is so much material lol- I shudder to think but HBO Ryissa would've been like 👀

You know this is something I was thinking about a few weeks ago. I'm probably not gonna answer this well but it's gonna be long. So first off, it is very insane for Marissa to say that she and Ryan were going at it during all of s3 when the narrative is relatively sexless for every couple until it's turned up wildly in 3x18 for a ratings and demographic shift (other people can speak about this better than I). I've talked about that 3x18 line before and it's so weird to shoehorn it in like they do; we're supposed to believe RM have been fucking this whole time? What? 3x14 showed us in their intimate scene that they haven't been doing this a lot since it serves as a means of reuniting them. But, hey, maybe they have and it's just weird shit between M/B that kept it from our consciousness. But like I said earlier, this season was so sexless until much later when it's turned up to 100 (and those irl dynamics were also very bad so like.... mess).

We're also supposed to believe RM didn't sleep together after 2x20 when "I think we can do better than the front seat of Sandy's car" is insanely suggestive. Not to say they did it right after getting back together but like....... idk. Them only having sex for the first time in 3x03 is narratively so far-fetched. Obv there weren't a lot of times they could in s2 since they're kept apart for plot reasons and then as soon as they reunite the Trey stuff happens.

BUT

Their comfortability in mid-s1 when they're dating is so easy. It's very hard to believe these teens weren't sleeping together. Ryan is largely unsupervised and pretty much has his own apartment! And they're both not virgins as we know. It's only when Marissa says in 1x19 that they haven't that we all have to be like oh??? And it's a teen soap so these things are usually documented for the audience, but still it's like please. Especially after 1x14.

All that said, lol, the way I see RM approaching intimacy is that from a young age neither of the two really associate sex with love. We know Ryan's experienced by 16 (though I personally think he exaggerates how many girls he's been with). There's at least Theresa who clearly did not exist in the narrative until 1x11. There's no way she and her mom wouldn't be in Ryan's mind when he's been abandoned in 1x01 and calling all his friends for a place to stay. So!!

For whatever (plot) reason, RM don't sleep together until 3x03. But Marissa rushes into sex with Luke in 1x06 for all the reasons I mentioned here. And she's incredibly hurt in 1x26/1x27 to learn that Ryan rushed into sex with Theresa right after their breakup. She spends the summer between s1 and s2 thinking about that and probably assuming they have sex then too (she looks surprised to hear in 2x02 that it "wasn't like that at all"). And then she starts having casual sex with DJ that summer. The DJ storyline is so so bad from its inception but we're at least led to believe she's sexually active. They tried to make DJ a viable romantic option but it was so bad from the start that at least it finally ends.

Marissa doesn't even get to associate sex with real, heartfelt romantic feelings until Alex and that's then pulled out like a rug from under her before they pivot her back to Ryan when Lindsay leaves. So she still doesn't associate sex with love. THEN she's assaulted and goes through all that fun trauma. R/L have a few scenes that imply they may be sleeping together but I think if they did we'd have seen it or at least heard about it.

Which brings us to 3x03 and RM both being in a place where sex and love can be working together. I think Ryan has love for Theresa but let's be honest that boy will never be ~in~ love with her and that's a major missing part of their relationship. 3x03 gives us the heightened Hawaii plot and that positions RM to realize this is the time because she's leaving and you know It's About The YearningTM. I don't think the scene itself is great because of the choreography and the stupid editing but what leads up to it "Are you sure? It'll make it that much harder for you to leave" is just SOOOOOOO

If we understand that RM have been having a bunch of loveless, emotionally unavailable sex in s3 I don't think it's much of a stretch to imagine them jumping into bed with the people they then jump into bed with in late s3. And in many ways it's like as soon as they were able to marry sex and love in 3x03, they reverted back to these people who saw it as something else. That speaks to how s3 was so fucking bad.

A few things:

Yeah I think the PDA line in 2x22 carried over to 2x23 is only really about Trey and her bruise that she's concerned with; their PDA in front of their friends in 1x15 meant nothing to them. I can't imagine they cared more about schoolmates seeing them than they did their friends (and Marissa's ex)

I think M is so hurt about Gabrielle in 1x06 and 1x07 for all those reasons. That she's older "Actually, I think she was a woman" and that Ryan could hook up with someone random the same day he's all but asked her to make a romantic choice "the last time I saw you, you kind of had your hands full"

The way that Marissa has quiet confidence in Ryan with other women is very sweet in 1x26 "what about strippers?", 2x21 "South Beach for a little spring break action?" and 3x09 "you got a lap dance?" it's actually very interesting to contrast that with Seth who kisses women in BOTH Vegas and Miami when he's still in a quasi-relationship with Summer at the time

I know for a fact I didn't answer this very eloquently (if I answered it at all) but it's a really interesting subject!

Also, considering I head canon RM being FWB in college I think it'd take a while for them to acknowledge how in love they've always been with one another. Because of their shared traumas, lingering resentments, trust issues, etc. *cue 'tis the damn season*

[obxficsxx]

006. Parcel

Series Masterlist \ Main Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: swearing, typical obx violence, fights, kiara and sarah mildly fighting, mentions of sex, suggestive themes Word Count: 3.9k

credit to gif owner

With how JJ felt, he slept over at Amelia's house again which made her suspicious of him. She didn't mind it though as it kept her company and she gets to spend time with him.

JJ woke Amelia up with kisses on various parts of her face and neck. She giggled and saw him above her. Her hand rested on his bare shoulder.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet,"

"So?"

"I have bad breath," She said, covering her mouth with her free hand.

"I don't care, come here." JJ replied, leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. He detacted himself. "See? Not bad."

"Could say the same about yours,"

"Yeah, well, you'll get used to it."

"Oh, really?"

JJ nodded, beginning to kiss Amelia again when there's a knock on her door.

"Shit."

"Amelia, are you up?" Tiffany called on the other side of the door.

"Uh, yeah! I'm up. I'll be down soon."

"Okay, don't take long."

"I won't,"

Her footsteps receded as Amelia looked towards JJ. "I think we should get going."

"Yup."

The two teens rolled out of bed. JJ threw his clothes on then shoes whilst Amelia got dressed by her closet, tossing her sleep clothes in her laundry bin. When she's fully ready, she and JJ made way to her car.

"Want me to drop you off at John B's?"

"Nah, my house 'cause I gotta pick Pope up."

"Alright. So, where is John B's, so I know where to go?"

"Just down the street. Look for the twinkie -- his van outside."

"Got it,"

Amelia pulled off to the side of the road where a two story house sat. A screen door surrounded the porch. She said goodbye to JJ as he smiled.

"See ya soon, princess."

"You too, Romeo."

JJ slid out her car, stepping toward his house where he look hesitant. He continued as Amelia couldn't help herself but stare, eventually coming back to her senses before driving off towards John B's.

~~~

When Amelia arrived at John B's, Sarah was already there as she spotted her bike resting against the side of his house. It was small but cute, probably really quiet. Soon, JJ and Pope arrived.

As everyone was seated on the front porch -- John B was perched on the arm rest and Sarah sat on the cushions near him; Pope and JJ were seated in chairs side-by-side as Amelia half sat on the arm rest beside the blonde -- Kiara was last to arrive, unpleased by the sight of Sarah. The air was humid and the tensions were high.

"No effing way. You brought her here? So what? She's in on this now?" Kiara pressed.

John B glanced at Pope then JJ.

"Look, all I care about is her cut comes out of your share."

Kiara looked back at John B. "You know, I don't remember taking a vote. This is our thing. A Pogue thing."

"I gotta say, I'm just a tad uncomfortable with all of this."

"Thank you!"

"When are you not uncomfortable?" John B asked, brow furrowed.

Both Sarah and Amelia stay silent. The brunette had her arms crossed, watching the scene unfold in front her eyes.

"I dunno. I rode here on the back of JJ's bike pretty comfortably."

JJ chimed in. "It's true. Most relaxed I've ever seen him."

"That's cute, guys."

Kiara continued. "You know we were extremely comfortable until you brought her."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Sarah shouted.

"Then leave,"

Sarah scoffed, looking over at John B. "I told you."

"Told him what, exactly? That you're a liar?"

"No, that you're a shit-talking bitch."

With the two females arguing, Amelia glanced at the two males beside her. They pulled out cash and made their bets on Sarah and Kiara. Somehow, feeling the same way, overwhelmed, John B and Amelia made eye contact with each other.

"Everybody shut up!" He shouted. "Kie, you are my best friend, right?"

Kie barely nodded.

"And Sarah, you're..." He began, chuckling lightly. "...You're my..."

Sarah smiled softly. "Say it,"

"You're my girlfriend."

Amelia's eyes went wide, looking in the couple's direction then back at JJ. It was best to keep their relationship status underwraps.

"Oh... that's new." Pope muttered.

"She's your girlfriend now?" Kiara asked, killing the somewhat light mood. "What was all that talk about you were just using her for information? Get a map, cut her loose."

"You said you were using me?"

John B was hunched over, resting his head in his hand. "No,"

"Yeah, you did," The three Pogues said in unison.

"Look, love just walked in, okay?"

"Oh, vomit."

"I didn't expect it. It just-- it just kinda happened. And I'm not gonna deny it. Right?"

"I agree with John B on that one," Amelia mumbled, looking over at JJ who shook his head.

"Look, cut the bullshit, John B. if she's in, I'm out."

"I'm not doing this. I can't!" John B protested, sitting up right.

"You are gonna decide. I'm very interested, actually. Me or her?"

"Both,"

"Ooh,"

JJ whistled. "Went for the Hail Mary."

"Nooo," Pope responded.

"And Amelia, I heard what you muttered. I don't know what's going on between you and JJ, but the only reason he's being nice is just fuck you and move on." Kiara finished, turning and heading the opposite direction.

Amelia stood up, staring at the blonde with her arms crossed. Pope had his head down and JJ jutted his chin, not knowing what to say next.

"Wow, JJ. And, I actually thought that something was happening between us, really. You know what? Fuck you!"

Sarah rose. "I'm gonna let you three chat, and let me know."

Sarah and Amelia stepped away together.

"You wanna go back to my place? We can drink? It'll help take our minds off the boys and your mind off Kie."

Sarah paused, grabbing her bike. She looked taken aback, obviously hurt from the situation. Amelia was hurt too, but by JJ. Yeah, some of it was Kiara.

"Sure. Will your parents be home?"

"Nope. Dad is planning on going out of town, and my mom will be staying at a friends house for the night."

"Alright. Well, I can just hook my bike up to your car and we can head there now."

~~~

Sometime later, they arrive at the house heading up to Amelia's room. Sarah was left alone while the brunette grabbed two beers and some snacks. She made it back to her bedroom, closing her door.

"Alright, here are the beers and snacks _- chocolate, chips, popcorn. Your choice."

Sarah grabbed a bottle of beer and the bag of Skinny Pop. She cracked open the bottle cap, tossing it to the side and taking a swig of her beer.

"I'm sorry,"

"About what?"

"Kiara,"

"It wasn't your fault. We just... we hated each other cause she called the cops on my party."

"Oh, yeah. The birthday party I missed cause I got mono."

"Yeah,"

"I really was bummed to miss that. It look so fun."

"It was till the cops showed up."

Amelia giggled. Her smile dropped at the thought of JJ. A twinge of pain shot through her chest as she opened her beer, taking a couple sips.

"You know, forget about Kiara. Sometimes you fall into the wrong crowd."

"Yup," Sarah nodded. "How are you feeling about..."

"JJ? Hmm, hurt. I feel upset, and wish to never see that asshole again."

"You were beaming with excitement every time you mentioned him. I actually thought you two were dating, and kept it a secret."

"Nope. But he has stayed over twice. It was fun because those two mornings, he was just so sweet and kind."

"Mmhmm,"

"And, I don't know. After what was said, it got me thinking that maybe all he wanted was just sex. He told me that it was okay to wait on me... I don't know."

"Well, do you think he'll apologize for making you think that?"

"Don't know. A part of me does, but then the other part doesn't want him to."

"Fair,"

With that, the two females found entertainment in something other than the drama with the guys or Kiara. They went on with it until the sun sat and Sarah decided to head out to see John B.

Amelia told her good luck following what happened. She thanked the brunette and grabbed her shoes, sliding them on whilst stepping out of Amelia's room. Now by herself, she decided to just do what she wanted since her parents are gone.

To start, she grabbed another beer then decided to switch into sleep clothes. Amelia then grabbed her book that -- on the cover -- read The Notebook. The novel that brought a movie adaption starring Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling.

Amelia snuggled under her thick duvet and started the following chapter. Eventually the day faded into night, too distracted to even pay attention to what time it was or if JJ had texted her to meet him somewhere to apologize.

She did though, fall asleep. Her book rested atop her chest as it rose and fell with with breath she took. It seemed as if her problems had slipped away.

~~~

As the following day seeped into late afternoon, as it left the brunette cleaning up the beer bottles left from last night.

Things seemed to have taken a turn, making it almost harder to stick with John B's plan. Prior that day, Amelia seemed cheerful and looking forward to what was planned. Amelia knew she had to be ready to leave soon, nevertheless, she was hesitant going. A bad feeling loomed in her stomach.

Currently, she was sat in front of her desk and going through her drawers. Amelia found the pictures of her dad clipped together and the note JJ left a couple mornings ago. She glanced at the note before reading his name. It was written on the bottom left corner of the page. Tears began to fill her eyes, wanting to just go to him to make up.

She didn't follow through, knowing that she would only get hurt later. With a chime on her phone, she looked down and saw that it was Sarah. Amelia texted back.

The blonde responded, telling the brunette that she was stuck on a boat with Kiara all night. Luckily, they did manage to conceal the trouble between them. Amelia felt good, knowing that there won't be any issues surrounding everyone.

Unfortunately, it still felt off as there was nothing from JJ. Yeah, she had his number but she never called it due to the multiple verbal interactions they've shared for a while.

She texted Sarah and told her that JJ hadn't apologized. Sarah then texted something that Amelia took, agreeing with. The text said to not let it get to her, and to just work together for the night and go their separate ways after.

Getting the text saying she needed to get ready, Amelia didn't hesitate. She quickly got ready, throwing her brown hair in a half-up style. She wore black denim shorts with a charcoal colored crop top. She wore dark matte boots with a necklace or two. She gave herself one last look before grabbing her phone and leaving her room.

An eroded red-colored van pulled up to Amelia's house. Inside, Sarah opened the back door and greeted her. She returned the gesture with a smile, noticing that JJ was also seated in back. Without greeting him, she greeted the other's and climbed in. Amelia sat with Sarah the whole ride there.

~~~

(scene -- that night, they arrive at the crain residence with sarah and amelia, commiting to the plan to retrieve the gold until the worse happens.)

"You got rope?" John B asked.

"Got it," Pope replied.

"Grappling hook?"

"We don't have a grappling hook. We're not Batman."

"Pulley?"

"Check," Kiara noted.

"Dark clothes?"

"Got it," Sarah and Amelia said in unison.

"Flashlights?"

"Check,"

"All right, good."

They arrive on a small, dirt road. In the distance, Crain house sits untouched -- old and creepy. Shrub, Trees and other things crowded the front yard, barely being about to see a walkway. Luckily, they guys and Kiara knew a way in.

From the sight in the dark made things a lot different what it seemed like in pictures. A chill rose up her spine as John B pulled the back door open, stopping everyone.

"I wanna say thank you, guys. Seriously. It means a lot to me that you're here tonight."

With sweet nothing being exchanged along with smiles, JJ shook his head.

"All right, we done with the circle jerk? Can we go do this?"

"Yes," Kaira said, stepping out.

Behind her, Sarah and Amelia tgot out as flashlights illuminated the road below.

"Let's get that wheat in the water."

"Weed? i'm up for weed."

Amelia wanted to giggle but kept a serious face, continuing.

"Wheat. I said wheat."

John B, Pope and JJ grabbed the needed items. They were close behind the three girls. Sarah was first top hop the stone fencing, landing on the opposite side. Next was Kiara then Amelia and so on.

The small group descended further into the desolate yard, looking the building before a motion sensored light flicked on, lighting up that spot. Everyone scrambled, huddling together behind bushes and a concrete statue. They shut their lights off, staying quiet.

Pope pulled down his bandana. "So, she has motion sensored lights."

"We could, uh... move really slowly, maybe?"

"What?" Sarah questioned, confused.

"That's not how it works, doofus." Amelia said.

"Oh, shit. Let's throw a rock at it." John B advised.

"That's a really good idea actually," Kiara retorted. "Let the axe murderer know that we're here."

"Anyone have a better idea?"

"What about the breaker?" Sarah suggested. "In the circuit box on the porch. We used to play hide-and-seek here as kids. And if we were brave enough, we'd go all the way up to the porch. I've seen it."

"No, no. You're not going in that house alone."

"Watch me,"

"Crain chops people into pieces."

"If you believe that, but she's like what, eighty-five?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"She's probably barely still kicking,"

"Here. I'll go with you."

"Me too," Kiara joined.

"We'll wait for your signal."

"Okay, cool."

Amelia, Sarah and Kiara rose still crouched slightly. They began to walk when JJ stopped Amelia.

"Hey! Be safe, princess."

"We will, jeez."

Sarah led the way toward the house, making way through tree branches and shrub. Along the way, a branch hooked onto Amelia's skin cutting her leg open slightly. She winced in pain as the two other females looked back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just caught on a bush that's all."

They made way toward a staircase that lead to a large porch. On the right side was a door. On the wall held a box making Amelia wonder if it was the circuit box.

The three girls quietly climbed the stairs, stepping in front of a box. Sarah and Amelia held their lights while Kiara grabbed the lid, opening to reveal an empty case. The breakers were nowhere to be seen just chords a top chords.

"Where are the breakers?"

"What is this?"

Conflicted, the girls looked up and saw a powerline running up the wall as it lead inside the house. They opened the front door, walking inside. The house was dark and silent, only hearing the shaky breathes between each female. It made Amelia feel yet another chill run up her spine.

Suddenly, she stepped on a cat's tail making it yowl at her. It ran into a glass as it tinkled softly. Amelia swore under her breath, still searching for the line as Kiara pointed it out, following it down the hall. They managed to find the breakers, switching them off as it got dark instantly outside.

Amelia sighed feeling relieved until a whirring sound caught her off guard, including Sarah and Kiara. With a gasp and a chime from the grandfather clock made them hide behind the wall. They exchanged nervous glances at one another. They stayed quiet and listened carefully for any footsteps. Below, Amelia heard the boys exclaim but she shook her head and focused on main level.

Suddenly there was shuffling nearby with a thumping sound, heavy breathing also sounded. They froze as Amelia believed it was Mrs. Crain coming to 'chop them up', or what JJ made her believe. Paranoia washed up on her, making her back further into a nearby corner.

Sarah and Kiara huddled beside her as the other brunette had her hand rested over her mouth. Mrs. Crain thumped an object against the floor.

"It's-- it's late, Leon." She spoke in a somewhat eerie tone. "Too late." She coughed.

Sarah had a worried expression plastered on her face, Kiara looked upset. And Amelia, well, she was frozen in fear. With a small whimper, she bumped the flashlight as it shined on Mrs. Creel's appearance.

Her hair was short and white. Her features were wrinkled, her eyes were white with a small tint of blue. In the little light made her features eerily stood out. The three females stayed together, running the opposite direction. However, they went separate ways.

"Shit, where's Sarah?"

"I don't know,"

The two females kept going until a large wooden door blocked their path. Wood planks where hammered in and a slide-lock making it impossible to get through. With Kie unlocking the door, Amelia watched as the elderly lady snuck up on them, coming staight toward the two with a sharp fire poker.

Amelia dropped to the ground with Kie, trying to advoid the sharp object. Within seconds, Sarah rushed in, grabbed the fire poker and held on to it before throwing the metal item down. The two female got up. Sarah grabbed Kie whilst Amelia followed behind.

"Come on, this way!" Sarah shouted.

They ran into a room, shutting the door behind them. A poker broke through the wood startling the three females making them turn theit heels and sprint away. Finding the entrance to the basement, quicly stepping down the step staircase.

"Guys!" They shout, running into the three males.

"What's going on?" Pope asked, holding a rope.

"Mrs. Crain! She's up there!" Kiara yelled.

"She tried to kill us with a fire poker. We gotta get the fuck outta here."

Calling for John B, they all grab the rope when the rope falls off the pulley making them fall to the ground. They crowd around the well, peering down as John B shouts below. Unable to make out anything he's saying, the five teens grab the rope and begin pulling. Amelia uses all her might to rope him in.

Glancing over, she watched Mrs. Crain take aim. The sound of a shotgun echoed through the half-damaged basement. Amelia felt something pierce her side, causing blood to pour out. It started to stain her shorts.

She felt limp and fell to the side with Kie and Sarah. Her hand fell upon the wound, a warm liquid doused her fingers. With another shot, they made a run for it. Another one made JJ and Pope run after the three girls.

Everyone climbed in as Amelia did the same, pretty much leaving small droplets of crimson on the floor of his vehicle, plus it dripped down your leg. She was seated beside JJ as he sat behind the wheel. The other's were in the back except John B, who was last to hop over the concret. Driving away, Kiara and Sarah called for him as he chased after the red van soon hoping in the back before shutting the door.

"Shit!" He shouted.

"JJ, drive man!"

The group talked amongst themselves in the back. John B pulled out the bar of gold.

"Were you shot? Did you get shot?" He repeated a few times. Everyone said no as Amelia shook her head.

John B pulled out the bar of gold and showed it off to everyone. They started cheering and shouting excitedly. They chanted as Amelia stayed silent.

In response, she released an awkward giggle that escaped between her lips. Sweat beamed on Amelia's hairline and the pain got worse, still holding her side. With a wince and pained grunt, JJ immediately cocked his head to the side, eyeing you and the road every few seconds.

Amelia looked over at him, no emotion on her face as she knew deep down he felt something was wrong.

"Everything okay, Princess? You've been almost silent since we left."

"No, no, no. Something's wrong. Like, seriously wrong."

Concerned, the other's perked their heads up.

"What are you talking about?" Sarah pressed, moving closer to the seat Amelia was in.

The brunette shook her head, knowing all eyes were on he.

One thing people should know is that Amelia never liked to show when she's in pain, or on the verge of being in pain. To her, it made her feel vulnerable and weak. But with the pogues and Sarah, Amelia couldn't keep a hold on her brave face, knowing she could die as panic washed over her.

"Amelia, you gotta tell us what's wrong, or we can't help you." John B pressed.

"I've been shot! I've been shot! JJ! Sarah!"

"Don't move or panic!" JJ shouted back.

"Keep pressure on it!" Pope yelled from the back.

Amelia's breathing hitched, large beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She kept her hands on the wound, pressing down even though it hurt like hell.

She felt the warmth leaving her body and knew from her blood soaked clothes that it was bad. Tears filled Amelia's eyes, afraid she was going to die tonight. JJ handed her his bandana that was wrapped around his neck.

She grabbed the cloth before placing it on her wound, groaning in pain as Sarah rubbed her shoulder, telling her that everything will be fine. JJ stepped on the pedal, going as fast as he can and trying everything in his power to save Amelia's life.

With every twist and turn, the pain felt worse whilst Amelia began to sob. "Am I gonna die, JJ?"

"Uh, I... Amelia -- No, you are not. Just hold on a little longer," He said, turning the wheel into the entrance of Kildare Hospital.

He threw the door open as well as Pope in the back. The blonde male quickly made his way toward the passenger side, opening her door and scooping her in his muscular arms. Sarah hopped out, rushing inside with her and JJ, shouting for a doctor. She had her hands on JJ's bandana which was on Amelia's side, keeping pressure on the bullet wound.

Amelia felt weak and faint, looking up at JJ as she saw the sheer panic in his face.

It was something she's never seen before since Amelia never had someone so worried about her. Every sound was indistinct, everything around her seem to blur.

"JJ," Amelia croaked out, earning a glance front him.

Within the following seconds, a doctor and a nurse came out with a gurney as JJ sat Amelia down.

Being rolled down the hallway, Sarah and JJ walked with Amelia, explaining what happened as the doctors worked around them. JJ never let go of her hand, holding a firm grip. Amelia's vision blurred and she shut her eyes, losing consciousness having no idea as to what's about to happen next.

[selfclaimedcatowner]

It's just so unbearable. Everyday I try to hold it in and go through the day but it seems that time just passes me by. It's almost funny because I'd say that "time passing faster" would mean that the hard days will be over soon but it always seems like I'm stuck in an iterant cycle, experiencing the same pain over and over again, unable to escape my sorrows.

I just want to write my feelings out, and show it to the world. Because, the fear of judgement looms over me, and I don't trust anyone with my vulnerability.

Everything is bad. My appearance, health, financial situation etc.

You name it and I can assure you that it's bad as well

I'll start with my appearance.

I've always been underweight. Throughout my childhood and teen years, I've been made fun of by peers and family for my thin frame. They've always seemed to blame it on my tendency to not eat a lot, which I do. And I've always been insecure about my skinny self. Whether it was wearing short sleeves that would show my thin arms or wearing shorts/dresses that would show my ankles and calves. It really affected me.

I'd often find myself feeling comfortable only while wearing clothes that hide my body, and even though I have the desire to wear more revealing clothes, I can't seem to get out of my shell and do so.

It doesn't really end with my body too. My face is something I've been insecure about ever since I've entered high school.

High school is the place where most people make friends and find love, which is something I've struggled to find no matter how much I've sought.

I'm not an attractive person, and I struggle alot in social situations because I'm shy and fear people's opinions of me.

It really messes with your self esteem when you're the only friend with no boyfriend. When you're the only who's never been on a date before or had the luxury of experiencing teen love. And whenever i try to complain, I get the same comments from my friends.

That I'm "pretty" or I "shouldn't let a man define who I am" and it pisses me off because they're the exact same people who tend to attract guys by simply existing.

And it's not my personality. I've been told that I've had a great one, even by guys I've been interested in. But they'd end up saying that they're not attracted to me because of my appearance.

I wish I could just disappear and exist out of a living form. I don't want to abide by society's beauty standards but that's the only way to find love these days.

My health is also deteriorating.

I'm a high-school student so I often find myself staying up to revise for upcoming exams or sleeping for a few hours because I don't have time to be sleeping.

It really infuriates me, Yk? That I spend my entire time studying and risking my health just to get grades that I'm not satisfied with. I also struggle with procrastinating and my attention span is FRIED so it doesn't really help with getting the grades I want.

My parents have high expectations for me, and I usually struggle to meet them.

Anyway, I've been suffering from toothache for probably the past 4 months and I can't seem to get rid of it no matter what I do.

I floss my teeth and brush them twice a day, and I'm always keeping my hygiene up. But nothing seems to be working.

Also my teeth are misaligned and I have an overbite which really doesn't help with the toothache at all. (It's probably the reason for it, my tooth is aching rn)

Overall, my health Is all over the place and there's nothing I can do about it.

Now to my financial situation.

I've always been a grateful kid because I didn't grow up rich and I've been fully aware of my parents financial situation from a very young age.

But no matter what, I've never been able to get anything I wanted.

I'm not sure if it's the constant "poverty" were living in or the fact that I'm just really unlucky.

My dad has been in debt for probably 2 years now, and it's not because he "gambles" his money away or spends it on useless things. No.

My dad is an immigrant, And has spent his entire life slaving away at a job he absolutely loathes just so he can make a living for himself and his family.

And he's been saving up for almost 20 years to start his business, and guess what? It all goes downhill when a civil war started in my home country and he lost his entire business. The place was stolen and destroyed, and it left him feeling miserable but he still stayed strong for us.

He never complained about our living situation, or the business that he lost. And he always makes sure to make ends meet.

Whether it's paying for our school tuitions, or new clothes that we need, or even basic stuff like water and electricity bills. He never once complained about it.

I'm forever grateful for the love he's shown me and my family, and for providing everything that we need.

I wish that I could earn the money to help out my family.

I also wish to have the things that I've always wanted.

I've always wanted a camera, a vintage one, And an electric guitar because I'm a huge rock fan and would love to cover some of my favorite songs.

But I can't afford these things. Sometimes I can't even afford to go out with my friends.

Whether it's a simple outing or a full blown dinner, I never had the money for it.

Which really isn't a problem, because I don't like going out that much, But i also wanna enjoy my teen years.

I wanna go out and enjoy a boba drink. I wanna go kayaking or camping.

I wanna do alot of things but I don't have the money for it.

And I'm not too ashamed to ask my parents when I'm fully aware of our rough financial situation.

I know they'll never say no to me, but it's too shameful.

I wanna earn my own money but jobs for teens aren't really available where i live which is REALLY shitty.

Anyways, there's countless things that I wanna vent about but they're not really important

Im really sorry for my English (it's not my first language) and thank you for reading this :)

Have a good day/night!

[liquid-valo]

Alright time to tell you about a little ghost girl and her brother

Back when I was living with an ex and their mother in an older house we quickly noticed something was there. I don't remember how it started but it started and wound up with the little girl playing games with us.

Her favorite seemed to be ball circle, where we and some friends would sit in a circle and roll a ball between us while talking about whatever. She would stop the ball and roll it different directions. We started leaving an empty spot in our circle for her brother and so it turned into she'd roll it to either one of us or to him. He never rolled the ball back, it would just go from moving to a dead stop in his spot.

And she loved hide and seek in the dark. It was a decent sized house and we were late teen and early 20 somethings so hide and seek in the dark was exciting. She would hide in very obvious little kid places and you could tell she was there because of a sort of.. brighter area? Like she was a slightly lighter dark spot lol. If you told her you found her she would sort of lead you to someone else to be "it" in her place.

One night I was sleeping in a different room than usual, I don't remember why, and I was texting a friend. My phone starts not working so I looked beside the bed and asked for my message to go through, it does and all well, but then I get a message and for an instant the light showed her looking definitely dead. It was the only time I ever actually saw her. She got startled and left, but came back after a but and I held my hand up to comfort her I guess and felt a very small hand take my fingers. I could move my thumb and feel where her hand started. I told her she could get in bed if she wanted and the sheets, not including the comforter, shifted back on me. I didn't move them myself and the comforter stayed right where it was. Then I felt cold pressure on top of me and just kind of.. had to accept there was a ghost child laying on me.

Her brother didn't interact with us much, mostly just standing in my ex's doorway watching them like a guard. We worked out a few things, mainly he wasn't exactly mentally sound, but cared strongly for his sister. Their father in law was probably the one to kill her somehow, and he may have died trying to protect her but idk its been years and I left that house before fully figuring it out.

[darkcrowprincess]

Lunter teen pregnancy:

*warnings premi baby, teen pregnancy(luz 16, Hunter 18), cheating(not between lunter), me being salty towards amity, protective and possessive hunter, sad luz. Angst*

(I'm not an expert on primi babies or the NICU. If I get anything wrong I apologize)

Their baby was born early. A little baby boy named Leandro born 33 weeks instead of the full 40 weeks . Leo Luz whispers to him in his NICU crib. Sometimes she even sleeps there right besides their baby. When she can't touch him she leans near him humming Dominican lullabies. Her head on her folded arms just watching him with wide tearful eyes. Their baby is so tiny, but you can already tell he has her skin coloring. When they aren't here and Hunter doesn't force her to sleep or takes care of her they sit at what she calls the hospital Chapel. "I'm not religious, and I know you and the doctors say it's not my fault, it was out of my control. But I can't help but feel guilty and to blame," Luz whispers, tears bubbling and leaking from her eyes as Hunter cuddles her, protective and possessive on the wooden bench. Luz speaks wetly into Hunter's neck, "I can pray maybe to the titan! To make sure he's ok. It wouldn't hurt." Hunter pecks a soft kiss onto her forhead for comfort. The pregnancy wasn't easy on Luz or Leo. Teen pregnancies never were, and the traumatic situation that was their lives wasn't helping either. Dear Titan Hunter was terrified he would lose them both. Though fortunately they both where alright. Hunter speaks calmly in hopes of assuring her, "The doctors say he's strong. His progress is going well, him staying NICU and us keeping up with the skin contact whenever we can is helping. We'll be able to take him home soon we just need to be patient ok." He cups her hands in his. Hers soft, delicate and ink stained, compared to his big scarred hands. Two years after finally putting to rest Belos, the collector and the boiling isles, yet the trauma still haunted them. That's probably why they clunged to each other. Even when Luz wasn't suppose to. Luz looks at Hunter with a deep love, but also incredible worry and guilt shining in pools of hazel brown. Fear in her voice, "Do you think I'm being punished?" Hunter with a shocked look asks, " What do you mean? You think what? Us cheating did this? Hurt our baby?" Luz closes her eyes tight and nods slowly. She hates bringing this up this fear she has. Her love for Hunter was absolute, a burning everlasting sun. Determined and true. She could never regret him, her literal darkness to her light. She regrets the situation; the cheating, the lying, all of it hurting Amity. If only Luz had just been honest from the beginning. Instead hiding and secret keeping like the messed up issued filled girl she is. But there was never any time. Secrets kept piling up, and so did the lies. And the one person other than Eda that fully understand it all was wrapped up in it just as much as she was. They say people formed bonds in the middle of trauma, and that might seem true. But for her and Hunter, it was more than that. Their souls were reincarnations of Caleb and Evelyn Clawthorne. Luz continues and brings up her other fear, " And if it's not the cheating, that what if were just destined for this? Our desties always seemed tied for death, trauma and tragedy. We manged to live, but what if fate wants to punish us for it and take our baby away f-for not-." "For what? For one of us not dying?! Oh Luz!" Hunter just picks her up into his lap, and holds her closer than before. Luz holds him back tight just as fiercely. He speaks into her ear with a strong voice,"Listen to me, we are not cursed. This not punishment. This is us having deal with the fact that we've been through a lot of shit ok. Our lives were stressful and traumatic and were still dealing with the affects of that. But I telling you everything will be ok. After everything we went through? We can pull through this. Our baby is strong. And we our just as strong. I will keep us together ok?" Luz whipes her nosie with her sleeve and looks up at Hunter with a deep need. "You promise?" " Luz you kept me together when I needed you the most, of course I promise to do same for you. For our little family." He seals this promise with a deep lock of their lips coming together. Luz sinks into the kiss, feeling safe and at home.

[wickedsniffles]

When We're Under the Weather

I meant to post this on here at the same time as I did on my main, but life got in the way. 😅 Summary: You're certain no good can come from leaving the warmth of bed to chase a criminal in the rain.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Trans male Reader, he/him pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Teen & Up

Tags: established relationship, fluff, pet names, comfort no hurt, illnesses, sickfic, teasing/banter, yearning

Word Count: 3.4K

You'd told him no good would come from taking a case in the middle of this storm. Nonetheless, he goes, as you knew he would. Peeling one eye open, you watch in a drowsy blur as Sherlock untangles from the mess of your shared covers, from the warmth, dressing quickly in the dark. You let your heavy eyelids fall closed as he ghosts around the room, collecting his coat and things. It's almost impossible to dissuade him once he gets going, and at this point, all you can do is tell him to be careful, and for God's sake bring an umbrella.

"Love you," you mumble as his lips touch your forehead. "Stay warm, alright? You'll catch your death in this weather."

"Love you too. And I'll do my best," he says in return, brushing a gentle hand through your hair in farewell. "I'll be back before you know I was away. Go back to sleep."

You don't have the strength to protest. Instead you listen as the bedroom door closes, then the door to the flat, as Sherlock Holmes makes his way down the stairs and out into the night. Off to do what he loves, willing to go at any hour, chasing that thrill. Your peculiar man, whose heart you've somehow captured.

That thought, at least, gives you solace as you drift off. The heavy rain continues to beat away at the rooftop, the lullaby sweet, making it impossible to wait up for him no matter how much you might want to. With a heavy sigh, you relax deep within your cocoon of blankets, wishing him luck on whatever he's decided to do.

—---

It feels like only seconds later when you're startled awake by the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. In response to the unwanted noise, Sherlock growls softly, probably knowing it's woken you. You stretch a little in the early dawn light of the flat, pale orange in the small windowpane, and blink up at him.

He's soaking wet. Dripping-onto-the-hardwood, plastered-into-his-clothes wet. His sodden curls cling to the sides of his face, and you don't have to be fully awake to see him shivering.

(Well, you're awake now.)

"Aw, sweetheart," you say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "What –? I thought I said –"

You can't bring yourself to scold him. Not when he looks miserable and desperate to get warm, fingers shaking as they try for the buttons of his shirt. At once you're out from underneath the covers, helping him undress, and he manages a tired thank you. The sodden clothes are banished to the hamper, to be dealt with later.

"You're welcome."

When he's naked, all cold skin and expectant eyes, you pull him back to the comfort of the fluffy duvet. Sherlock tugs you as close as possible as once, buried under the covers as much as he can be.

"I'm afraid there was a rather tedious foot chase," he says at last, once his body temperature is closer to yours. "Couldn't be helped."

You try your hardest not to sigh, burying your face against his cold chest instead. You can still feel the slightest tremors running through him, and it frightens you a little. Your palms find his back, rubbing circles, trying to get him warm again.

More than that, though, you’re exasperated. Can’t the man let these things go? For once? You know the answer is no. This is his life’s work, his sole focus. And if you’re being honest, you half expected him to end up coming home like this. And there’s no way on God’s green earth he’d just let the killer run away without at least attempting to catch them.

"Well, you're home now.” You press your mouth to his collarbone, as if to cast a spell to keep him with you, this time. “I don’t want you leaving until you’re warm again.”

Sherlock makes a little content noise under his breath. "Mm…alright."

Together you stay there, quiet and contemplative of the relationship you’ve chosen, until he dozes off. The soft, full sound of his breathing is a comfort, and slowly, you let yourself fall asleep again as well.

For a few days, you think nothing will come of his late night, sodden adventure. You go to work and come home, he's busy with cases. You orbit one another, occasionally pausing to gravitate, exchanging kisses and sweet words. It gets to the point where you’re beginning to think he’ll come out of it all unscathed, despite the near-freezing chill in the air that night.

Until you find him three days later, sniffling in a ball on the sofa. The urge to say I told you so is overridden by how annoyed he looks. Setting down your work things on the kitchen counter, you walk over cautiously, a little amused by his irritated huff. Sherlock settles so that both legs now dangle over the edge of the sofa, squinting at the screen of his phone.

“Hullo,” he mutters to you, texting rapidly. You notice right away that his voice is scratchier, almost raspy. “How was work? Boring? Good? Oh – the woman with the dermatillomania – was she there?”

You work at a small research facility, recording the results of certain skincare products on voluntary test subjects. When one of the patients had gone missing during your trials, following up on your care had inevitably led you to the most bizarre case surrounding their disappearance. And then, inevitably, to Sherlock Holmes.

Your knowledge about the victim seemed to interest him, and God help you, you’ve never been one to walk away from a pretty man. He’d fucking towered over you, but nothing about the height difference made you feel small. Instead he’d regarded you with curiosity, in your scrubs and shoe covers. In the bathroom mirror hours later, you’d realized there were tight rings around your eyes from your safety goggles. Not your best look.

But he hadn’t cared. The conversation went on for long past the fifteen minutes it was meant to, and it melded far past the edges of business. Somehow, you’d moved on to other topics of science, leaning against your tidy little desk/lab counter in the corner, and found London’s notorious detective opening up to you about his own experiences in various fields of research as an undergraduate.

You’d heard all kinds of things about him, of course. That he was unusual and cruel and unconventional, but that he could solve any case placed before him. You’d seen his picture on the telly and plastered over the newspaper here and there, his handsome features looking around you, avoiding the camera, but in person he’s starkly different.

He’s – not shy. That’s not the word you would use. But his eyes seem to dart around your face before settling, his energy restless as his long fingers tap on the tabletop. The first time he smiles at you, something crumples in your chest like a fresh sheet of paper balled up in a fist, something like pain and surprise, and you know you’re doomed.

Good thing that the feelings are mutual. A little less than a year later and you’ve found your way into his flat, under his quiet pretense that of course it would be more convenient if you just lived here. Convenient, yes. And the two of you are happier this way. You would never say that your courtship was conventional – often meeting him when he’d called you to the morgue of Saint Bart’s, in the presence of an apologetic Molly Hooper, to consult on a victim’s skin condition.

But other nights are perfectly normal, sometimes shockingly so. You find that he loves being touched, after you’ve gotten to know one another. Most of the time when you fall asleep, it’s limbs akimbo, with his chin tucked atop your head.

Love was not a word spoken aloud between the two of you for a long time. Still, you felt it. You saw it in the way he looked at you, soft and gentle on a quiet evening in. You heard it in the way he says your name. It was everywhere around you, simply waiting for its time. Now that you’re brave enough to voice it in the air between you, it settles warm in your chest, because it belongs there.

“She wasn’t,” you say now, placing the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s heated, and a little clammy. “And it looks like you’re getting ill from running ��round in the rain.”

Sherlock doesn’t look up, though you can see him purse his lips. “Mm, no, don’t think so.”

“Liar.” There’s no malice to the word – rather amusement. You crouch by the arm of the sofa, placing your lips to his forehead instead. “Yeah, you’re definitely warmer than you should be. Do you feel alright?”

Now he does meet your glance, phone placed on the coffee table screen up and glowing. From this close, you can easily see the little changes in his complexion; his eyes and nose slightly redder at the edges, darker circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well the night before. Of course, that would be hard to track to him being ill, because does Sherlock ever get a full night’s rest? You’d really start to worry if you witnessed him getting a full eight hours.

“If you think I’m ill, why would you kiss me?”

“Well,” you sigh, pushing your fingers through his runaway curls. He closes his eyes, drowsy, relaxing into the sensation. You’ve often accused him of being a housecat about this sort of attention, and more than once when you’ve run your fingers through his hair and tried to stop, he’s put your hand right back where it was. “Probability is I’ve already been exposed, haven’t I?”

He makes a small noise of agreement, a displeased hmm. It’s followed by another wet sniff, his irritation with the whole situation obvious.

“We didn’t even catch him, love, did I say that?”

“You did,” you reply, fond. “A few times.”

“Bloody pointless.”

With a sigh, Sherlock settles deeper into the sofa, as if he’s struggling to get comfortable there. You withdraw your fingers from his curls, contemplating what you’ll do about work. No one really wants you in if there’s a possibility that you’re going to be spreading something. Thankfully, your boss is good about taking your word for it. Not as if you’d lie – and your attendance is spotless otherwise. If you text her, that should suffice for the next few days until you see how this will all play out.

“You never answered me,” you say after you slide your own phone back into your pocket, the text sent.

“Mm,” he utters, tired. “About what, exactly?”

Poor love, you think in sympathy. It’s strange to see him less like himself. Less aware of the conversation, for one thing. You don’t think he’s ever lost track of what the two of you were talking about in all the time you’ve known him. But also with noticeably less energy – the Sherlock you know needs to be fidgeting at all times even when he’s seated, lest he explode. His leg bouncing violently against the floor. Fingers tapping. Anything to move without moving.

Now, though, he’s just curled up in a loose ball. His cheek pressed against a pillow, arms folded over his chest, clad in just house clothes. An old black t-shirt and pyjama trousers.

“I asked if you feel alright,” you repeat. “Though I think I already know the answer.”

“I’ve felt worse,” Sherlock says, blinking up at you. “Though I suppose I’ve felt better.”

"How about the bed, then? Since you've failed to get comfortable."

You keep your suggestion light, wondering how he'll take it. You don't want to seem like you're trying to force him into anything. Sherlock isn't one to change up the routines he already has in place, and loathes a surprise. (Or at least, an attempt at one.) But since he looks halfway to dozing off, you're not sure he'd mind too much at the moment.

His answer astonishes you, uttered almost shyly as he reaches out to place warm fingertips to your forearm.

"Would you…would you come, as well?"

God. Your heart starts to ache in the strangest way to hear him admit that he wants you there with him. You're not about to say no; it's not as if you have anywhere else to be.

"Of course."

Minutes later, you're curled up together. Sherlock fights to keep his eyes open as you settle under the blankets, sighing deeply once you're tucked against him. After a few moments of peaceful silence in which you're certain he's drifted off, you hear him mumble something you don't quite catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Said, 'I don't want you to get ill'," he repeats, clearing his throat.

"You're sweet," you tell him, reaching back from where you're cuddled against his chest to kiss his hand. "And you're worrying too much. I'll be alright."

You're met with another grumpy hmph in answer, as if he isn't sure he believes you. That's the last response you get out of him before he drifts off. Each long, slow breath is a reassurance, even in the healthiest of times, that he's not going anywhere.

Though you're far from tired, you stay right where you are, straining to reach your latest book on the nightstand and thumbing it open. He's a notoriously light sleeper, and you don't want to wake him by leaving right after you promised you'd lie there with him.

One hour passes as you lose yourself in your reading, then another. Honestly, you can't believe he's held still for this long – most nights it feels like he migrates halfway across the bed from where the two of you started, intent on moving around even in his sleep. Not now, though. Instead there's only a deep quiet as you turn the pages, an occasional soft snore.

Eventually you risk extracting yourself from his tangle of limbs to go to the loo, certain that you'll wake him, only to turn around and find him still asleep.

Damn, you think, a disbelieving smile on your face. He really is down and out.

After the trip to the loo, you retire to the kitchen, making yourself a light snack. You text your boss as the kettle works itself to a boil, letting her know that you're going to err on the side of caution for the next few days just to see how things play out. She quickly agrees that that's probably for the best, and you slide your phone back into your pocket, glad that that got taken care of without a hitch.

Also, you're not going to object about a few extra days home with Sherlock. Between your work and his heavier caseload recently, you'd be happy to just have some much-needed downtime. Not that you're glad that he's fallen ill, but sometimes you have to play with the cards life gives you. And if this particular hand involves a lot of lying around and napping together, well, who are you to complain?

—---------

The next morning, you wake to see Sherlock still asleep, almost exactly how you'd left him the evening before. Sleeping on his side mere inches from you with his arms slightly crossed, it strikes you how different he looks this way. Less petulant, maybe. Calmer. With a rush of fondness, you reach out and place your palm to his forehead, and feel him warm to the touch. Perhaps a bit warmer than yesterday.

He shifts a little, stirring at last. Blinking up at you with squinting, drowsy eyes, Sherlock takes a few seconds to realize that something's amiss with this scenario.

"You're not at work," he croaks.

"Astute observation," you reply, teasing, letting your hand run through his tangles of hair. He's somewhat sweaty, either from the extra blanket or from the fever, you aren't sure. All you know for certain is that he'll want to get straight in the shower once he's fully awake.

Sherlock ignores the little jab, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Are you alright?" he prompts, mirroring your own motion and placing his fingers to your cheek.

They're warm, trembling slightly, and the fact that he wants to make sure you're not ill even though he's feeling off pulls at your heartstrings.

You lean into the touch before shaking your head, gently lowering his hand down.

"I'm alright," you say. "I'm here to look after you. How are you feeling?"

"Oh," says Sherlock, as if that should've been his first assumption. He pulls himself up a step further, sitting up in the bed beside you and sniffling thickly. "Erm – like utter shit, honestly."

You tsk, giving him a once-over. He sounds hoarse and more congested than yesterday, and you wouldn't be surprised if this is that cold that had your friend from the neighboring lab down and out a few weeks prior. She'd complained about a week of congestion, sore throat, sneezing, and being so tired she didn't want to do a thing if it involved her leaving her bed.

"Poor love," you say at last, pecking him on the temple. "How about you pop in the shower, eh? I'll see what we've got in the medicine cabinet."

"Nothing good. Already checked."

"When did you check?"

Though he looks worn-out and under the weather, that doesn't stop a familiar grin from flashing across Sherlock's face.

"Last night, when you were dead to the world. Probably could've fired a gun in here with the state of you."

"Me?" You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be offended. Both of you know that you're a notoriously heavy sleeper. "You should've seen yourself. Downright eerie, that was."

Sherlock only rolls his eyes, and the lack of a clever comeback is yet another clue to his well-being.

You enjoy that the two of you can banter back and forth like this without the fear of offending the other. Most articles about Sherlock that make their way into the public eye speak about what a cruel man he is, alongside his cleverness, but that's never been the case in your relationship. Once you formed a friendship and discovered you and he had such similar personality types, there was affection there just as much as ribbing and teasing.

"The shower, then," he says after a moment. "Will you join me?"

You shake your head. "If there's nothing in the medicine cabinet, I'll run down to Boots, pick you up something. Alright?"

Sherlock's face gives nothing away, but you detect a hint of disappointment as he nods, peeling himself out of the nest of covers. The two of you often shower together when you have the time, and there's a fifty-fifty chance it'll devolve into something more than simply getting clean. You wonder if that's what he had in mind, or if he's just craving the comfort of the routine.

"Thanks, love."

He catches your wrist as you move to find your shoes, tracing his fingers lovingly over your considerably cooler skin. You turn to look at him, taking in the face that you’ve memorized and gone silly over and yes, grown to love. His eyes beg for what his mouth won’t say.

Kiss me?

How could you not?

You press your mouth to his, finding Sherlock’s lips dry and warm. His eyes slip closed in an almost drowsy way as he sighs through his nose in pleasure, nudging closer just as you pull away. The tiny sound that escapes his throat is something like a whine, an involuntary sound of dismay.

“Don’t you try and keep me here,” you laugh, but it’s a poor disguise for your own enjoyment.

You’re sure he knows you’d like to keep going, to fall into the kiss and let it blossom into more. If he had the energy to indulge such a thing, you’d melt into the sheets, let this first touch last for hours.

But there’s cold medicine to be purchased, showers to take. You give him a lingering look as you pull away from the kiss, your heart racing. He really shouldn’t be trying to start something like this with the state he’s in. You’re going to stop this now and get dressed. The chill air will help clear your mind. It definitely will.

“Go on,” Sherlock says softly, nodding to the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile. “I’ll be right back.”

[yuichi-ro]

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cw: fem!Reader, established friendship, established relationship (ish), fluff, language, mentions of violence, blood/cuts, one(1) forehead kiss, unedited word count: 1k in which Shuji keeps a thing of chapstick in your bedside table.

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Spearmint was the worst flavor.

Was it trying to be mint? Was it trying to be sweet?

You argued endlessly that it should pick a side and quit straddling the line of both minty and sweet. Shuji would ignore you and pop it over into his basket anyways. Arguing that it was chapstick and it was going on his lips anyways.

Making you swear you'd never borrow it from him if that's what he was going to be packing around. That you'd rather kiss the pavement than wear his nasty spearmint chapstick.

So why it ended up in your bed side table. You never fully understood.

The thud woke you up quicker than the curse that followed. From the window no less meant only one thing. And when the light from the flickering tv and your lamp washed over Shuji's battered features and brimming grin. You sighed just to rub the tired from your face.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Shuji stumbled into his lanky glory over to the foot of your bed. Face battered something fierce. But the red streaks on his jacket caused you more of an issue. Making you shoo him off your comforter with a frown.

"Get your fucking ass off my things like that." You scowled up at him as you dusted off where he sat like it would really help if he stained anything, "What are you even doing here? Don't assholes like you sleep at some point?"

He giggled again. This time with a hand palming the back of his neck when the man shrugged, "I needed something."

This excuse.

You threw the blankets off yourself and moved towards the edge of your bed. Planting them firmly down on your carpet while looking back at the bloodied monster still standing in your room, "What?"

Gold eyes glimmering, Shuji gave a genuine smile that made you stop your complaints in their tracks, "My chapstick."

About ready to echo a sarcastic reply and the demand he leave without it. Your crankiness from being woke took a back seat to look at the rough shape even Shuji found himself in. Rightfully so he looked like shit and you didn't know what was his blood and what might have been someone else's.

Not like he didn't deserve it. That you were probably pretty sure about. But now he was standing in the middle of your room after breaking into your apartment like you were both teens again. Either he had a good reason or there was one too many hits to the head this time. Whatever it was you caved with a sigh.

"Here." You yanked open the drawer. Full of your own things that got caught in the catch all of your bedroom. And what was pushed towards the back was the nasty stick of spearmint flavored chapstick he shoved in there years ago. Snagging it you would have thrown it at him normally. But something in you told you to just hand it to him.

Leaving the safety and warmth of your bed to hand him over that dumb container of cheap ass chapstick. Shuji smiled as he took it from you. Reeking of dried blood and cigarettes. Unsure of how many he probably sucked down before tumbling through your window just now. But when his fingertips brushed your palm they were cold as could be. Knuckles bruised when you looked down at his hands.

Watching him pop off the top. And swipe the stale old chapstick on both his lips while looking at you with a half lidded smile.

"...you look like shit." Finally you said it.

"Want some?" Shuji ignored you and offered you the open tube.

"Fuck no."

"Here you can put it back."

"That chapstick is old as shit take it with you Shuji." You shoved it back to him and urged him to just put the cap back on and pocket it.

He sealed it but held it up with a tired smile, "If I kept it, what are you gonna use?"

"I don't use your nasty ass chapstick."

"Well then what am I gonna use when I come over?" He reasoned with a little wobble to his stance. You were growing a little concerned but when he caught himself back on his two feet with a little sway only. That made you frown but Shuji spoke over you, "Put it back in your bed side drawer for next time I-"

Finally his tank hit empty. And you didn't even have a chance to rid him of that nasty jacket. Shuji tapped out by face planting into your bed. Groaning as he turned his head so at least he could breath. Utterly limp with the chapstick still in his hand.

"Sorry," He said with a half smile, "Looks like I'm running on empty. This sucks."

There was no moving him now. Feet dangling over the edge of your bed. The same bed you moved out of your old house with. One Shuji crashed on more than a few times. It was inevitable for him to end up here again.

Reaching down and taking the container of chapstick from him. You let it roll to the back of the drawer. Right back to where it was before. Shutting it as you sat back on your indented side of your bed. This time with Shuji snoring and fully clothed right next to you.

You hand ghosted over the side of his face. Feeling his breathing made you relax a little bit. With as empty as he was running on, Shuji didn't even flinch when you touched his face. Just like the jackass.

Leaving you to exhale slowly with a slight shake of your head. He was out for the count. So you leaned over and left but a fleeting kiss on his warm temple. Getting hit with the overwhelming scent of spearmint with it fresh on his lips.

"Fucking spearmint..." You shook your head as you resituated back in bed. This time not facing the tv. Instead on your side with a hand on his back while you mindlessly rubbing him.

You hated that flavor. But the back of your drawer would continue to be it's home until Shuji simply didn't need it anymore.

[chaoticevilbean]

Another Star Wars AU, TBN*

*To-Be-Named

I love time travel. A lot. So here is a time-travel au, with the CW trio.

Somehow, perhaps by touching a Sith artifact, perhaps by the Force deciding they should, perhaps from some sort of weird ritual the locals were performing that the trio didn't know about, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Anakin, Rex, and Cody travel aback in time.

[Please keep in mind that Canon Timeline has died tragically in a fire, and I am but the weeping widow with an inheritance.]

Due to whatever happened, they all also end up (technically) deaging. They still have their memories and their knowledge and skills, just stuck in smaller bodies. They can think and act like adults, but they also have to struggle a bit more to implement Older Skills in Younger Bodies.

Ahsoka is 2. She's nubby. She's emotional. She's tired and sore from her deaging.

She wakes up in someone's office. She's in a spinny chair, a big one with leather padding. It's kind-of chilly in the room.

She's not thinking, because all her brain is putting together is that she's still tired. She grabs the jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it over herself. She goes back to sleep.

Rex and Cody wake up together.

They are their actual age, which is to say they're both about eleven.

They find themselves on Mandalore. In the more wild areas.

(let me believe that there are parts of the planet that aren't covered in city)

(also, this is the Mandalore in the cartoons)

They find a teen trying to wake them both up. Rex has absolutely no clue what's going on. Cody has a vague idea, because this girl looks very similar to a picture he once saw...

Obi-Wan does not fare as well. He is 3.

He wakes up in someone's arms. He's just as tired and sore as the other three. However, he's also got more awareness because he's in someone's arms.

He looks up to see who's carrying him.

He looks around at the people walking with them.

He starts crying. He cannot help this, as he is suddenly flooded with Emotions, and he is Smol. Smol = harder to handle Emotions.

Because Qui-Gon is walking right next to him, tapping away on a holopad as they go. Dooku is on his other side, on a comm call where both parties sound very tired.

And Obi-Wan is being held... by Obi-Wan.

So, yeah, not that great for a suddenly Smol Obi.

Now, Anakin is 8, so he's better off in that perspective.

But he wakes up on some remote planet without anyone around. He just was in the middle of a group, so he ends up kinda panicking.

Then he hears something coming towards him, and he panics more.

He's Tiny! He's Smol! He's massively at a disadvantage against attacks! He can't fight off whatever is on a planet like this!

It's Mace (and Depa).

Anakin, however, doesn't realize this. He has gone Feral.

Back to the beginning

Jango Fett has been very busy w/Important Mand'alor Paperwork all day. He finally has time to go and relax a little, and he makes it all the way down to the exit before he realizes:

It is really cold outside. He is not in armor bc he was planning to only do paperwork today (though he still has many weapons). When one plans to stay in the same room for almost the entire day, one does not wear normal garb.

That said, he has no protection from the cold. He forgot his jacket upstairs. He rushes back up to his office.

He distinctly remembers that he left the jacket on the back of his chair, not on the seat.

He also is wondering what that lump is.

He arms himself, grabs some of his "emergency" armor plating, and walks over to the chair.

He lifts his jacket up, expecting a bomb or some paperwork that fell off the desk, or something logical.

He does not expect to find a tiny Togruta child clinging onto the fabric, whining as they're woken up by his yanking of the jacket.

Jango's brain stutters for a moment, then he kicks into action.

First things first, he wraps the jacket around the Togruta. They thankfully stay asleep. Then he turns up the heat, because he knows the office has gotten colder in the twenty minutes or so he's been gone, and Togruta are from warm temperate zones.

He decides to call, in this order, a guard who can help him watch the Togruta (they did break in, after all), a medic to check the Togruta’s health, and the first person he can find in his contacts that might know an adult Togruta.

Next group

Rex and Cody manage to get the teen to stop fussing over them for long enough to ask for her name.

Her, clearly lying, but that’s understandable: My name is Ine.

Cody, who knows exactly who this is now: Oh, kriff. You’re Duchess Satine, aren’t you? Kriff.

Rex: Wait, Satine? As in the General’s Satine?

Satine, now very suspicious and reaching for her stunner: I think you need proper medical attention.

Cody, looking down at their eleven-year-old selves: Yeah, I think so, too.

They agree on one thing, at least.

Next

Obi-Wan is crying. Loudly, uncontrollably, w/too many Emotions to even care that he’s supposed to be an adult rn.

Other Obi-Wan is very uncomfortable, bc he doesn’t know how to handle children too well.

They found this kid unconscious in the middle of a ruined, abandoned town.

Obi-Wan was meant to hold this kid while Qui-Gon did research and Master Dooku tried to convince the Council that it was entirely necessary to bring the kid back to Coruscant. Granted, they can still give the child to the locals at any time before they make it back to their ship, but apparently the Force is Being Loud.

The Force was Being Loud when it told Master Dooku to come along.

The Force was Being Loud when it led them to that town.

Qui-Gon and Dooku have argued fifteen and a half times on this mission, and an additional six times on the flight here. Obi-Wan is trying to mediate but also doesn’t want to overstep. The Force is Being Loud, sure, but the kid is also Force-sensitive so it might be something off that.

He didn’t argue with holding the kid bc he thought that it was better than being caught between the Masters.

Holding a crying child and trying to get two adults to stop arguing bc they can’t decide how to comfort the kid is not better.

Obi-Wan keeps walking past them to the ship with this baby. He does what he’s seen some crechemasters do to the younglings. The kid eventually calms a little, and he belatedly realizes that both Masters are still behind him, not with him.

NEXT

Anakin is panakin.

He is currently in a state of Feralness. His instincts have kicked into overdrive, full-on Survival Mode.

Depa and Mace do not know this. All they know is that there was suddenly an extremely powerful Force presence that started fading quickly (bc Anakin started shielding).

They burst into sight of Anakin and are suddenly attacked by all four feet and some of Feral Force Child.

It’s all they can do for a good minute or so to avoid losing their fingers, eyes, or untorn clothes.

Mace puts a few things together very quickly.

This planet is uninhabited by any sapient life. Therefore, this child is utterly alone. This child also is clearly strong in the Force, and knows how to hide their presence, for whatever reasons. Mace is a Jedi, and therefore is bound by certain duties.

He decides it is his Duty to get this kid back to Coruscant safely.

Back to the beginning

Ahsoka wakes up to find a familiar face looking down at her. She’s still tired, but not as much. She’s very aware of her size, and does a few quick observations.

She does not fully know who Jango Fett is. She does know that some clones run off bc they hate war and weren’t given a choice an- no. Not going down that path yet.

Ahsoka assumes, semi-incorrectly, that she was shrunk or deaged and somehow found by a rogue clone.

She knows it’s a rogue clone bc they’ve got weird armor.

So she does the logical thing and tries to comfort this clone bc he looks really worried and kinda panicked. She stands up on the spinny chair and tries to balance and he practically lunges to help her and she can’t help but giggle, but it comes out in a bunch of chirps instead.

The clone picks her up and looks really awkward so she pats his face bc that’s the best she can do bc she doesn’t want to disprove the fact she’s two yet.

For all she knows, this rogue clone has no idea she’s actually a Commander in the GAR.

He doesn’t, but for different reasons than she thinks.

NEXT

Rex and Cody go with Satine to the city. They have introduced themselves and said that they were separated from their aliit. They don't know where said aliit is.

Satine is highly suspicious by this point, bc these two kids recognized her with only part of her name, and they were alone, and they speak Basic with Mando'a thrown in.

Basically, she thinks that they're children of people like Death Watch, but she's too young to know that Death Watch isn't really into children.

Rex and Cody get checked over by a medic, but also start trying to get access to some working comms. They are refused on account of being suspicious children (which makes them a little upset bc they're not children)(Well, they are, but not those types of children)

They have not yet figured out that they are in the past, bc Cody and Rex only know that General Kenobi talks about Duchess Satine, and they know about Padme Amidala from General Skywalker, so clearly this Duchess is really young and the General simply viewed her as someone he wants to protect.

They are very very very wrong.

NEXT

Obi-Wan manages to calm himself somewhat now that it's just him and... him.

He is three, and he knows roughly what's happening, so he knows he should probably act like a 3yo.

Unfortunately, he has very little understanding of how child ages work. 3 is smart enough to go up the stairs and communicate with adults, but def. not old enough to speak sentences that are 15 words long with at least 2 5-syllable words.

Fortunately, his older (younger?) self doesn't know children either.

So when this 3yo starts telling him that he needs to leave the two Masters on the planet and head to Tatooine really fast, Obi-Wan is more concerned about the idea than the strangeness of "this is a 3yo suggesting this".

Obi-Wan is really good at convincing people. Including himself. He manages to get Padawan Kenobi to leave supplies where the ship is supposed to be and head towards Tatooine.

He says that the Masters will be fine, they know how to survive, and they need to be alone together in order to work through all the tension. Plus, it gives them plenty of time to talk to the Council.

Toddler Kenobi also tells himself that he'll take the blow and say he used a mind-trick.

Padawan Kenobi doesn't believe him yet, but Toddler Kenobi smiles like a very smug adult and says "you'll get there eventually". What he truly means is up in the air.

NEXT

Anakin, since waking up, knows much less than everyone else. Which is saying something.

He knows he's Smol. He knows he's Alone. He knows Someone has come and they are Strangers.

One thing about Anakin's instincts is that they are very much Survival Based. He was Feral when he joined the Jedi, only he had to hold those instincts back for most of his life bc of being a slave.

A slave cannot bite someone who approaches and Vibes Wrong.

By the time he felt okay with being Feral Out Loud, he also felt safe enough that he didn't need to activate his Survival Mode.

What I'm trying to say is that Anakin does not realize how strong his Feral Instincts are. He has absolutely no control over them rn.

When Mace decides to Help this child, this child is trying to Maul them.

Mace makes a small ruckus to draw Anakin's attention to him so Depa can move back. Depa pulls out her saber now that she won't hit the kid. The kid notices Purple and Bright and Lightsaber.

Lorge Jedi Mind says this is Good. Safe. Jedi.

Smol Feral Brain says this is Dangerous. Mean.

Anakin freezes on sight and just starts tracking Depa's saber. She does one of those things where a snake or something is focused and the person waves the fire or the food slowly to make sure the wolf is watching it and usually they toss the thing away so the snake follows it.

Mace instead takes this opportunity to wrap Anakin in his cloak. And Depa's cloak. And the spare ones in their bags.

Feral Child is not happy with this. Feral Child is also unable to scratch or Maul or do things other than bite and snarl.

Depa carries Feral Child while Mace comms the Temple and they walk back to their ship.

The Temple is having a field day.

First, one of their Shadows reports that a well-known bounty hunter got an emergency message from a pal of theirs that said Jango Fett needs help learning Togruta childcare.

Then they get a call from Dooku, which is not the mission report they wanted.

Yoda: Mission report, you have?

Dooku: Of a sort. We successfully spoke with the locals, then went to investigate a rather large disturbance.

Mundi: A disturbance?

Dooku: We found the source to be a Force-sensitive child.

Mundi: So you are here to ask for more time on the planet?

Dooku:...

Yoda: Bring the child back, you wish to?

Dooku, unapologetic: He is of an acceptable age to be admitted into the Temple, and no other beings were around at the time to entertain the idea of there being guardians.

The Council is sighing and muttering bc this is a Disaster Lineage (and they haven't even met the other two yet). Their call is interrupted by the sound of crying and Dooku saying the child's woken up.

Then there's another Shadow who sends a message saying a set of twins that seem like Death Watch were found by the heir of Clan Kryze.

Finally, to top everything off, they get a call from Mace Windu and Depa Billaba. Two very dignified, not-at-all chaotic Jedi from a perfectly respectable lineage.

Yeah, most of the Council and the Order itself forgets that Yoda had a hand in raising Windu. Yoda "Feral Grandpa" who throws children at every problem. Grandson isn't doing too well? Throw a child his way. Other grandchild is struggling to cope with grief? Throw another child their way. Oh, there's a war going on and newest grandchild is angry a lot? Here's a child!

The entire lineage has a soft spot for children.

Anyways...

Mace: Our mission was a success. We found the artifact and both specimens.

Koth: How long until your return?

Mace:...

Yoda: Found a child, you did?

Gallia: Master Yoda, that's a rather illogical guess. Once is unusual, twice is-

Mace: Oh, did Qui-Gon find a child as well?

Yoda, smugly: Bringing the child back, are you?

Depa, from the background, after a rather loud snarl is heard: We do not bite things, young one.

*more snarling*

Mace: We have no reason to believe he was not alone.

Tiin: *deep sighing*

Mundi: *mild confusion noises*

Koon, eagerly: Please send photos of this youngling. For the archives, of course.

Mace, nodding sagely: Of course.

*extremely loud yowl* *sounds of Mace turning*

Mace: DEPA!

Depa: He nearly bit off my finger!

Mace: That doesn’t mean you pinch him!

Depa: What else am I supposed to do?!

*sudden exclamation filled solely of Mando’a, Huttese and Twi’leki curses*

Mace: So, I don’t know if he speaks Basic, but Master Che should be able to talk him through a check-up.

Yeah, several Council members are experiencing headaches now. Normally, they would have some empathy for Mace and his own stress-induced migraines. They currently do not.

Right after that call, Dooku calls back to say that Obi-Wan has left without them.

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Dooku:

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Obi-Wan did not leave himself with the Masters. Obi-Wan has listened to Mini-Obi and is off on some wild space adventure to a criminal-run planet.

The toddler won’t stop staring at him. He asks for a name. The kid says to call him Ben.

OW: Is that your name?

“Ben”: It is a name I am called :)

OW: That isn’t what I meant.

“Ben”: I know :)

Ben also keeps staring at OW’s lightsaber. OW decides to make sure the kid doesn’t start playing with it when he isn’t looking.

MEANWHILE

Ahsoka has figured out that she was really very oh-so wrong. She’s on Mandalore. As in, the Mandalore that is under Jango Fett. Bc she’s with Jango Fett. He’s holding her hand bc she was nervous about the strange looking medic (who was just wearing armor, but not clone armor and civies don’t wear armor.)

Ahsoka knows very little about Jango Fett. Clone Buir, Mandalorian leader, tried to kill Master Kenobi. Also dead.

He asks how she got in. She shrugs. She is too small to fight back so she can’t let him know anything. Whatever everything is right now. But also, he doesn’t seem mean or evil or anything.

Oh yeah. Skyguy said that Mandos love children. That's why the clones were so protective of her, even with Skyguy on her side of the argument.

She decides to use this to her advantage. She can probably get herself a comm, and enough time to call the Temple. If she can convince them she at least knows a Jedi, then they can come get her and she'll work from there.

ELSEWHERE

Rex and Cody are getting really upset. This Duchess is really nice, but she's acting really weird and keeps insisting she's not actually called Duchess. No one will give them a comm, they keep getting weird looks for speaking Mando'a even though they're on Mandalore, and Satine's father keeps mentioning a Fett. Maybe Boba's set a bad example again.

Rex starts to fall asleep, to his chagrin. He's too bored, sitting and getting some abnormally extensive check-up. Cody is fine, but he's used to the calm that is General Kenobi. Rex usually has a Togruta teen in the vents and a Human that is never where he's supposed to be.

Rex does, in fact, fall asleep. His "twin" starts glaring when a doctor goes to wake him up. Cody makes it clear that his brother is like Cat: once asleep, you do not wake.

Satine is giggling, but trying not to let the others hear. Cody does. Cody looks at her. They have a stare-off.

Cody goes back to glaring at the doctors. He will not admit to any emotions besides Protect™.

BACK TO

Obi-Wan and Ben have made it to Tatooine.

[cyncerity]

Sizeshifter!Tommy au where he noms SBI and Beeduo all at once? He grows just big enough to where they all fit nice and snug in there and he can feel all them. Big man just wants to hold his family close and keep them safe!

I wrote this as quickly as I could because this prompt gave me so much brain rot. It also gave me an excuse to write one of my favorite vore tropes: overstuffed preds 💖

tw: vore

“Yes!!” Tommy yelled after his 5th consecutive win against the rest of his friends and family in Mario Kart. He heard the rest of them groan as he laughed harder at their defeat. “Alright, Tubbo, you came in last, you know what that means…” Tommy snickered as he leaned closer to Tubbo. The brunette simply laughed as he shoved Tommy’s face back. “Yeah, yeah, I owe you, but I have a feeling you’re gonna wanna cash that favor in now, aren’t you?” Tommy grinned mischievously in response. “Oh, you know me so well.”

Tommy and Tubbo scrambled off the couch and went to the living room as the other 4 continued to play. In a matter of no time Tommy was a giant, approximately 45 ft in height. Not huge, but big enough so that Tubbo had room in his stomach. And as soon as he reached that height, Tubbo shoved his arm in his mouth with a sly, silly grin. Tommy’s response to this was to close his mouth around Tubbo’s torso and slurp the rest of him in like a noodle, making the now much smaller boy burst into giggles. He licked him for a few minutes before getting impatient and swallowing him down, the now familiar feeling of the warm, squirming lump traveling down his throat bringing the shifter bliss. Tommy laid back, closed his eyes, and put a hand on his stomach as he felt Tubbo enter his belly, fully content to lay their the rest of the day.

“Tommy, get back in here, we’re starting another game!!” Tommy heard Wilbur shout. He peeked an eye open. Surely they knew he was giant right now, right? They had to have known what he and Tubbo had gone into the other room to do, they’d have to be stupid not to know. Tommy sighed and made his way back to the dining room where Mario Kart was set up, laying on his stomach (which Tubbo didn’t seem to mind, surprisingly), only bothering to fit his top half in the room. “Oh, there you are! Can you still use one of these?” Ranboo held a controller to Tommy, who’s face remained deadpan as he lifted his hand to compare it to the controller, which was barely the size of his finger nail. “Right, I guess that makes sense…” Ranboo continued a bit awkwardly. “You wanna just watch this round then, Toms?” Phil asked. Tommy shrugged and nodded as Techno started the game.

A few minutes later, Wilbur came out on top, with Ranboo being the loser. Tommy chuckled as Wilbur continued to gloat his victory to patronize Ranboo, when the mocking finally died down and the attention was surprisingly turned to him.

“Alright, Ranboo, new rule for the night: you lose, youre sleeping in the giant.” Wilbur said nonchalantly. Tommy’s face turned to one of utter confusion before he laughed a bit as an argument broke out between Wilbur and Ranboo. Ok, this could be something he could get behind. He was always up for the chance to nom his friends.

Soon Ranboo stared at Tommy with tired eyes as he pushed his lips open. Tommy quickly closed his mouth around the teen and threw his head back as hard as he could and swallowed down Ranboo in one gulp, taking Ranboo by surprise and making Wilbur lose it with laughter. Tommy rearranged himself as he felt Ranboo enter his stomach and Tubbo move over to make more room so that he was now lying on his back, watching the tv upside down. He looked down at his gut.

He had noted a while ago that 50ft was the minimum height he could be to swallow both Ranboo and Tubbo, that being the minimum height where they weren’t crowded and Tommy still felt full while not showing any signs of having eat someone from the outside. At his current 45ft, though, his friends started to make a bump on his gut. Nothing too noticeable unless someone was looking for it, but there nonetheless.

A few minutes later, Techno lost. “Alright, rules of the night, Techno,” Wilbur said as he shoved his twin brother towards Tommy, “down the hatch you go.” Techno just rolled his eyes, not excited or anything but seemingly not opposed to the idea. Tommy was beginning to think this wasn’t such a great idea anymore. Yeah, having two people fill his stomach was nice, but he was fairly certain that two was his max. It was already a little cramped as it was. God, if he even managed to fit Techno in their, would it give him a stomach ache? Tommy negotiated the idea of growing bigger so there’d be more room in his belly, but he had never attempted to shift with people in him, so he dropped the idea.

Nevertheless, a few moments later Tommy found himself watching the bulge of his stomach grow slightly, maybe a half inch to him, bigger as Techno entered his gut. The organ growled around its new occupant, probably realizing (just as Tommy had) that there was already to much stuff in his belly. Tommy drowsily rubbed his stomach and felt internal rubs back as he heard Phil shout from the couch, their last race seemingly over. Wilbur stood up and began shouting for a rematch. Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rematch or not, one of them was going to end up in him, and he didn’t know if he could physically take that. He wasn’t sure where the point of unhealthy weight in someone’s stomach was, but he was sure he was close to reaching it. He’d never felt so full before, and he didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not. It’s didn’t hurt like he thought it would, and so much motion under his skin made a shiver run up his spine and melt his muscles in the best way possible. Of course, that could all change once a fourth person entered his stomach. He’d only ever eaten three at most, and at that point in time he was about 150-200 ft tall, so this get entirely different.

Phil proudly and snuggly pushed Wilbur towards Tommy, who readied himself as he picked up Wilbur and carefully placed him in his jaws. Tommy took slow, small swallows just in case any harsh or fast movements would give him a stomach ache. Phil seemed to notice his sons’s dilemma, though, and moved towards Tommy to rub his stomach, trying to push his occupants aside to make room for Wilbur, and making Tommy let out a sigh and start purring, to blissful to even feel embarrassed.

“Wil’s idea cause you a bellyache, mate?” Phil asked, continuing to rub Tommy’s gut as it swelled even more with Wilbur’s entry, giving another, louder low growl at the added weight. Tommy groaned slightly and nodded. Phil gave him a sympathetic smile and he placed his hands on the organ to rub it, and felt a second pair of hands rubbing from the inside. Tommy seemed to be on the verge if sleep, the over-stuffing making him drowsy.

“Does it hurt, Toms?” Tommy shook his head. “Then, do you mind if I go in?” Phil said as he laid a hand on Tommy’s gut. Tommy nodded as he picked Phil up, begrudgingly standing as best he could and moving to the living room where he could throw the couch cushions on the floor and make a makeshift bed, feeling the most likely equally drowsy people in his belly slide down the walls of the stomach as their surroundings shifted. Tommy soon felt them start to try and get into a comfortable position after having been moved, and out of curiosity looked down at his stomach. He was surprised to see that not only had Wilbur added probably another quarter inch to his distended gut, but he could make out their movements from inside him. To him, it only looked like his stomach had swollen about two inches bigger, but he could just barely make out when someone pushed at him or leaned their full body weight against his organ. It might have been somewhat disturbing to anyone other than Tommy, but at the moment, the young shifter was to entranced by the fact that now he could actually feel and see what was going on in his belly to care.

Once they reached the living room, Phil got gently popped into Tommy’s mouth as he began to take the couches apart before he was swallowed down, reaching the stomach within seconds, everyone else who had been eaten already fast alsesp. Phil chuckled as he felt his world shift as Tommy laid back down, rubbing what he assumed to be the front of the stomach.

“Hey, Toms?” “Yeah?” “How about next time, best two out of three?” Tommy only chuckled, poking where he felt Phil rubbing his stomach. “Oh, it’s so on.”

[eldritchqueerture]

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

[the-only-ace]

can you please write something about taem's enlistment? honestly feel awful i feel like he's lowkey sad about it i just wanna give baby cheese a hug :(

haiii i love this request since it is really well... timely (?). i have been planning to finish this request before taemin's enlistment but yeah, here we are... things been busy. so i hope this one is not that late and may this be some sort of comfort for everyone as we wait for our baby cheese's return.

serve well and always take care, taem! we will be just here and wait for your return with bright smiles on our faces.

taemin scenario: looking forward

pairing: taemin x reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: it is taemin's last few hours before his military enlistment and reader tries their best to ease his worries. both are making sure that they have spent the remaining time together to the fullest.

warning: semi-nudity, implied sexual activity (no smut thought)

send in your requests here!

your eyelids slowly fluttered open and soft rays of sunlight greeted your still adjusting eyes. you attempted to rub the sleepiness away from your eyes before slowly sitting up. your raised both of your arms above your head and stretched with a small grunt. the sheets fell down and exposed your naked torso to the cool breeze from the air conditioner. you looked at your side and smiled gently. you rested your cheek on your bended knee and gazed at the sleeping figure beside you.

taemin was sleeping soundly on his chest and the blanket was comfortably wrapped around his hips while his broad bare shoulders were displayed to you. his head was tilted to the side, facing your direction. his eyes were closed with a hint of dark circles visible underneath them--a sign of his hard work within the last few months. his lips were slightly parted and you can hear his soft breaths. his hair that used to be unruly as they got ruffled by the pillows was now cut short. you can't help but reach out and touch them with your cold fingers.

there he was, the love of your life. it may sound cheesy and a bit cliche but it was true. he was your first boyfriend and you were more than pleased that you're still together given how young you both were when you met years ago. you went through a lot of ups and downs like every other relationship out there. it was also challenging at first especially with the nature of his work since he can not fully dedicate his time to you. you eventually got over it mainly because you knew how important and passionate he was with his career. every after his performances, you can see his eyes lit up and his lips stretched into a big bright smile. it was then you knew you have to support this man. you have to be his rock when things got shaky and unstable.

you two actually hit a big milestone in your relationship quite recently. you were living with him for more than a year already and both of you were still amazed how no media outlet has sniffed it out yet. also considering the number of times taemin recorded a live video around the apartment, you're just thankful there were still no accidental reveals.

your train of thought was cut short when taemin suddenly stirred on his position. "sorry, did i wake you?" you asked softly as you retracted your hand away from his hair.

he shook his head before dragging himself towards you. his arms found their way around your waist and his head rested contently on your lap. you smiled at his behavior and then proceeded to stroke his hair again. both of you stayed like that for a bit and soaked into each other's presence while waiting for the drowsiness to pass.

"is it weird?" his muffled voice broke the silence after a few minutes.

"what is?" you inquired back.

"my hair." he rolled to his back and looked up at you.

"it's... new." of course it was, just a few days ago you were happily playing with his hair and extensions. he always allowed you put it up into a bun whenever he came back home. now, you can barely grip them with your fingers. "it's not weird, just new. it actually made you look younger in my opinion." you reassured him with a small giggle.

he frowned and groaned, clearly displeased on your response. he thought you were just lying to make him feel better. he won't believe you anyway even you deny it so you decided to ignore his sulking. you then began drawing lazy shapes across his skin while he started to hum one of his songs. your fingers eventually linger around his tattoos and you can't help but admire them.

"should i get one?" you muttered more to yourself actually but taemin heard it very distinctly. it made him shot up from the bed and beamed at you widely.

"you should!" he exclaimed excitedly. '"i mean if you really want to. we can even go to my artist and get one together."

"okay, calm down, mister." you chuckled since was almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "where should i place it though?"

"well... it would look nice here." he reached out and touch your rib area. his eyes soon landed on the red mark beside his index finger and a playful smirk slowly made its way to his lips. "or here..." he continued and moved his pointer on your collar bone, on another one of his marks. "here would be good too..." he went on and on while pointing out all of his work while his grin grew bigger and naughtier.

"stop..." you rolled your eyes and push his hand away. "i know what you're doing. someone went overboard last night." you can't help but narrow your eyes at him. it would be a pain to hide later when you go to work.

"i'm sorry, i just thought they would be a great parting gift." he shrugged before leaning closer. "so did you like it?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"eh... it's alright, i guess." you teased with a joking scowl.

"well, that can be fixed easily." he tackled and pinned you down in the bed, making you let out a high-pitch scream. he wasted no time on littering quick kisses all over your neck. you writhed under him as you attempted to escape him since you were feeling ticklish from his soft lips.

a blaring alarm noise interrupted your noises and movements. taemin pushed himself up and looked at the clock on your bedside table. he took a deep heavy sigh before dismissing the alarm. you immediately felt the change in his mood as he got up from the bed.

"i'll go brew us some coffee," he announced and got out of the bedroom.

it was now your turn to sigh. you already tried your best to ease his worries yesterday but just like you have predicted he was still troubled. you can't blame him though, after doing only one thing ever since he was only 12 years old, you get why he was anxious about this upcoming change. not to mention that he will be going through this alone in a way. his other members enlisted at the same time so the thought of someone experiencing the same helped them get through it much easier.

you got up and walked towards the chair near the bed and snatched taemin's shirt that was carelessly hanging from its backrest. you pulled it down your head and you can't help but smell his scent; it was his favorite shirt after all. god, you were going to miss him so bad.

you followed taemin towards the kitchen and the aroma of the coffee greeted you. he looked at you from head to toe and it made him smirk. he knew how much you love stealing his shirts. it was quite comforting to know that at least his clothes will be used even though he was away.

preparing breakfast was peaceful and intimate. taemin was hugging you from behind while you cook your meal; outrightly ignoring your protests since it was not really easy to move around with him clinging to you. in a few minutes, both of you are sitting down at the dining table and quietly enjoying the hot food in front of you.

it felt like a normal lazy morning. days like these were common after his promotions. it was when he has some time to rest and replenish his energy. those were the days you always anticipate since you were able to see him more often and spend more quality time together. if he didn't have a buzz cut, it was easy to fool yourself that this day was one of those.

"do you think, i'll do well?" he suddenly asked when he placed his chopsticks down.

"of course," you quickly replied without missing a beat. no matter how many times you convinced him already, you will never get tired of doing it if that will give him peace of mind.

"what makes you say so?" he looked up and met your unwavering eyes. "what if i'm not fit for it?"

"and what if you are?" you challenged. "look, we'll never know something unless we try it but trust me, knowing you, you'll do just fine. they used to criticize your singing career back then and look where you are now. you don't let external factors affect you and you always work hard to achieve your goals. so what makes this different? i know once you set your heart to something, you'll be able to do it. you just have to trust yourself as well."

"always saying the right words," he sighed and rested his head on his hand. "what will i be without you?"

"still probably as great as you are now." you knew that taemin achieved his success on his own. all those late-night practices and sacrificing a normal life as a teen, it was all him. you were only his supporter who hopefully made the process a bit easier. "besides, you crushed the obstacle course in dream team last time so i believe the drills will be manageable for you." you cheekily added.

"wow, you still remember that? i'm no minho though." he shook his head while chuckling.

"no one's like that competitive monster." you scoffed.

"yeah..." he trailed off, obviously being concern about another matter again. "i hope our fans won't forget me."

"don't be stupid." you frowned and kicked him lightly under the table. "of course they would wait for you especially after being their comfort when the other members were serving their time. i'm sure that they would be counting the days for your return and they would be delighted to see you again. although, no one would be more thrilled than me so... don't forget me as well."

"how can i forget you if i will be thinking of you every single day?" he stood up and gave you a kiss on the forehead. "thank you."

"for what?" you inquired.

"for always being there especially when i need it the most." his tone was warm and heartfelt. "i should probably take a shower now."

you nodded and listened to his footsteps disappear into the bathroom. as soon as you heard the water running, you stood up as well and placed the plates on the sink. you then went back to your shared bedroom and doubled check the contents of his black backpack, making sure that he did not forget anything important. knowing him, there was a huge chance that he does. you also added a few extra clothes and toiletries just in case he did something stupid and end up breaking or losing some of his stuff.

it felt wholesome to pack his things for him. as if you were his wife helping him prepare for his upcoming trip. if only the trip wasn't going to be 18 months long.

the time flew by quickly after taemin's shower and suddenly you were by the doorway, watching him wear the straps of his backpack. you handed him his black baseball cap before fixing the strings of his black hoodie.

"you all set?" you asked trying hard not to make your voice crack. it was finally sinking in for you and you didn't want him to know that.

"yeah," he nodded as he fixed his cap.

both of you stood there, not really knowing what to do or say next. you should probably wish him luck and send him off but you don't want to. not yet, you keep on repeating to yourself. sensing your dejection, taemin suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the tightest hugs he has ever given. your hands quickly wrapped around him and you buried your face on his chest, inhaling his scent and trying to memorize it--even though you already do.

"i'm going to miss you," he whispered tenderly. "so much."

"i will miss you too." you finally let out the sob you were holding back. thinking that it was impossible, his embrace tightened even more around your shaking frame.

he kissed the top of your head and murmured how much he loves you again and again. right then and there, you wanted to be selfish and don't let him go, and as if on cue his phone started to ring. he answered it and their conversation was less than a minute but you know exactly what it was about.

"they're downstairs already," he stated as he let go of you.

"you should not keep them waiting then." you clumsily wipe away the tears in your eyes.

you both bid your goodbyes before sharing one last kiss. he then got out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.

and just like that, you were left there in complete silence. you blankly stare at the closed door and you never felt more alone in your life.

you were about to turn around when the door burst open without warning. standing there was taemin who unmistakably ran back considering his heavy pants.

"taemin?!" you exclaimed from the shock. "what, did you forget something?"

"yes, i forgot to ask you something." he exhaled. "i forgot to ask you to marry me," he said in full seriousness while staring straight into your eyes.

"y-you... what? huh?" you fumbled with your words as your brain tried to process whatever he just said. "w-what did you say? i don't--" you attempted to ask again.

"when i get discharged, will you marry me?" he repeated as he moved closer towards you. you just gaped at him without saying a word and that made the nervousness slowly crept into him. "sorry, i was not able to get a ring since this was... well, spontaneous. but um... here, will this do?" you watched him remove the ring he was always wearing on his right hand. he unceremoniously raised it in front of you and waited for your reply.

you were beyond stunned. sure, you both talked about getting married someday but you didn't think he would propose today. you always knew that when he planned for the special day, you will easily catch on. he was not really the best planner and secret keeper after all. nothing has prepared you for this moment.

"y/n?" he cautiously called out, getting a little concern from your lack of response.

you looked away from the ring and moved your eyes to meet his uneasy ones. he was undoubtedly waiting for your answer.

"yes," you barely managed to blurt out. "yes, of course, i do!" you repeated, this time firmer.

you have practically seen the weight off his back after hearing your response. he broke into a tiny celebration dance before composing himself again and sliding the ring into your finger.

"okay... i didn't think about that part." the ring was big for you which was not surprising. "sorry, i'll just get you a new one soon." he embarrassingly rubbed the back of his neck.

"it's alright, it's perfect." you can now feel another urge to cry but this time it is out of happiness.

"i love you," his expression soften and one eyebrow raised up, a habit of his whenever he says something genuine. he titled your chin up and captured your lips for a passionate kiss. you stand on your tiptoes in your attempt to deepen the kiss which made him smile. his other hand moved to your lower back and pulled you closer to him while you ran your fingers through his hair. it felt right, both of you know exactly that this is where you two belong--with each other.

however, your little heaven was interrupted once again by the ringing of his phone.

"okay, you should definitely go now." you ultimately let go of your hold around him.

he nodded. he knew he cannot delay his departure any longer. "goodbye."

"goodbye," you echoed. "just for now."

he waved his hand before going out and shutting the door. this time though, he did not come back running. you knew he was on his way to his enlistment and you would be alone in the apartment for months but right now, you did not feel that lonely anymore.

you looked down and adored the ring around your finger. 18 months would indeed move slowly but it will be bearable because this time, both of you have something to look forward to.

[with-paint]

A Drunk Video

Rating: Teen and up

Paring: Harry Styles x fem!reader (platonic pairing only)

Word Count: 3,641

Summary: You and Harry get absolutely wasted and make a decision to make a YouTube video. It was probably a bad decision

Warnings: lots of swearing, sexual themes but they’re all joking, WAP, small slut shaming

A/N: listen this was a fic I wrote aggggges ago. I just suddenly remembered it and wanted to share my sins with the masses. I’m not going to apologise for doing what’s RIGHT.

You hummed as you trotted up the stairs of the very modern apartment building. The grey walls were spotless and the bright white lights hung low.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you stepped onto the fourteenth floor landing. Why the hell did Harry even have an apartment? He was rich enough to buy a mansion. You contemplated this as you moved along the hall. Looking for the familiar 1402.

You smirked to yourself and knocked on the door. A few moments passed and the door swung open revealing the rock star himself. Harry’s Los Angeles apartment was very sleek. Harry in plaid pajama bottoms, a black jumper, and fuzzy socks, was not.

“Well someone looks comfortable for four pm.” You teased as he smiled at you. He nodded and opened the door wider to let his friend in.

“Had a rough night so I just wanted to be comfortable.” He said running a hand through his hair. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, not wanting to openly stare.

“Rough night hmm?” You teased again, a grin on your face. Harry rolled his eyes and nudged your shoulder.

“I might’ve binge watched that show you like. The entire show.” Harry mumbled as he fell on his couch. You snickered as you slid down next to him. Harry groaned and moved so his head was on your smaller shoulder.

“You binge watched Sherlock in one day? I’m impressed.” You laughed out as you ran your hand through his messy hair. Harry nuzzled more into you, trying to feel more of you scratch his head.

“Benedict Cumberbatch is.” Harry moved away slightly to put his hand in the air. He made the ‘okay’ sign and you laughed.

“That he is.” You nodded as Harry settled back down onto you. You two laid like that for a few minutes. You absentmindedly twirling and scratching Harry’s hair as you stared out of the giant windows making up his far wall. The busy Los Angeles evening greeted your site. It was comfortable.

“You want to order some food?” Harry spoke, his voice completely muffled by your shoulder. You smiled down at him. You were sure that if anyone could see you, they could tell how much you cared for the man. It wasn’t a romantic adoration, just true love for another person without expectations or further meanings. You just simply loved him.

“If you want. Pizza?” You asked, making you feel Harry’s smile press into you. He shifted so his head was lying on your lap. Harry stared up at you before closing his eyes peacefully.

“Read my mind.” He hummed as you ran a hand through his thick hair again. You smiled softly and brought your phone out of your pocket. You two ordered a pizza each and remained cuddled up until the doorbell rang.

Harry sighed and untangled himself from your lap. He padded over to the door as he ruffled his hair, trying to get it to appear less flat. He opened the door and greeted the delivery man with a smile.

You picked at the threads of your ripped jeans and flowed into the kitchen. As Harry was talking, you grabbed some plates and cups and brought them to Harry’s small glass table.

“We should film something for your channel.” Harry said as he closed the door behind him, the boxes being clutched in his arms. You smiled at him and nodded. You always felt a little guilty whenever you featured Harry on your channel. You never wanted for him to feel as if you were clout chasing. You were friends with him before you became big on YouTube and you wanted him to remember that.

“Yeah, we could sing some songs. Make it stupid.” You mused propping your chin on your hand. Harry smiled as you, dimples popping. He served you a slice and sat next to you in his seat.

“Make it stupid.” He agreed. The two always made sure that if they were going to post something, it had to be for laughs. Anything serious between you two was unheard of.

You had been a part of the Eroda music video. You had actually helped direct it. You and Harry had been drunk in Peru when the thought struck you both, and it was a collaborate idiotic idea that created the music video. To say that a few months later, you were dressed with weird hair as Harry sang to a fish, was serious? Absolutely not. You two just wanted to make something stupid. And you both fully succeeded.

As you two ate, you brainstormed on what you were going to sing. With a few glasses of wine in your stomachs, you had both equally bad ideas.

“Fuck.” You hissed as you accidentally spilled your wine on your clothes. Harry giggled as he eased the glass out of your hands.

“I think you drank too much,” He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll go get you some clothes. You probably have some here anyway.”

You tried to dab the wine off you, but rolled your eyes. It was pointless. As you started to drum on the table, Harry chucked some clothes at your back. Your mouth opened in shock and you flipped him off.

You just pulled your shirt off and put a loose grey shirt then your short shorts on. Your usual go-to sleep clothes. You didn’t really care that you were changing in front of Harry. Lord knows you were comfortable enough with each other to see each other in your underwear. You looked up and Harry wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Let’s get this show on the road then, pop star.” You giggled as you leaned over and ruffled his hair. Harry looked at you lazily and watched you with half closed eyes. You wiped your hands on your shorts and set up your camera, focusing it on the two couches by Harry’s TV.

“Looks like we’re filming a porno.” Harry snickered, a wide smile on his face as he wiped his eyes. You smiled at him and flipped him off.

“You wish.” You sang as you put your laptop on his kitchen counter. You leaned forward and began typing with a smirk on your face.

“Imagine if we did have sex though.” Harry said. You furrowed your eyebrows and turned to look at him over your shoulder.

“Boy, I love you, but you are not touching me. Especially when we’re both drunk.” You said with a slight grimace. Harry pouted and leaned back in his chair.

“You take the fun out of everything.” He giggled and leaned his elbows on his table. He continued to watch you and a big smile spread over your face suddenly. You looked over at him with an evil glint in your eyes and Harry gulped. He especially didn’t like it when you gave him that look. The last time you turned to him with the evil eye, Harry had been convinced to be strapped onto a helicopter for the Sign of the Times music video as you laughed from behind the camera.

Little did Harry know you had picked a song conviently called Harry by Kelsey Karter. Kelsey wrote the song about your friend here. She posted a picture on Instagram with a tattoo of Harry on her cheek promoting the song. You had found it when the picture came out and it was honestly a banger. You also adored that Kelsey did it all for a publicity stunt and the tattoo wasn’t even real. Genius.

“Come to the couch H.” You teased as you hit record on your camera. Harry narrowed his eyes at you and fell over the back of his couch and laid down long ways.

Harry watched as you said your intro a few times. You kept stumbling over your words in your intoxicated state and that for whatever reason made Harry giggle. You flipped him off and smiled at the camera sweetly.

“This is my friend Harry,” Harry smiled, his dimples popping as he waved to the camera. He slouched down in his comfortable clothes, matching your attire. He was sure that once this video aired he was going to be clowned for how domestic you both looked, but he didn’t care. The sight of you two so content and in a state of bliss was very rare. You scrunched your nose at him. Something he returned happily.

“We’re going to sing you some songs, if you like. Harry, you want to go first?” You asked him as you cocked your head to the side. Harry tapped his chin in mock thought and shook his head.

“Your channel, you can go first.” He said, his voice drawing out slowly. You smirked and nodded.

“I’d like to just say that me and Harry are both pretty drunk. Also we were talking about porn earlier so there is slight context to why I’m doing this.” Harry put his head in his hands and groaned. He knew that you were carefree enough to be okay with putting that on the Internet and he just had to accept that. And be prepared to put twitter on silent.

You walked over to Harry’s kitchen counter. Your laptop was opened and shining brightly in the slightly dim room. You tapped on it, making sure to keep it from the camera and Harry’s pryful eyes.

You smirked as the music started and fluffed your hair as you walked over to Harry. You tugged him to sit up on the couch and began to sing.

“I blacked out, passed out, first time we met. It wasn't drugs, could be love, but it's probably sex.” You sat on the couch next to him and at ‘sex’ you put a hand on his thigh. Harry raised his eyebrows at you as you smiled and continued to sing along with the recording.

“Cool stare, greased hair curled around your eye. I wanna take a dirty picture, send it to your mind, I'm not just thinkin' 'bout you.” You ran your hand through his hair again and Harry smiled a little wider. You moved your hand down to his neck and ran it down to his chest.

“I'll treat you better than the girls you're hangin' out with. Take you to heaven and I'll show you all around it. I'll never ever let you down. Ooh.” You moved off the couch and circled to the back. Wrapping your arms around his neck and leaned down and sang into his ear. You blew in it making Harry giggle as a drunk flush came over his features.

“Harry. I'm gonna make you love me, you’re gonna make me breakfast. It's a secret just between us we can keep it low-key. I ain't being funny, you should be so lucky to put your, put your velvet arms around me.” You fell over the back of the couch like Harry did earlier. But this time you put your legs around his waist as you made him wrap his arms around your shoulders. Harry laughed at this and bobbed his head to the music, showing to you and the camera that he didn’t care for your sexual intentions just as much as he knew you didn’t care to really make it sexual.

“I'm g-g-g-g-gonna make you love me.” You sang and they both tried to not burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I'm staring at you in the magazines every day. Feel like I'm seventeen never been touched this way. I'm thinking 'bout you.” You rolled off him to sit on his coffee table. With idiotic acting you crossed your legs and pulled up one of the magazines that was laying there. You gazed over the top of it with a smirk and Harry wiggled his fingers in a wave.

“I'll treat you better than the boys you're hangin' out with.” You bit your lip and leaned back on the coffee table. You knew you looked like an idiot, but that was the point.

“Take you to heaven and I'll show you all around it. I'll never ever let you down. Ooh Harry.” You rotated your head like a snake charmer and at the beat dropped, you sunk to your knees in front of Harry. He laughed and spread his legs so he could look at you.

“I'm gonna make you love me. You're gonna make me breakfast. It's a secret just between us we can keep it low-key. I ain't being funny. You should be so lucky to put your, put your velvet arms around me.” You tried not to laugh as you stood up and started to dance ‘erotically’. Harry leaned back and pretended to make it rain on you.

“Oh, Harry, Harry. Mmmm, Harry.” You got back on the floor and crawled the short distance to the couch. Making sure to overemphasize your shoulder blades moving.

“Oh, baby, I'm gonna make you love me. Yeah. So put your, put your, put your arms around me.” You sat next to Harry and pushed him to lay down. As you hit the end of the lyrics you laid across his body as Harry laughed obnoxiously.

“I'm gonna, I'm gonna. Gonna, gonna make you love me. Harry!” You sat up and started to twerk horribly on him making Harry cover his face with his arm and he tried not to cry laughing. You made your voice crack on the last note of the song and Harry couldn’t help himself. He tackled you off the couch as you doubled over laughing.

“Are you trying to get me hard in front of all of these people?” Harry joked hovering over you. You snickered and looked behind you at the camera. You caught your breath and nodded at Harry with a grin to match his.

“Mmhm.”

“Well it didn’t work so that’s embarrassing for you.” Your jaw dropped in mock offense and Harry narrowed his eyes at you. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before Harry lost it and you both started laughing again. Harry rolled off you, still giggling.

“So that was Harry by Kelsey Karter. I actually showed this song to Harry. We both had a very entertaining time.” You said, popping up to talk to the camera. Harry put his head on your shoulder and smiled.

“My song is a lot less suggestive. Because this is a family show,” Harry cut you off and you covered your face with your hand. A bright smile spread across your face. Harry leaned forward to look at you.

“Or is itttttt?” You both said and were sent into a new fit of drunken hysterics.

“If you could take that seat there,” Harry said as he pulled you back onto the couch that he was sitting in earlier. He skipped over to your laptop and began typing.

“Get ready to get your panties wet.” He said loudly, making you laugh. You knew you were going to have to edit that out but for now you just laughed at Harry’s brash, drunk personality.

He cleared his throat and clicked play on you laptop. Your mouth dropped. He was not doing this on camera for potentially millions to see. Holy shit.

“Whores in this house. There's some whores in this house.”

You covered your mouth as Harry moved around and danced like a weirdo. He started doing the robot and you leaned your head back in a cackle. You were so fucking glad you were filming this.

“I said certified freak, seven days a week. Wet-ass pussy, make that pullout game weak!” Harry rapped out choppily and started dancing again. You watched him make up horrible moves and he started doing the dance routine One Direction always did which made you almost jump out of your seat.

“Put this pussy right in your face. Swipe your nose like a credit card. Hop on top, I wanna ride I do a kegel while it's inside. Spit in my mouth, look in my eyes. This pussy is wet, come take a dive. Tie me up like I'm surprised. Let's role play, I'll wear a disguise.” Harry rapped, gaining more of a flow the longer he rapped. You were surprised at how well he knew the lyrics. He spun around his living room and you laughed again.

“I want you to park that big Mack truck right in this little garage.” He yelled, dropping to his knees. You shoved a pillow over your face to keep from screaming as tears of laughter rolled down your face.

“Gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me. Quick, jump out 'fore you let it get inside of me. I tell him where to put it, never tell him where I'm 'bout to be. I'll run down on him 'fore I have a n**** running me. Talk your shit, bite your lip.” Harry spit out. He put his hand over his mouth when the n word came up and then he slid forward grabbing your hand. He put it to his heart as he rapped.

“Now get your boots and your coat for this wet-ass pussy. He bought a phone just for pictures of this wet-ass pussy. Pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet-ass pussy. Now make it rain if you wanna see some wet-ass pussy.” Harry winked and lay on the coffee table with his arm propping his head up as he laid down.

“Look, I need a hard hitter, I need a deep stroker. I need a Henny drinker, I need a weed smoker. Not a garden snake, I need a king cobra with a hook in it, hope it lean over.” He pointed at you and your smile widened as you wiggled your shoulders and mouthed out ‘Yass’.

“I don't wanna spit, I wanna gulp. I wanna gag, I wanna choke. I want you to touch that lil' dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat.” At this Harry slid off the table and brought you to stand with him. He moved around and horribly tried to ballroom dance as you laughed so hard you could barely hear the blaring music of Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion.

“Your honor, I'm a freak bitch, handcuffs, leashes. Switch my wig, make him feel like he cheating. Put him on his knees, give him something to believe in. Never lost a fight, but I'm looking for a beating.” Harry twirled you out of his arms and punched the air to the sound effect of the fighting bell. You were feeling inspired and started to twerk like Tina Belcher. Harry tried so hard to not laugh, he almost stopped rapping.

“In the food chain, I'm the one that eat ya. If he ate my ass, he's a bottom feeder. Big D stand for big demeanor. I could make you bust before I ever meet ya.” Harry spun you around and winked obnoxiously.

He dipped you and you pushed him off as you fell to the ground. Your laughter took over you. You did not expect him to rap about getting rimmed, but you were so glad you were recording.

“If he fuck me and ask, "Whose is it?" When I ride the dick, I'ma spell my name. Ah.” You couldn’t help yourself and you started rapping along with him.

Harry jumped on his couch and pulled you up with him. You both just jumped around and laughed as the music continued to play.

“Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet-ass pussy.” Harry wiggled his shoulders like ‘the wobble’ as he slowly snuck to his knees on the couch.

“Now from the top, make it drop. That's some wet-ass pussy.” At this, Harry grabbed the back of your knees and pulled them to him. You shrieked as you fell on his body and you both laughed as you fell onto the couch.

“I'm talking WAP, WAP, WAP.” You couldn’t help but shout this with Harry and you rolled off him and onto the floor.

You propped your chin on the couch as he circled it and stood behind it. With his hands on the back he leaned down so you were a few inches apart.

“That's some wet-ass pussy. Macaroni in a pot.” he whispered leaning way to close to you. You fell back and hit the coffee table with a bang. You clutched your elbow in pain, but kept laughing at him. Harry couldn’t help himself and as the song finished up. He just doubled over the couch and cracked up.

The song started over, but you both were too far gone from laughing to pay attention. Harry’s apartment was full of laughter as your faces went red and you gasped for breath.

“Harry oh my god!” You shrieked and threw a pillow at him. He slapped his thigh and as he giggled.

“We’re making ourselves appear as a pair of sluts.” You said and pushed off the couch to stand up. Harry giggled and nodded.

“Less suggestive my ass.” You teased with a smirk and Harry snickered.

“Yup!” He exclaimed. Harry hopped over the back of his couch to sit down as he tried to regain his breathing. You moved to sit next to him. You were both flushed with big smiles and you waved at the camera.

“Bye!” You yelled and Harry waved too. You moved to turn the camera off and you plopped back onto the couch.

“What the fuck even was that video?!” You exclaimed and Harry smiled at you and shrugged.

“Just say we’re drunk. Then everything makes sense.” He said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You nodded and covered your face with your hands. You knew this was going to break the internet and honestly you couldn’t wait.