#ill clean this up and put it on ao3 later i think

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #40] Spinning Bottles

warnings: one of my faves!! drinking games, alcohol, home noraebang a la in the soop, brief game-related kiss with someone who isn't kook, jealous kook!!, ankle hold!! mm mm mm, kitchen kisses <3, mutual masturbation, sex toys (m&f), cum eating, cum swapping, multiple orgasms, just a fun time all round <3, the starlovers are really good at taking breaks!! self control is their forte!!

a/n: they're on wings which is like track 3 of the sy: final setlist and I can't promise ill get much more done of this bc they're in sparkly suits and I'm just a girl

wc: 14.5K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Stop," you laugh in that oh-so-serene way you always do when you don't really want Jeongguk to stop whatever he's doing. You just like an excuse to bicker - but he's just the same. Enjoys the back and forth. Always puts a smile on his face.

In the kitchen area of the main house, you've been setting up with Namjoon for the better part of half an hour, making sure that everything is ready for tipsy bingo later that evening.

The room is a chaotic mix of party decorations; an exuberant clash of colours that makes the previously millennial-grey kitchen come to life. Streamers hang from the ceiling, as do the balloons, and a few tiny disco balls, which are really just repurposed Christmas tree decorations.

"Not doing anything," Jeongguk mumbles through a mouthful of the puffed cheese balls that have been set out on the table as a snack for the evening.

Stood on a chair as you tape another one of the disco balls in place, you look over your shoulder to find Jeongguk's cheeks full to the brim. Eyes like a deer caught in headlights, he whips his hand away from the bowl, which now has significantly fewer snacks in it than it did 5 minutes ago.

"Gguk!" You laugh once more, simply shaking your head. "Told you already. They're for later."

"I'm not doing anything," he protests yet again, as if you don't have a pair of working eyes and ears.

"Well, in that case, do something ," you say. "Be useful."

"And do what?" He mumbles through yet another mouthful.

Unbelievable .

Tossing the tape in your hand down onto the kitchen counter, you hop down from the chair and just shake your head as you approach him. His fingertips are orange, and he can't lick them clean because his mouth is full of the cheese puffs that he's pretending aren't there.

"You're like a hamster," you deadpan, squeezing his cheeks a little bit - which causes his ever-so-large eyes to widen even further, scared of the pressure you're applying. Thankfully for him, you don't really fancy getting coated in his regurgitated food. You'll share many things with him, but this is not one of them.

Loosening your grip, you walk around the kitchen island to check in the fridge for the alcohol you bought earlier. "Fancy tending the bar, Dionysus boy?"

Jeongguk frowns. Swallows down the food he totally wasn't eating. Says, "It's my day off!"

"Pretty please," you plead with a pout, and then for good measure you add, "Koo. Please."

He outwardly scowls, but his insides are doing all sorts of silly loop-di-loop shit that usually only happens on rollercoasters. "Don't call me that. Witch."

"Just make a few pitchers for me," you implore, ignoring the choice of insult. You quite enjoy the idea of putting a spell on him. Might make him behave for once. "Starfuckers, Star Lovers, anything. I don't mind. A Woo-woo maybe?"

He scoffs, now. "A Woo-woo? Who do you think I am, B?"

Making his way around the counter, he taps your hips and scoots you out of the way before grabbing the liquor from the bottom shelf.

"A fuckin' woo-woo. It's like you don't even know me," he scolds you. Is ridiculously obtuse in his little tantrum, not caring for the fact he'll be making you exactly what you want. "You'll get what you're given - and you're getting star fuckers. And you're gonna like them."

Rather be getting star fucked, your brain sighs, and you almost verbalise the command for it to shut up.

Instead, you just beam at him like the shooting star you are. "Thank you!"

Leaving him to mumble false annoyances under his breath, you get back on with decking the room to the absolute nines. Jeongguk takes over the playlist, and you let him, even if you do lament the fact Charlie Puth seems to be every other song. The thing is, Jeongguk's voice harmonises so heavenly that it makes even the most overplayed of songs enjoyable.

Eventually, he makes himself extra useful and helps Namjoon rearrange some of the furniture to make the set-up a little bit more like a bingo hall. You and Namjoon get your very own stage - or rather, the boys just haul in a couple of wooden palettes from the deck area that will one day be chopped down for firewood.

Disguised by a little fabric and even more decorative touches from your hands, the room looks like a whimsical coming together of Dionysus and your apartment. Colourful, a little makeshift and incredibly welcoming, it's perfect. Fairy lights line the walls, balloons are scattered around the floor and disco balls take their place on the ceiling.

"Christ alive," is all Jimin mutters as he enters the room - and that's how you know it's perfect. As long as his minimalism-loving interior designer ass hates it, it's everything you could ever want and more.

There's a joy that comes with a room decorated like they're anticipating a toddler's birthday party, yet there are wine glasses in the place where there should be sippy cups - although now you come to think about it, perhaps sippy cups would have been a good idea.

You've barely explained the instructions of the night, and the group are already getting merry. Jeongguk's welcoming shots were a little stronger than normal, by design. He knows you have high hopes for your little event, and wants to help achieve that.

Dressed to the nines while the rest of the group are casual, you and Namjoon are severely committed to the bit. He's in a sweatshirt and bowtie, while you're wearing a pretty, white summer dress with a few ruffles. It's not all that dignified. It's so short that you know bending over isn't a good idea - but it doesn't matter.

Jeongguk still stares at you like a lovesick puppy regardless.

The first round is simple - just your standard game of Bingo. Namjoon has been brushing up on all the correct terms - "Legs eleven! Duck and dive, twenty-five! Meal for two, sixty-nine!"

That last one earns a few groans from the crowd.

It does, however, get a little smirk on Jeongguk's face. On yours, too. You think you're coy when you sneak a glance in his direction, only to see he's doing just the same.

The contact of your gaze lasts for a fraction of a second, but it's enough to awaken dormant butterflies that seem to have hatched quite recently. You're all of a flutter. Can't quite seem to focus.

Thankfully it's Namjoon leading this round, and not you.

Yoongi is the first to call bingo. Screams it quite violently, actually, then plays it cool as if he didn't give a shit. Strolls up to the stage to present his card - not that you've been keeping track of the numbers. Still, you and Namjoon feign deliberation between yourselves, then crown him your first winner.

His prize? Watching on as everyone takes a shot of his choice.

And because he's an absolute heathen, he chooses Fireball.

"You sick fuck," Jimin gasps before he's even taken the shot of cinnamon whisky. Hates the stuff. Knows he's in for a world of pain when he wakes up with a hangover the next morning.

"Not my fault you're a loser," Yoongi teases. "Win next time and then you can pick."

And so, by some miracle - or just him convincing Nabi to switch bingo sheets with him - he does.

Living with a bartender has many perks, and learning specific shots is just one of them. Jimin really hasn't utilised it enough, but Jeongguk looks on with pride as Jimin sets up a round of slippery nipples.

Equal parts sambuca and Baileys, the different densities of the alcohol means that the bottom half of the glass is entirely transparent, while the top half is a pale, creamy brown. Appetising? No. Delicious? Also, no. Fun to watch other people drink? Absolutely.

This time, Jimin forces you and Namjoon to drink. You protest. Cite a particularly bad night out (and morning after) thanks to slippery nipples.

Jeongguk calls you a pussy from across the room.

Challenged, you down it instantly, and mouth 'fuck you' at him after you've stopped wincing from the taste.

He just knocks his shot back without any trouble, grinning as he looks at you, his brows quickly rising and then falling. In the corner of his mouth, his lip ring does that godforsaken thing you love so much, and you decide that you simply cannot look at him for the rest of the evening.

By the third round, things are getting lairy.

Seoyeon calls bullshit when Yoongi wins again - "We're supposed to be a team! You can't be throwing me under the bus!" - and the judges have no choice but to disqualify him - "It's my party!" - and then give him a penalty shot for arguing with the adjudicators - "You're both uninvited to the wedding."

When Seoyeon calls 'bingo' two numbers later, you realise that perhaps she had ulterior motives.

"Unbelievable," Yoongi mutters when she passes him a shot of vodka with a giggle - but as soon as he's downed it, he's got his arm looped back around her shoulders again, and a kiss is being pressed to her cheek.

So in love are Seoyeon and Yoongi that both you and Namjoon gag a little - then force everyone else to take a shot. Star fuckers, this time. One of the pre-made batches you had Jeongguk mix-up earlier. Far more palatable than the other shots. In fact, they're so much nicer, that most people do another shot voluntarily.

With enough liquor in your systems to really let loose, you and Namjoon introduce the real bingo of the night.

Numbered balls back in the cage, Namjoon hands out fresh bingo sheets while you hold up a list, a wicked smile on your face.

Jeongguk recognises that smile. Fuckin' loves it. Knows it means one thing and one thing only: trouble.

"Each number correlates with a 'Never Have I Ever' prompt," you explain. "If you've never done it, you can cross the number off your bingo card."

"And if we have done it?" Taehyung asks, as if you weren't about to just move onto that stipulation of the rules. He's impatient. Wants to win.

"If you have done it, you take a sip of drink."

"And cross it off?" He clarifies, but is horrified to see you shake your head.

"Nope. If you've done it, you take a shot, and leave it uncrossed ."

"No one will ever win!" He wails - not realising that's the whole entire point.

The list is a combination of yours and Namjoon's knowledge. You've directly targeted your friends with things you know they've done. Have tried not to incriminate yourself too much, but you know there are things both you and Jeongguk will be drinking for.

Collectively deciding that no one would be able to win the game, you had both spent the entire time writing out the list giggling.

It was truly a bonding moment for you both - just as you're sure the revelations of everyone's sex lives will be for the whole group. Nothing says 'strong friendship' quite like knowing what your mates get up to in the sack. You and Jeongguk are a testament to this.

With 92 balls in the cage, you really had to scrape the barrel of sexual exploits when coming up with the list.

Which is why the first one gets you laughing before you even read it out.

"74," you announce. "Never have I ever had someone else's toes in my mouth."

"What?!"

"You guys are horrible," Danbi laughs - then takes a shot... as does nearly everyone in the room.

The only person who doesn't is Hoseok. He looks at you all with mild horror and intense curiosity. Points his finger around the room, and judgmentally says, "Disgusting. All of you. Animals."

"Don't knock it till you try it," Namjoon says, before swigging down some of his drink. You can't work out if he's flirting. Decide not to let it linger, 'cause from the look on Hoseok's face, he can't work it out either. Cute.

Namjoon begins to spin the ball cage once more. The small numbered balls rattle against one another as they fight to escape, until one eventually wins.

"21," you declare. "Never have I ever... been walked in on by my housemate."

Taehyung and Danbi both narrow their eyes at you - and your little grin only serves to prove that they're right to think it's aimed at them.

The horrors of New Year's Day still live in your mind rent-free. You don't think you'll ever be able to forget the image of Taehyung darting across your living room stark-bollock naked. You've seen freckles you never should have seen.

"What if your housemate heard you," Jimin asks. "Does that count?"

You and Namjoon deliberate for a moment, then decide that anything that gets more people drinking is positive. Tell him yes.

"Drink up, Gguk," Jimin teases across the room, earning himself a curt, but giggly 'Oh, fuck you' from his housemate. They've lived together for years, so it's hardly a surprise.

Thing is, you know Jimin to be a heavy sleeper. Know that you've gotten away with it pretty much every time you've hooked up with Jeongguk in his apartment. His room is against the living room, but it's across the apartment from Jimin's room. Even times in his bathroom have been masked by running water and the promise of Jimin's hangover keeping him knocked out.

Jimin doesn't tell you to drink.

An ache blooms in your chest in a way you don't really understand.

"Oh actually, in that case," Danbi speaks up, pulling you from your pitiful thoughts, as she pours out a fresh shot and passes it over to you. "You too."

"When?!" you exclaim, previous ponderings of Jeongguk's sex life fading into the abyss.

"Our walls are so thin," she laughs - and you know this to be true. "I've heard horrors."

"Oh, get fucked," you laugh, taking the shot regardless, deliberately not focusing back on Jeongguk.

Probably best.

The way he's looking at you right now would make you spiral; stare hard, jaw tense. He looks down at the table and shakes himself out of it before anyone can notice it. Stupid thing to get worked up about. He knows this. Refuses to let his misplaced emotions ruin the evening.

By the time someone calls bingo, you've lost track of everything - who's done what, which numbers have been called, quite literally all the important stuff.

Still, Taehyung takes his victory like a champ. Makes a speech.

Slurs, as he says, "I'd like to thank my beautiful girlfriend-" hiccups "- And say a very merry fuck you to all of my best friends. I love you."

And then he proceeds to dance, in a way no one expected, and nobody understands. He sort of looks like a cross between a 90-year-old man who occasionally transforms into a pole dancer - things he's learned from Danbi, no doubt.

Everyone watches on with mild horror, but nobody stops him. Jimin films it. In the morning, Taehyung will realise it's been viewed a couple of thousand times on the TikTok account that Jimin has never posted anything on before - but right now, you're all capable of making bad decisions.

Everyone, except for Yoongi and Seoyeon. Already pretty much stolen by drunken slumber, Yoongi carries her bridal-style back to their room in one of the outer houses, and you watch on with Danbi and Nabi cooing at just how sweet they are together.

Nabi knows full well the boys would draw moustaches on her if she fell asleep, and Danbi knows that Taehyung will be the one to fall asleep first if his little dancey-dance is anything to go by. You think about Jeongguk. Wonder if you'd become his responsibility.

"Oh, give over," Danbi laughs when you say you'd be left well alone. "Gguk'd probably worry you were dead and start doing CPR, or something stupid like that."

Nabi laughs. Agrees. "He'd get you on his back and Naruto-run you to the house. Probably land you both in the hospital."

Giggling at the stupidity of it all, you can't help but let the residual stardust in your heart burn. Glancing over at him, you wonder which scenario would be more likely to come true. When he feels your eyes on him, and looks up to meet them with a smile, you decide that you wouldn't mind either of them. Memories made with Jeongguk are things to be cherished, regardless of how stupid they may be.

It's why you ask him to come with you when you head over to the house you're staying in to grab a jacket. The air cools significantly at night still, and your little summer dress really isn't offering you enough protection from the chill.

"I like the dress," he says quietly as he sits on your bed while you rummage around for a jacket.

Holds his hands out for you to take - and when you do, he pulls you back to where you belong, between his spread legs.

Jeongguk looks you up and down as best he can when you're in such close proximity. Ends up just looking at your lips instead. Strokes your hip with the pad of this thumb.

"Pretty, pretty star, aren't you?"

Your eyes drop as your cheeks begin to flame ever so sweetly. Compliments from Jeongguk are nothing new, but they're never quite like this.

"Hmm?" He whispers, a little lopsided grin forming on his face when he realises how bashful you're being. "What's got you shy, huh?"

He really has to ask?

"Not shy," you hum sweetly. Dust make-believe lint away from his shirt. "Was just trying to figure out if that was dust or dandruff."

Rolling his eyes, he just says, "Fuck you, Byeol. My scalp is, like, a gift from the gods. Never had dandruff a day in my life, even when I bleached it."

"Should bleach it again," you tell him just to continue the deflection from your own awkwardness.

"Think you'd like it?" He asks.

"Not really into blondes," you lie. "Would be better for us if you repulsed me a little bit more than you already do."

"You'd be into me even if my head was shaved," Jeongguk snorts.

Ruffling your fingers in his hair, you shake your head. Smirk, and give him those eyes you always pretend to not realise you give him, before turning away to head for the door. "Nah. Need something to hold onto."

"You're filth, Disco Ball," he calls after you.

Looking back over your shoulder as you reach the door, the swish and flick of your ponytail matching the skirt of your summer dress, you're well aware that you're flirting. Well aware you shouldn't be flirting. Well aware that you shouldn't say the next few words, and yet you just can't seem to help yourself.

"You love it."

Jeongguk says nothing. Purses his lips. Fails to hide his smile, or formulate any response before you're already heading through the common area of the house and for the front door. He's damned if admits it, damned if he denies it. Silence in the space of truth is far safer, he thinks.

Following as you head back to the main house, you talk nonsense. The stars watch on with a fond sparkle, waves crashing ever so softly against the shore.

By the time you're back at the house, everyone has migrated to the sitting room, and Namjoon and Nabi have just finished a rendition of Finesse on the home-noraebang system.

Lights off, a couple of lamps and disco bulbs are the only thing providing any light, dappling you all in the most whimsical colours, as if you really are in a noraebang.

Jeongguk watches on with a quiet smile as you and Danbi enthuse over which song to sing next.

Neither of you are able to remember the name of any song ever released, apparently, and instead have resorted to tapping through random lettings into the machine and seeing if something tickles your fancy.

Currently, you're scrolling through artists that begin with 'C', and you can't help but fixate a little bit when you scroll down to Charlie Puth.

He's not your favourite - something about him just irks you - but you know Jeongguk loves him. Know that if you and Danbi sing one of his songs, it'll put a smile on Jeongguk's face. That he'll watch on from the sofas with a giggle, and probably sing along, too. Knowing the boys, you half think they all will.

And so you wave your arm in front of you as Danbi continues pressing the down button, and say, "That one! The duet with Selena."

One of Danbi's many blessings is the way she seems to retain every song she's ever heard in her brain. Even if a song she doesn't know is chosen, she can usually pick it up.

And so, even though it wouldn't be her first pick, she's more than happy to oblige. Clicks through, as Taehyung walks into the room with the final jug of premade starfuckers. Wisely, he's also got a big bottle of water tucked beneath his arm, but you doubt you'll be having much of that, in all honesty.

"I'll be Charlie," Danbi offers, knowing that her register is a little lower than yours - not that either of you can actually sing well. In fact, you half think the boys might have to leave the room. Singing really isn't a strength that belongs to either of you, but it is also what makes it so much fun.

You avoid turning to look at Jeongguk as the instrumental starts, the multi-coloured disco light shining on you both like you really are fully-fledged pros. Naively, you think you can get away with a glance in the mirror that's standing in the corner of the room - only to find a pair of fond eyes staring back at you.

Immediately, you look away. It's so embarrassing to be caught, regardless of how many times Jeongguk has locked eyes with you in mirrors. In the gym during those early days, in his bedroom, in his lounge, bars, bathrooms - ever-present. Always there. Like a pair of cosmic entities, you're still orbiting one another.

You're on course for collision, and it'll be catastrophic.

The inevitable calamity of your pairing is disregarded as Danbi gets into the lyrics, and you're pleased she's just as terrible as she always is. Gets everyone laughing, and singing along. It's Jeongguk's voice that holds your focus - and the way he stops singing when Danbi reaches the pre-chorus.

Don't wanna know,

It's odd, you think. The pre-choruses are always fun.

What kind of dress you're wearing tonight.

But then you stop singing, too.

If he's holding onto you so tight, the way I did before.

And then you're a little bolder in the way you let your eyes land in the mirror. Accept the way his eyes are already on you, lips parted ever so slightly, brows hard as he contemplates thoughts you don't want to let yourself imagine.

Jeongguk is in your head. The touch of his soft hands against your hips. The way he had declared you to be a pretty, pretty star bouncing around your skull. The fondness of his eyes on yours in the sanctuary of a private room.

It's so stupid . It was just a compliment. It really doesn't mean anything more than what it exactly expressed - and yet you wonder if Jeongguk is listening to the lyrics a little too intently. If he's thinking about you how you thought about him during the final round of bingo; with someone else.

You don't let yourself dwell on it. Danbi's chorus is finishing, and you've got lines to belt. Can't be letting your drunk brain get wrapped in nonsense that really doesn't make a difference.

Danbi forgets the concept of a duet, and continues to sing full pelt into the mic during Selena's part, but you don't mind. The pair of you sing at one another in such an aggressive manner that you can't help but giggle.

Every now and then I think you might want me to come show up at your door.

Jeongguk watches you a subtle smile on his lips. Wonders if you realise just how awful your singing is, and how volume doesn't negate a total lack of tone.

But I'm just too afraid that I'll be wrong.

Despite the fact you do sound like a drowning cat, there's something about this line that makes him feel a little something more than just bemusement. Previous uncomfortable thoughts of you with someone else echo in his mind.

He can't work out if there are signals that he's missing. Knows you've been working on your fears together, and quite successfully at that, but wonders which new ones could have evolved since you first wrote out the birds.

Neither of you are the people you were back then. Jeongguk thinks you're both better for it - but you're not perfect. Not by a country mile.

But perfection is for Hollywood stars, not the actual, living, breathing manifestation of the cosmic entities. It's your flaws that make you shine, and so maybe small fears are okay. If you've got someone to hold your hand throughout them all, then you'll never really need to be afraid again.

If you've done one thing right in your lifetime, it's befriending Jeongguk.

He's brought a richness to your life that you don't think you've ever known before. A year on since your first introduction, and it feels like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

So you ignore the weightiness of your pre-chorus lyrics. Push the thoughts of Hayun out of your mind when you sing about another woman. She can only ruin your mood if you let her.

In the darkness of a room lit only by party lights, surrounded by friends, mediocre pop hits and the laughter of the ones you love, you never want to lose moments like these.

Finishing off on a particularly horrifying note, you and Danbi are the first to call bullshit when the noraebang system gives you a score of 63.

"Fuck you!" Danbi calls into the mic. "We were perfect!"

"You just don't know talent when you hear it," you second, middle finger pointed upwards, directed at the plastic box full of wires.

"Biased! Tone deaf!" Danbi insults the machine, just for good measure, then hands the mic over to whoever wants to go next, but warns. "It doesn't know what it's on about!"

Jimin hops up instantly. Tells the boys that they have to join. Refuses to tell them what they'll be singing - but makes sure they close their eyes until the instrumental starts.

There's laughter amongst the boys that just glows and illuminates the room. Opening their eyes, they instantly get themselves into a little formation, Jimin in the central role.

The look on his face is one of unbridled success. This is exactly what he was after.

Yourself, Danbi and Nabi watch on with great amusement as Shinhwa's Perfect Man begins to belt out of the speakers, and the boys start their rendition with fucking choreography. Practised shit. Learnt .

The three of you giggle at the sight in front of you, completely bemused.

Jimin is pitch-perfect taking the lead, and the rest of the boys share a mic between them, passing it around every now and again. You can tell it's not the first time they've ever done this, and truth be told, you'd like to know when the first time was - what on earth prompted them to learn a full routine?!

Cheering them on, you and the girls play the ultimate role of cheerleaders - and when Jimin strips off towards the end? Oh, you've never screamed louder for a man. There are smiles on the faces of quite literally every single person in the room.

Or at least there is, until the noraebang machine grades them, and you think Jimin might just throw it out of the window.

"SIXTY-TWO?!" He yells. "Sixt- oh, this is unbelievable! Sixty-fucking-two?!"

"Losers," Danbi teases the boys, who are finding the whole thing hilarious - but also begin to take offence, too.

"It's wrong!" Taehyung begins to insist, too. "We are perfect men."

How on earth they scored a point less than you will remain a mystery until your dying days, you're sure of it - but for now, it's fun to tease them.

As Jeongguk takes the seat beside you on the sofa, you get a little more comfortable. Bring your knees to your chest, and then lean into his relaxed recline. His breath is a little heavier thanks to his dancing, lungs heaving ever so slightly, skin warm.

You speak quietly to him beneath pandemonium unfurling.

"Since when are you a K-pop trainee?" you say with a teasing smile.

Jeongguk just nudges you away, then pulls you back, his drunk smile so pretty beneath purple lights currently dancing around the room. So pretty. So perfect. So deserving of a little kiss for a job well done.

"Eyes up here," he whispers, still grinning. "Why? Did you like it?"

"Fuck you," you reply to his first statement, and take one last glance at his dewy lips, which he licks, before toying with his lip ring in the way he does that always drives you a little bit insane.

"Now? B, our friends are here," he flirts quietly before you can answer his questions. There's a certain sin to the way he looks at you after a couple of drinks, and it always gets you thinking about the way he worships you like a saint beneath the sheets. Gets you a little desperate; needy for a touch you know you shouldn't love as much as you do. "A little decorum, please."

And so once more, you just say 'fuck you' with a giggle - but then you're letting out a small yelp as Jeongguk drags you to your feet, grabbing the mics from Jimin, who is still cursing out the machine.

Your friends cheer you on while you accept two shots of fuck-knows what from Taehyung, while Jeongguk loads up a song. He doesn't consult you first, and you don't care to be consulted, either way. You're so drunk that anything will do. So is he - but he picks this one deliberately: Replay by SHINee.

Picks it, 'cause every time he hears it, he thinks of you. Wants to sing it with you, 'cause he's too timid to sing it at you. This gives him a little plausible deniability. Smart, even when he's steaming, Jeongguk is pleased when he sees you smiling at the screen.

It's a break-up song, but that's not really why he chose it. Chose it 'cause he remembers the way you, Danbi and Hoseok fuckin' lit up one evening towards the start of your friendship with him when it came on in Dionysus.

Reminds him of how the lyrics bemoaned other guys looking at the singer's pretty Noona, and how he'd sung along quietly by the bar, glancing over to you discreetly - only to earn himself a whip from a tea towel thanks to Yeonjun.

See, Jeongguk has never been discreet a day in his life when it comes to you. Is realising this much later than he should have done - but is already fuckin' serenading you in front of all of your friends, as if he didn't realise they'd all totally know what he's doing.

You're completely unsurprised that Jeongguk somehow seems to know the dance to this one, too.

You do not, but you also don't need to because Jeongguk is playing the role of a devoted, love-drunk fool perfectly. Gestures towards you with every beat of the song.

The real pièce de résistance?

When Taehyung and Jimin join as fucking backup dancers to the bridge and final chorus.

At this point, you take a seat next to Danbi on the sofa, and the pair of you belt the lyrics into your shared mic, though half of the words are replaced with your drunk giggles instead. Holding out your hand, you beckon for Nabi to come and join you. She happily obliges you, and the three of you are the perfect recipients of the boys and their little performance.

Hoseok and Namjoon are half invested, half busy animatedly chatting about something else instead. You leave them be. Think they look quite cute.

The boys in front of you, however, are a picture-perfect idol group, even if they are rat-arsed, and a little rusty on the old dance moves. Somehow their coordination is spot on, and it just raises even more questions.

You're still laughing when the score comes through and the boys are too busy congratulating themselves on a job well-done to notice it either.

Still holding the mic, Jeongguk holds his hand out for you to join him again.

"Sorry," he laughs. "We'll do something properly this time - your choice."

And even though it is your choice, you pick something that you know will be right up his alley. Wanna do something he likes, because seeing him with a smile on his face is maybe your favourite thing in the world.

"Oh, banger," he beams as the song loads up, and you're pleased to have chosen well.

"Young Money," you start, then replace Justin's name with that of your best friend and gesture towards him. "Jungkooooook!"

He takes the role of Justin Bieber so seriously that you can't help but laugh. Smoulders .

"Show you off," he gestures towards you as the song begins. "Tonight I wanna show you off."

The pair of you dance around, both singing, not really caring for the lines you're supposed to take. Really do party like it's 3012 tonight.

Moments like these - trapped between the unadulterated joy of what it's like to be young, and the heavy understanding that the people around you will be with you until you're old - are what life is for. You've sung in countless noraebangs, and consumed even more countless drinks - but this? Here? Right now? Tonight?

This is one night you'll remember for the rest of your life. Perhaps not the specifics, and perhaps the alcohol will ravage your memories, but in 5, 10, 20 years, you'll feel just as fond about this evening as you feel about it right now.

Not just for Jeongguk, but for all of your friends. For the unwavering amusement that comes with being in a group that just gets each other, despite any differences. There's a safety and serenity here that is rare to come by. You're lucky.

And yet all of these complex and heavy emotions fizzle away to simple joy.

Jeongguk's hand snakes around your waist at some point or another, and you know you're dancing a little too closely in front of everyone else.

Not a single person cares. They just cheer you on. Will be dancing in just the same ways when it's their turn.

The fact that you took the role of Selena in your earlier duet with Danbi isn't lost on anyone, as Jeongguk gestures towards you when you sing, "Gotta keep an eye out for Selena."

The whole thing is ridiculous. The song, the way you and Jeongguk are so into it, the way you're acting if a little bit of free space in the sitting room is a stage in front of thousands.

Arm around your waist, Jeongguk pulls you a little closer as you finish Nicki's verse. Your arm slinks around his neck - and your friends go absolutely feral . Sharing just one mic, eyes on one another, there's no denying that your bodies are well-acquainted. It's in the way they move together so effortlessly, his hips a little too telling as they roll to beat of the song.

Body rock; I wanna see your body rock.

Oh, it's dastardly. Sinful. Who do you think you're fooling?!

'Cause all I need is a beauty and a beat, who can make my life complete.

A beauty and a beat? Yeah. When he looks at you, Jeongguk knows in this moment he's got both .

The way friends cheer you on would suggest they're very much aware of the fact Jeongguk has, by all metrics, seen your body rock. Neither of you care for subtleties. You're drunk, and it's your nearest and dearest around you. Who gives a fuck?

The way he belts the final chorus - it's aaaall 'bout yooouu - just solidifies the fact he's wasted behind a bar. Should be on stages, in some capacity. Calls you a star, but fuckin' hell - he's the real one.

Earning a much more respectable score - 83 - you and Jeongguk are given a standing ovation as you laugh all the way back to your previous seats.

Bundled up next to Jeongguk on the sofa, Danbi is on your other side.

Taehyung takes centre stage. Does that weird little dance again. Starts a song that nobody recognises at first, until the chorus kicks in - " Because you're gorgeous, I'd do anything for you" - and he turns to dramatically serenade Danbi à la Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. Different song, granted, but same exact vibe.

A one-man show, Taehyung is every bit the charismatic casanova. Even gets to his knees in despair, just so that Danbi knows how tragically gorgeous she is.

And yet despite the showmanship, it's Jeongguk humming along quietly to the song that has you feeling all sorted of fucked up. The way he nudges against you so subtly that nobody in the darkened room notices? The way he sings softly beneath his breath, right into your ear? The kiss against your hair that is fleeting everyone will miss it?

Oh, it's torture .

When Namjoon and Hoseok take the mics and do their best rendition of Epik High's Born Hater, everyone loses their shit. Taehyung is the best hype man you think you've ever seen - part of you thinks he might actually steal the mic at one point. Thankfully, he grabs an empty soju bottle and uses that instead.

They're the first - and only - 100-point score of the evening. You're pretty sure Seoyeon and Yoongi's early night will have been disturbed by the shriek of congratulations from you all upon the big shiny score on the screen. All far too drunk to really care for volume control, the party is far from over.

In fact, it's only just getting started. For all the talk of your house being the people who would be partying the hardest, you think it's pretty evenly split.

Danbi and Taehyung are, predictably, disgustingly cute together - but you know your best friend. A few drinks in her and she'll become trouble.

You're proven right when you're all sitting on the floor, taking a break from the home-noraebang session.

Still drinking, talking about nonsense, Taehyung is twiddling with his empty soju bottle turned noraebang mic on the carpet. He's spinning it without much thought, never really letting it stop - but when it does?

Yeah, Danbi is in one of those moods.

"On Jimin?" Danbi exclaims with a gasp, casting her eyes down to the bottle as it comes to a stop, the cap-end facing a very confused Jimin.

Taehyung looks just as confused for a second. Follows her gaze - and then realises what she's insinuating. "Oh, God. No. Absolutely not!"

He's not about to play spin the fucking bottle - especially not with his friends when his girlfriend is right beside him.

Jimin immediately takes offence, much in the same way he did when Jeongguk refused to fuck him. If even his friends won't get with him, what chance does he have?

"What's wrong with me?! Why wouldn't you?" He wails, flopping down to the floor from his seated position. "First Gguk, now you?"

"I'm not kissing you."

"Why not?" He whines. Doesn't really want to kiss Taehyung, but is offended that Taehyung doesn't want to kiss him. Rude.

"Because!" Taehyung says, hoping that it's reason enough.

For Jimin, it absolutely is not reason enough.

"This is so mean. I'd kiss you if the bottle told me to," he assures his friend.

Danbi, in classic, troublesome, Danbi style eggs it on. Says to Taheyung, "I'd kiss DB."

"Okay firstly," you laugh, looking at her with shock. "Since when the fuck have you ever called me DB ?!"

"It's just your name, now," Jimin interrupts. "Accept it."

"No," you don't bother humouring him, but are still finding the whole thing incredibly funny. "And secondly, we've already kissed a bunch of times, so it doesn't matter."

Jeongguk and Taehyung both chirp in surprise at this. Look at their respective girlies with little confusion, and are both met with a collective, "What?"

"I mean, do guys not kiss their besties?" Nabi interjects from across the circle, which also makes Jeongguk whip his head up towards her. You know the confusion directed at you is now directed towards her, and her bestie.

And it pisses you off - because you're drunk, and thoughts are irrational, and even though Jeongguk is well within his right to maybe be surprised, you think he's stupid for caring about where Hayun's mouth has been.

He doesn't care. Not like that. You know this.

Know that any embers that had still been burning for her when you first met him have well and truly been put out.

You're the one who cares. You're the one who is being stupid.

But isn't everyone a little irrational when they've had a few too many?

Reaching over to the bottle, you turn to look at him, and just say, "It's like, so normal; kissing your friends."

It's not like you ever kiss Danbi when you're sober. Only ever when you're drunk, and not really ever with much thought behind it.

Granted, you haven't done it in years. Was more of a thing you'd do during your reckless uni years.

Once you met Seokjin, your behaviour on nights out changed quite significantly. Matured. And after him? Well, people would be lucky to get a kiss from you, full-stop.

Your words are layered, though. It's so normal, kissing your friends.

He says nothing. Keeps his mouth shut. Tense. Looks at you as you turn away, and refuses to look elsewhere. Knows exactly what you meant.

What we do? It's normal. Nothing special. Don't get it twisted.

Spinning the bottle on the carpet, you're the one asking for trouble, now. Are committed to the bit. Want the thoughts of you kissing someone else in his head, purely cause you don't want the thoughts of Hayun in there instead.

It's a strange sensation that sears through your veins. One that you don't often feel; one that you hate. Makes you feel all green. Bitter.

You don't let it show. Instead, as the bottle slows to a stop, you're a bit giggly. It's the alcohol influencing your behaviour; thoughts not as clear as they usually are. Your intentions differ from the oncoming outcome. The dots of any hurt that could be caused don't join with the dots of your pre-existing sour emotions. The lines are wibbly wobbly.

Jeongguk knows that drinking is a big factor in your boldness, now. Also knows you've got total free will. You can do what you like. He won't stop you.

If anything, he should be proud of this. Of your willingness. Of the fact you'll kiss someone without a care in the world.

Yes, it's different to kissing someone in bed, but it's still a kiss. Still something he thinks you wouldn't have done this time last year. It's progress, albeit at the expense of the progression of whatever the fuck your relationship is these days.

He watches on with a stern gaze as the bottle finishes its final spin.

Directly across from you, it points to Nabi.

Poetic, almost, how you were concerned about Jeongguk's thoughts of Hayun kissing her.

She tilts her head a little, as if to ask, "Shall we?"

You repeat her motion, and remind the boys, "It's really not a big deal."

Jeongguk bites back a remark he could make about you, and kissing, and it being the biggest fuckin' deal he's ever known.

Yet he's silent as the rest of the group egg you and Nabi on. It's juvenile, how neither of you properly stand to cross the circle, but instead both lean forward, supporting yourselves with your hands and knees until you reach the centre.

He's thankful for one thing only, and it's the fact you're wearing a teeny tiny pair of shorts beneath your dress. Would have been catastrophic otherwise. Already kinda is.

There's a subtle curve to your spine. One that Jeongguk knows well. Doesn't notice if Nabi has a similar feline posture, for he's only focused on you.

And even as you and Nabi get far closer than you've ever been before, giggling like a pair of kids getting up to no good, it's the loose grip that Jeongguk has on your ankle that really has your attention.

It's a warning.

Have your fun, his touch tells you. But not too much fun.

You could pull your leg further forward. Could rid it of his grip.

But you don't. You stay shackled to him like a prisoner of crimes you're yet to commit.

There's no build-up, nor anticipation of the meeting of your lips with Nabi's. No trepidation. No nerves.

Admittedly, there's a slight hesitation. A couple of giggles. A little excitement, sure. She's gorgeous after all - the kind of girl anyone would be lucky to kiss. You've thought from the get-go that she's attractive, but have also never spent time with her when Jeongguk wasn't there, too.

No matter how pretty a face is, his will always be your favourite.

Even as she presses down into the kiss, lips gentle and plump, quite unlike Jeongguk's, it's the soft stroke of his thumb over your ankle that cracks through you like a volt of electricity.

Over as quickly as it started, you and Nabi both come away from the kiss with smiles, and coy looks upon your faces.

"See," you tell Taehyung, who is staring in disbelief, as you come to sit back beside Jeongguk. Are sad to lose his touch, but daren't look at him, because you don't want to know how he's feeling. What you just did was selfish, and you know it. "It's not a big deal."

Danbi nods. Takes the reins of the conversation. Agrees with you, but also caught the look on Jeongguk's face as it happened, and realises that maybe she should be careful about what she wishes for.

Decides that Spin the Bottle should remain a relic of cursed high school parties. Has no space at an event like this. Instead, she reaches for the deck of cards on the side table and gets to arranging them in a circle. Bottle still in the middle, she swaps it out for an empty glass.

Jeongguk gets to his feet. Is only going to grab another drink, but doesn't voice it to you. Doesn't voice it to anyone.

Danbi glances over to you - and unlike Jeongguk, she is good at being discreet. Tilts her sharply, subtly. Silently says, " Go ."

You relent for a moment, 'cause you know you're in trouble - but also know that's exactly why you need to follow him.

The lights are out in the kitchen, illuminated only by the lamps pouring in through the arch from the living room. The fridge is open, and Jeongguk is hidden by the door that he opens as soon as he notices you entering the room.

Really did just come for a drink, but also doesn't really wanna talk to you right now. Doesn't really understand the way he's feeling. It's not jealousy. That's one feeling he thinks he's got a good grasp on. It's something, though. Not nothing.

Coming to stand in the corner of the counters, you're also obscured from anyone entering the room. The fridge door acts as a shield.

And so Jeongguk closes it.

Turns to face you, but doesn't walk towards you. Is silent.

The shrouded darkness of the corner you've backed yourself into hides the way your heart is beating a mile a minute. The shadows obscure the look on Jeongguks face but you know him well enough now to know that his jaw is tense.

Shoulder silhouetted, you can see they are, too. Scatches as he finally asks, "Did you have your fun?"

You're silent.

He looks as if he's about to say something, and then just sighs.

Placing the bottle in his hand down on the counter, and there's a clatter that you assume is a bottle opener going with it. His sighs. Relaxes his shoulders.

Shakes his head. Considers for a second, then husks, "Fuck it."

The gap between you both is closed by Jeongguk, his hand cupping your jaw as he presses his liquor-laced lips down into yours. Has your body pressed close to his, then deepens the closeness and he does the same with the kiss. Pulls away, but only briefly. Only to give you a chance to stop it.

But you just pull him back. Needily get his lips on yours. Mirror his body language. Are desperate to feel his desire; begging for him to want you as much as your drunk mind wants him .

His kisses are rough. Aggressive. Assertive.

Until all very suddenly, they soften. The exhale of breath from his nose is warm on your cheek, both of you unable to properly regulate the oxygen you need. The issues had been fast and fleeting, but they'd been a force to be reckoned with. He rarely kisses you like that; without sweetness, or reservation.

He'd kissed you with purpose, and you damn well know it.

Is still holding your jaw as he leans his forehead against yours, noses nudging ever so gently.

"You gotta stop kissing my fuckin' friends, B," he says. " Our friends. You gotta stop."

It's not like you make a habit of it. You've kissed Jimin, like, once - but you know exactly what he means. Say nothing. Just nod. Let him kiss you again. Tenderly, now.

He's slow as he withdraws. Keeps you trapped between his body and the cabinets as he reaches behind you for an empty glass. Remains in position as he twists his upper body to swing the fridge door open, and grabs the filtered water jug.

The light around him from the fridge casts a halo, befitting of a man such as him. Heaven-sent, is Jeon Jeongguk, and you've been blessed to have known him during your time on this earth. You might not get so lucky in your next life. Need to stop taking it for granted.

It's funny, 'cause he's thinking the exact same thing about you.

The refrigerator light gets you sparkling. Puts all those stars back in your eyes. Ones he needs to stop stealing, 'cause you deserve to be as shiny as you possibly can be.

He comes around you like a magpie, and takes your shine, he thinks.

Doesn't realise you've been glowing ever since you met him because of him.

You were dull, before. The glitter was only ever a facade.

Yet it's permanent now - or a least it will be, until your star lover decides chasing a shooting star is a losing game.

"Here," he says as he passes you the water. "You're fucked."

You take a sip, then pass it back and say, "Here. You're fucked."

This does at least make him smile. Alleviates some of the discomfort that had temporarily brewed between you both. He nods. "Yeah. I am."

Pulling himself away, he holds his hand behind himself for you to take. Doesn't wanna fight with you. Just wants you two to be good. Doesn't care for dumb, petty fights. Knows that deep down, you don't either.

"C'mon," he hums quietly, as your fingers lace between his. "Let's go back."

He deliberately leaves the drink he was getting behind on the counter. Has had enough tonight. Doesn't tell you as such, but is pleased that you seem content sipping your water instead of reaching for more drinks during the next game. Just giggle along with whatever is happening, the mood between you both far easier than it had been a few moments previously.

Communication, it would seem, is key. Jeongguk appreciates the fact that you sought him out, even if you didn't really say anything. Knows that it was a way for you to let your defences down, something of which he isn't sure you'd have done a few months ago.

Then again, he's also not sure he'd have felt so irrationally jealous a few months ago, either.

But you're learning. Both of you are. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Jeongguk's just glad you're getting your hands dirty with the rubble and bricks of your relationship traumas, too. Are rebuilding yourself, and in turn, something new. Somewhere he thinks could make for a lovely home, one day.

One by one, back in the living room, yawns spread contagiously. It's Hoseok first, then Namjoon. Across the circle, Jeongguk follows suit. When you begin to yawn, he strokes your back.

"Bed?" he asks quietly, to which you nod.

He nods back. "I'll go get some water to take back to the house. Want any snacks?"

You shake your head, unable to verbalise a response thanks to the yawn taking hold of you. Dawn will be breaking soon, you're sure. Yoongi and Seoyeon went to bed hours ago. All you need is a really good sleep.

As the four of you meander back up to your house, Nabi and Jimin nattering, while Jeongguk hangs back a little bit, you find yourself distracted.

Arms crossed, all you can think about is Jeongguk, and his lips on yours in the kitchen, and how unbelievably reckless it was. Anyone could have walked in.

But perhaps that would have been okay.

Turning to check he's still walking towards the house, a smile settles on your face where a frown once was. Phone held up to the sky, Jeongguk is taking pictures of the moon. Zooming in as far as he can, and getting frustrated every time his still-drunk hands wobble a little too much.

"Tomorrow," you call over softly - and like a dog hearing a whistle, he doesn't hesitate to walk your way. "We can go star-gazing. Get pictures."

He nods. Comes to stand by you. Carries on walking, taking your hand as he does so. Sounds sleepy as he mumbles, "M'kay."

By the time you arrive back at the house a few minutes later, Jimin and Nabi are still nattering in the communal area. With your rooms being on different floors, and both of you desperately fighting alcohol-induced yawns, neither you nor Jeongguk can be bothered with the hassle of sharing a bed tonight.

You retire to separate rooms, and both hate it.

There's an emptiness, you think. One that only he can fill. The room is dark, but a little light sneaks in from the harbour, and the lamps that remain lit all night to keep boats away.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, it's your glitter that acts like harbour lights, you think. A warning to never get too close.

Jeongguk did it anyway.

Thoughts like these plague your mind as you toss and turn, failing to get comfy. There are enough pillows. The duvet is perfectly nice. The mattress is fine. There's just something missing.

Someone .

But fuck- you don't need him. Depending on a man is something you never want to do, especially not for something as simple as falling asleep.

Even though you're trying to rid your brain of his presence, you find yourself thanking him as you hop out of bed and head to your suitcase. If there's one thing that will exhaust you, it's a good orgasm.

Given how sleepy his eyes were prior to you saying your farewells, all puffy and a little bloodshot, you don't imagine he'll hear a peep - and if he does, it'll likely just become a strange addition to whatever bizarre dream he'll no doubt tell you he had in the morning.

Rummaging around a little, you look for that one final thing he ensured you added to the suitcase. Find some lingerie first that you definitely didn't add to the pile - the same ones you packed for Busan just to get a rise out of him - and scoff. Presumptuous mother fucker .

Eventually, you find your rabbit. A dildo-vibrator hybrid, it works wonders. The translucent black silicone is always a little cold to touch - never like the real thing - but it fills a hole, for lack of a better term. Does the job. Does things a cock can't do - but it can never make you feel like he does.

The house is quiet, now. Nabi and Jimin retired to their own beds a good quarter of an hour ago. You know that Jimin will be out like a light, and Nabi is the furthest room from yours. The only worry you have is Jeongguk beneath you - but so what? Nothing he hasn't heard before.

Still, you only dare turn the vibrator on to the lowest mode.

Wearing just your panties, Jeongguk's shirt that you'd stolen now discarded on the floor, you run the toy over your clothed cunt. Let the sensation overcome any other physical manifestation of your feelings.

It hums ever so quietly, a hushed moan trapped in your throat as you work your hips up into the vibration. Other-wordly in how it makes you feel, there's no point trying to keep dignified.

Ridding yourself of your panties, you lie on your back, legs spread. Tease your entrance with the head of the cock-shaped dildo. Sharply inhale as you press against your hole - but you're not ready, yet.

The feeling isn't enough.

You need thoughts too.

Thoughts of him. Of his body. Of the way he smiles whenever he sees you like this. How he'd tower over you. Line himself up. Press kisses to your lips. Down your throat. On your chest. How he'd take your nipples in his mouth, and suck them for hours if he could. How he'd tell you he's still an ass guy, even if sucking on your tits gets him so hard he could cum in 5 seconds flat whenever he does it.

Your dildo now sinks into your cunt with little resistance, the thoughts of Jeongguk seemingly enough to get you ready.

There's a slight burn. Friction. Evidence that you're not totally there yet. The alcohol has definitely affected it. Funny, how it never affects it when you're with Jeongguk. Have fucked him countless times after a few drinks with no issues.

No reason to have them now. The only difference is him.

It frustrates you.

You don't need a man. You don't .

Groaning, you rid yourself of your toy. Flick the switch to make sure it's off. Toss it down beside you and let it land with a thud on the mattress. Stare up at the ceiling and curse.

Reaching over for your phone, you're about to google methods of getting to sleep when you're both horny and unable to get yourself off, when a message pings through.

You wince before you even read it - and when you do read it? Well, you think you'd quite like to simply die.

JK: Round two?

Admittedly, it's better receiving it from him than it would from Jimin - but it's still mortifying to know that he could hear it.

You must still be drunk. It's the only thing that justifies such reckless abandon for your grace.

And it's also the excuse you'll use for the fact you send him back a message that simply says: My door is open.

Not even a minute later, Jeongguk says nothing as he enters your room. He's in his underwear and a shirt, but as soon as he shuts the door, he grabs the material by the nape of his neck, and rids himself of it. Is just in his Calvins, now. Just how you like him.

It's not like you greet him either, a blanket pulled up to cover your dignity, but you're both aware there's a heaviness to the air between you. Something unspoken. Something that will remain unsaid, because you're both scared to lose the weight of your own feelings.

Instead, he just grips the back of the chair by the vanity unit and turns it around. Sits. Is arrogant in how he looks at you, just like he was that night you got far too acquainted with his pull-up bar and favourite tie.

In his hand is something you can't quite make out.

Something about his gaze, and how it holds your own, makes it hard for you to speak. You fear you'll say the wrong thing. Fear he'll look away. Turns out, just as he suspects, you do have new fears - and they all pertain to him, or moreso a lack of him.

You play it safe. Nod towards his hand. Whisper, "Watcha got?"

"You said we shouldn't fuck," he reminds you with an arrogant smirk. Knows that this will drive you fuckin' insane. "Thought I should come prepared."

It's only when he holds it up that you realise he's holding a fucking fleshlight . Clear. Silicone.

"Holy shit," you breathe out. Have never actually seen one in the flesh - no pun intended - let alone see a man bold enough to use one in front of you.

"Remember how we used to watch each other get off?" he asks, unashamed - or just drunk. Doesn't wait for a reply. Just says, "Let's do that."

The way he's so convicted in his wants and desires - how he knows the parameters of your arrangement, yet bends the rules to fit his fucking whims - will never fail to amaze you. He's determined to get you coming undone, and that in and of itself is so unbelievably hot.

His body is hard to make out from the low lighting, but the ridges of his toned chest have you salivating. There's a sheen to his fingers - lube, you assume for the toy - and it spreads over his abdomen as he softly traces his fingertips over his body. Lightly touches himself. His small, hard nipples. Rasps a little.

Arousal, for him, isn't just simply his cock getting hard. He likes to engage his senses. S'why he likes fucking you so much. You're a treat for all five of 'em.

You're too far away to touch. To taste. To smell - and oh god, that's the one that gets him the most. Just wants to bury the tip of his prettily pointed nose in your hair, down the valley of your breasts, in your cunt. Pheremones are a wonderful thing, and the effect they have on Jeongguk can only be likened to a Class A substance. Pupils dilated, body and mind disconnected, he needs the high you give.

For now, he settles on sight and sound. Smirks when you gasp at the sight of what he's doing.

Eyes fixated on him, you watch on as Jeongguk grips the fleshlight and pushes it down ever so gently. He barely penetrates it. Just the tip. Grunts a little. Pulls it back up, so that the crown of his cock is kissing the entrance.

God, how you wish it was you. Want to feel that first intrusion of his cock inside you. How big he is; how well he always stretches you out. So intensely focused on him, you don't even really realise how you're toying with your chest.

Despite the shrouded darkness of the room, enough light is funnelling in through the curtains for you to clearly see his movements; his expressions.

Jaw slack, Jeongguk doesn't give a fuck about looking dignified. He knows there's no point. Doesn't want to pretend like you don't arouse him beyond the point of sane thoughts.

He thinks the same could be said for you.

"C'mon, B," he begs quietly. "Get yourself off for me."

His breathy moan as he pushes further into the toy only encourages you to do the same. Matching his desperately soft moans, you sink your rabbit inside yourself, and find any earlier resistance is gone. You don't need a man, but fuck . Jeon Jeongguk is an exception to the rule.

Filling yourself, it's nothing like the sensation that comes with Jeongguk - the warmth of his skin, the scent of his aftershave, the weight of his body on top of yours - but it is unlike anything else you've ever known as he looks across to you.

There's a smirk breaking on his lustful expression, sinful satisfaction that has you moaning as you penetrate yourself with the toy that he insisted you bring. Not much introspection is given to how you're pleasuring yourself; too focused on the way he's pleasuring himself.

Knees closing together, toes digging into the sheets, your hand is trapped between your thighs. It's a more natural state of being, you find. Gets your walls a little tighter. Feels better, even if it doesn't look as good. Whining a little as you build a pace, you're so wet that you can hear the way you're fucking yourself - and so can Jeongguk.

The lewd sounds of his cock fucking into the toy he's using slow a little. His laboured breaths become controlled. He's easing off the gas - not hitting the break, but definitely doing something.

"Since when have you been shy?" He teases you a little breathlessly. Holds the fleshlight to the base of his cock. Fills it. Keeps himself warm, laboured grunts catching in his throat as he stops himself from reaching the point of release. "Wider, baby," he pleads. "Nice and wide for me."

Pulling your knees apart, you display yourself like a fuckin' exhibition, and Jeongguk knows that you've art for him, indefinitely. Nights at galleries are pale in comparison to the way you put yourself on display for him.

How could he ever appreciate a painting unless it's the same pretty colours of your needy cunt? If the brush strokes don't match the hair that falls over your eyes as your lips part, soft moans escaping them? Music, too, for that matter is ruined for him. You sound better than anything he's ever heard on the radio.

"There you go," he husks as he begins to work the fleshlight up his shaft again. Watches you with no intent of ever looking away. He's fixed to you like glue. "That's it. Fuck. Yeah. That's it."

But you won't be content until he really is stuck to you like glue. Want him so close it's impossible to tell when he ends and you begin; impossible to comprehend how you ever could part.

He's not the only one with demands. Desires. You want him just as much as he wants you.

"Come closer," you say quietly.

"Yeah?" he teases. "Say please, baby."

"Fuck you."

He laughs, now. Finds something about your insatiable need to have him near, and your inability to play nicely at times, just so endearing.

"Cute," he smirks. Knows it'll probably irritate you. Patronises a little more, 'cause he's vying for you to have a reason to shut him up. Thinks maybe you'll choose kisses as a way to shush him. Hopes you will. "Needy, aren't you? Pretty, needy baby."

"Shut up," you laugh, the smile on your lips a product of his compliments, even if he is being a little bitch. Holding your hand out, you encourage him to join you on the bed. Give him what he wants, 'cause you know it'll give you what you want. " Please ."

You don't take your eyes off him as he stands, cock still snug in the toy that he'd really rather swap with your hands. Makes him a little shy.

"Stop looking at me, perv," Jeongguk says in a childish way that really doesn't fit the profile of a man like him - built like a god - as he's pleasuring himself for you for your satisfaction.

"Why?" you ask, pleased and purry now that the ball is in your court. "A little shy, there?"

"Fuck you," he smirks, coming to sit between your legs.

Your illicit thoughts of Jeongguk are always so much tamer than he actually is. You never know what's actually gonna come out of his mouth, and it makes fucking him so much more fun to indulge in.

It's not like he means to be vulgar. His brain is just too distracted by how fucking good this shit feels. His lips get loose and so does the concept of dignity. Has him mumbling all kinds of shit.

"God, I'll fuckin' die if you don't let me fuck you," he whines, one of his hands stroking up your thigh while the other wanks the toy up and down his thick cock. He's slow in his movements, wrist flicking gently, not wanting to himself up too much. Wants you to get there first.

Shaking your head, you knead one of your tits for his viewing pleasure as you continue to fuck yourself with the toy he insisted you bring.

"Told me to bring this for a reason, Gguk," you remind him. "No fucking."

"But you're so fucking wet," he moans. Wants to touch you. Know he can't.

You nod - then decide to cut him a little slack. Reach for the hand of his on your thigh. Bring it to the base of the rabbit, and let him take the reins.

"Fuck," he curses, as he pushes it up into you. Holds it in place. Flicks the switch that makes the little rabbit ears vibrate. Angles it just right so that they're fluttering against your swollen clit, the pleasure incomparable to anything else.

"Oh, shit," you whine as your body begins to writhe.

"You like this so much, don't you?" He confirms, and is pleased when you whine and nod your head. He pulls the toy back slightly, but angles it so that ears stay pressed against you before he fills you again. The lewd sound of it filling you is enough to drive anyone insane, he thinks.

"Pretty cunt," he says fondly, then leans forward a little. Gathers spit in his mouth, then slowly lets it drip onto your pussy. He knows you well. Has it landing just north of your clit. Grinds the ears up a little, and spreads it across your already messy pussy. "Pretty girl."

Gently fucking the dildo into you, Jeongguk can't help but feel a little jealous. He wants to know how you feel. How warm you are. How tight you'll get when you cum.

Instead, all he can do is watch as pleasure takes hold. You whine his name - "Yeah, baby?" - and push your head back into the pillows. Toes pointing, your legs begin to shake, and Jeongguk knows better than to change anything about what he's doing. Keeps the speed. Lets the ears flick against the clit that he so badly wants in his mouth.

"That's it," he keens. "All over this cock. Cum all over it."

Oh, how you wish it was his instead.

Because even though you do come, it doesn't satisfy you fully. Not how his cock does. Still amazing - but Jeongguk has ruined you. Is the only thing capable of making you cum how you deserve to cum. His cock, his mouth, his hands - doesn't matter what. Just matters that it's him.

Tapping his wrist as you shake a little, you tell him you're good. In all honesty, all you want now is to make him feel good.

Shutting off the vibrations, Jeongguk keeps you plugged. Is scared that you'll both let your stupid desires get the better of you, otherwise.

You're thinking the exact same thing - so reach down for his fleshlight. Want him to feel as good as you he made you feel.

Holding it flush against the mound of your pussy, you'll give him the next best thing to fucking you. A little simulation, almost. Basically the exact same.

Except it's not, 'cause Jeongguk is far too aware of the fact that he doesn't get the luxury of your cunt.

"Fuck it," you instruct him. "Fuck it like you fuck me."

There's something erotic about the way Jeongguk lines himself up with it at your request. Zero hesitation. Wanks himself, once, twice. Presses his tip against the tight entrance, and looks at you as he pushes into it. Grunts. Fills it. Begins to thrust a little. Picks a rhythm. Finds the position is perfect for letting his balls slap against your swollen clit, and is obsessed with the way you whine for him.

With you holding his toy in place, his hands are free - so they snake around your thighs and pull you closer with every thrust of his hips, as if he really is fucking you.

"Is it good?"

"Yeah. It's fuckin' good," he nods, leaning forward, resting an elbow on either side of your head as he continues to pump into the toy. "You're better, but it's good."

There's a simplicity to the way Jeongguk describes how he feels. It's straightforward. Honest.

"Pretend it's me," you encourage. "Is it tight? Wet?"

He nods. Practically filled the thing with lube before he ventured up to your room.

"Real fuckin' tight. You're wetter, though. I miss that. Fuck . Just once, baby. Once ," he begs, forgetting the fact that he very much knows fucking you is a bad idea. Presses wet, insatiable kisses to the underside of your jaw. Can barely string his words together. "Let me - fuck - feel you. Please ."

Funny, how his fear of rejection doesn't seem to exist when he's a few strokes away from an orgasm.

Or maybe it just doesn't exist around you. Either or. At the moment, they're one and the same.

Shaking your head, you pull him in for a soft meeting of your lips, his tongue sinking into your mouth, because he needs to be inside you in at least some capacity if he can't have your pussy. Hips thrashing in a bid to chase his high, Jeongguk knows you're not gonna give him what he wants. Knows that this is the closest he'll get.

Plausible deniability when your friends - or moreso just Jimin - ask, did you fuck?

Well, no, you'll be able to say, without lying. We didn't.

But as your body is moved in tandem with the timing of his thrusts, Jeongguk's grunts vibrate into your mouth as his body begins to tense, you know that you can't really describe this as anything other than fucking.

"Cum," you tell him - and then realise you still want it to be you he cums over. Cums for. Cums because of.

But Jeongguk takes that permission and runs with it before you can make any further bad decisions. Whimpers as he lets the walls that have been keeping him restrained come crashing down. His teeth find your neck as he grunts against your skin; his breath hot, the cum he's unloading in the silicone fuck toy even more so.

"That's it," you encourage, legs wrapping around his stuttering hips. "Fill that cunt for me, baby. Fill it up like it's mine."

He nods, his laboured breaths lost in your hair as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, as the final few spurts of his desire pump into the toy. The weight of his body is heavy on top of you, rising and falling with every contraction of his lungs.

Stroking his hair, you press a kiss to the top of his hair, and let out a soft giggle. It's too soon for post-nut clarity, and yet Jeongguk already doesn't wanna look you in the eyes after nutting in a fucking fleshlight.

Figuring as much, you make sure to praise him in the same way he usually does for you. "So hot, Gguk. So good. So cute ."

He smiles, now. Laughs a little, body spent. Grumbles into your neck. "Fuck off, B."

"What?" you tease, knowing that he's embarrassed. He needn't be. It's just a sex toy. He's the one who brought it along with him - surely he didn't think you'd have enough willpower to resist him over the weekend? Surely he had been anticipating this? "It's yours . We both know you've fucked it, like, a hundred times."

"Fuck offffff," he moans again, rolling off of you, the fleshlight slipping somewhere between you both now that no one is keeping it held in place. "That never happened."

Turning onto your front, you scoff. Reach down the bed to find the offending object. You want it for a reason - mainly 'cause you've never seen them up close, and are curious about how much it actually looks like a pussy, but also 'cause you have an idea that will make Jeongguk equal parts needy and disgusted, which honestly is what you're aiming for. You like it when he's conflicted over his desire. Makes his self-denial and subsequent weaknesses so much hotter.

"Put it down," he whines, as you bring it to the pillows. His forearm is covering his eyes, a pretty smile on his darling lips, piercing catching in the jetty lights that are intruding on your privacy.

You don't do what he tells you to do. Instead, you rest on your elbows, tits cushioning your body as you inspect it a little.

"Huh," you hum in surprise. Admittedly, it's not too far off. The silicone tube is clear, with ridges and grooves in the central canal for his pleasure, but the entrance is particularly inspired. Despite the clarity of the material, the shape isn't too far off from your own, especially when it's all pretty and puffy and aroused for him. There's a sheen to it; evidence of Jeongguk's lube, as a trail of his white cum leaks from the entrance.

Glancing over to him, you find his eyes on you. A little further up in the bed, he's looking down, and yet you're in the position of power. Whatever you do will only serve to make him want you more.

He doesn't tell you to put it down again. Just waits, breathlessly, to see what you'll do. Already has an idea. Knows what he wants to see, but won't ask for it 'cause it feels almost too vulgar.

But you know him well. Knows what gets him off. Know that even despite the fact he's just finished, there are ways to get him hard again - and as your tongue slowly flicks against the desecrated entrance, you know that this is one of them.

"Fuck," he husks quietly, not even meaning to do so. Lets one of his hands reach over to squeeze at the flesh of your ass as you get a little deeper with your exploration. Lick into it. Collect his cum on your tongue.

It's been a while since you've eaten pussy, too busy with Jeongguk to seek anyone else out, but it's like riding a bike. You never forget - and truth be told, you're not really doing anything that requires too much thought. You're putting on a show. Eating his cum, 'cause he deserves it.

His grip on your ass is hard, as he grunts, "You're fucking filth, b. So dirty ."

You giggle, pleased with the effect it's having on him - but then he's pulling you across to straddle his lap, toy discarded on your side of the bed as man handles you into position on top of his body.

Jeongguk pulls you in for a meeting of lips, teeth, tongue; all-consuming. Doesn't care to be neat. Doesn't care to be sweet. Wants to taste himself on your tongue - and when he does? Oh, he's celestial .

He moans. Curses. Accepts it when you hold his jaw, and encourage him to open his mouth. Nods as your lips purse. Lets his tongue flatten. Whines as you spit his cum onto his tongue - then decides you've had enough time in the driver's seat. Sinks his tongue back into your mouth; swaps his cum with you until it sort of just becomes obsolete.

He's not gonna fuck you, but he does get you positioned on top of his cock, pussy spread over his thick length as he ruts up against you. One hand on your hips, the other clasps your hands behind your back. Looks you dead in the eye as you whine for him.

Husks, "You're only in control when I let you be in control."

And then to prove his point, he gets you grinding against him until the point of another climax. Gets your body shaking as your pussy rubs over the top of his cock, without it ever penetrating you. The sensation is euphoric; skin on skin, just how you like it.

"That's it," he praises as your orgasm washes over you. Holds you as you come down a little breathlessly. Teases. "So cute. You love to cum for me, don't you, B?"

It's your turn to tell him to fuck off, now.

Rolling off him, both toys fall from your side of the bed and onto the floor with a soft thud. Neither of you cares for the noise. Jimin is out like a light, and Nabi is too far away to have really heard anything.

Breathlessly, you both look up at the ceiling. Jeongguk swears he can see stars - but it might just be the hangover that's already kicking in.

As he holds his hand out, you laugh. Give him a high five. "Nice work."

But you both agree that it never happened. Snuggle up, and adamantly stand by the fact you never fucked. That technicality is still true. You also didn't both become all weak and needy for each other in the most pathetic of ways - or so you tell yourselves.

"We're super drunk," Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, as if you aren't both totally sober after that. Hugs you close to him, your back pressed to his chest. Doesn't even consider return to his room. He's home, now. Would make no sense to leave. "Won't even remember it in the morning."

And the way that you behave together come sunlight, without a care in the world, laughing and joking, both together and at each other's expense, it would seem like things are totally normal.

You're able to separate who you are after dark and the people you are during the sunlight hours. Can look at him, without feeling the need to jump his bones (although when you see him cooking breakfast, your eyes do linger for a little too long on the veins in his arms as he flicks the pan).

None of your friends are aware of your illicit affairs; how Jeongguk worships your body like a devout follower of a religion only he knows.

None of them... and also all of them.

They all see the way he looks at you first when he makes a joke to check that you're laughing. They're all aware of the way you ask him what he's gonna be wearing that morning when deciding what you're also gonna wear. Small, inconsequential encounters that are exclusive between the pair of you, never to be shared with anyone else.

Well, almost no one.

"Is it just me, or did you-" Nabi begins, eyes on the pair of you as she neatens up the sitting room with Jimin, but is almost instantly interrupted.

"Yep."

"Last ni-"

"Yep."

"They-"

"Yep."

Turning up her nose, she shudders a little. "Gross."

"Yep," Jimin nods. Thought he'd escaped ever hearing you and Jeongguk at it, but woke up needing water in the night. Ended up needing a punch to the face five minutes later when he realised the squeak of the floorboards wasn't from him walking around, but from your bedroom instead. Heard things in the minutes that followed that'll his nightmares forever .

"Are they, like... a thing?" she tries to clarify, but Jimin knows no more than anyone else.

"No one knows. Don't even think they know."

Which is true.

But you're currently looking at Jeongguk's big brown Bambi eyes while he explains the rules of boxing to you out on the front lawn. He wraps up your hands to 'train' you, and you giggle as he jokes with you about how you'll be a champ in no time, a stupidly love-drunk smile on your lips.

Quite unexpectedly - though not really at all, when you think about it - you realise you know .

You know, you know, you know.

How you feel; how much you really do like him; how you want things to be.

You just know.

Simply, and completely; Jeongguk can never be just a friend. Not now. Not anymore.

And it terrifies you.

[pinksparkl]

Long Live The King - chapter 2 - descent into depravity

It's time for Lovely to wake up; they know better than to keep Vincent waiting.

Tags in previous chapter [non-exhaustive warnings for blood, gore, possessive behaviour]

Rated: M

4802 words (read here or on ao3)

If anyone had asked Vincent Solaire why he stayed there, remaining unmoving like a statue hewn from cold marble, he couldn't have found an answer, no matter how deeply he searched for one. He sat as if bound to the chair, watching, staring, waiting. But deep down he knew there wasn't anything to wait for.

Nothing physical held him there but his own will. He should have left. Should have dragged himself to where he kept the other bloodbags; the oh-so simple act of Turning nearly drained him – of blood, of magic, of energy – he was hungry, but he stayed. He waited. He watched.

He didn't know why, but he did.

He felt like he needed to.

He had no other choice.

Being their master and their would-be Maker, he was responsible for them, even if… the ritual was left incomplete without their waking. As impetuous as the young Prince could be at the best of times, Vincent understood all too well the significance of what he had done, and the risks it held. Even if they ultimately didn't.

They had accepted everything he gave them, everything he put them through, without any question or plea for explanation. Every twisted manifestation of his anger and spite, every gluttonous feast he pulled clean from their veins, and every hissed insult as he took whatever else he needed from them. But they also accepted every short break he had to almost force them to take, every meal served to them to ensure their survival that was devoured just as hungrily as he had taken them just moments prior, and every condescendingly soft word that fell from his lips like the droplets of their vibrant, addictive blood. Whatever scrap of humanity was left in his cold heart only chilled further at the thought of them dying so needlessly for the sake of his own ill-thought-out, reckless endeavour.

"I was so stupid for thinking it could work," he scoffed in his mind, finally admitting defeat.

But still nothing could draw his eyes away from the way they lay across the bed, noiseless, motionless, colourless – save the red smeared and dripping across their body. Over the last number of months, Vincent had grown so accustomed to their whines and squirming, even when they were all too willing in their treatment, that the lack of either was so unfamiliar to the unfeeling Prince.

Not the sun rising, nor it setting again hours later could remove him from their side – a silent sentinel – yet even now he could not fathom why. They were just a distraction, a source of entertainment in the bleak monotony of life under the Imperium. Even as a Free Vampire, he was beholden to their laws to some degree.

Free from their control, but not free to do as he pleased.

Nearly a whole day passed as they lay there, as cold and still and quiet as the moment he stole their life from their body.  He could no longer sense the sweet nectar that once flowed through their veins with an unceasing rhythm that had all but called out to him by name all those months ago. Soon, whether he liked it or not, he would have to feed, to go about his life again, to dispose of the corpse – it held no use for him now.

But for now, he stayed, he waited, and he watched.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Cold. So cold. And the pain! White hot and blinding, searing, scorching heat! Freezing me to my core.

"Breathe! I can't breathe!

"I am shackled and I cannot move. My throat is slick, both inside and out, yet raw and burning at the same time. Dizzy but motionless. I am here but not here at all.

"What is- what is happening to me?!"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Sighing, Vincent raised himself up off the armchair, the wooden legs scraping the floor as he pushed it away to stand. Straightening his back, he reluctantly accepted whatever dull tedium was soon to follow without the bright taste of their blood to return to and refresh him whole. But just before he turned to face the door – the very first time he let himself tear his wakeful gaze from them – he watched in silent awe as their breaths came in fits and gasps. Stiff rigour retreating to allow movement again to their twitching limbs, restricted severely by the chains that secured them to four corners of the bed.

He listened as weak, strained breaths gurgled deep in their chest, like they were fighting against an almighty weight seeking to compress them flat. Each cycle of air was a struggle, but one they continued with a defeated kind of defiance, as if they were aware that the very act of it was pointless, but they knew how to do nothing else.

Their behaviour reminded Vincent of a trapped animal, startled, and filled with incomprehensible fear. Straining their wrists and ankles, they tried to free themself from the chains with unfocused effort. Pulling and straining at the metal bindings, the bedposts creaked with their strength. They knew they were trapped, but didn't seem to have enough understanding of why they were there, or how to even attempt an escape. The metal fastenings that bound them in place were uncomfortable at best, and knowing that at least was enough for now – they needed to break free, they needed to run.

In the hours prior, Vincent had lamented their silence, wishing for their soft hushed voice or their pitiful, tear-filled cries, but now the room echoed with awful roars and screeches as they rattled and pulled at the cuffs. Had the Prince been a weak man, he would have run in horror of what they could do – of what he had created – but Vincent Solaire was no mere weak man. He was a Prince. A Prince of the Vampire House of Solaire. Taking a seat to the side of their convulsing body, half-annoyed at being ignored, he waited and watched as their initial frenzy tapered off; no need in wasting the effort calming them down now, they'd tire themself out soon enough.

Frantic eyes scanned the room, attention darting here and there, squinting away from the bright lights. They were disinterested in the… rather tasteful decor – old blood smeared on the walls, caging them in memories of feedings and fuckings past. As they took in their surroundings, Vincent observed how different their eyes had become during their slumber. No longer were there any distinctions between pupil or iris or sclera – all had been reduced to a pitch black, inky darkness that threatened to consume everything.

A clear symptom of the Bloodlust.

Very common for a Newborn, but left unchecked, it could pose a danger to those ill-prepared to face an force nigh-unstoppable. They would become true hunger given human form.

But to Vincent, this meant only one thing. It worked. He had become a Maker. He had given them a new life, a new purpose. It was exceedingly easy to control an unempowered human, even with their tenacity being as delicious as their blood, but as his Progeny, they would be his little puppet, bound to his every word if he wished it.

Cocking his head to the side, he rested on an elegant hand, giving off the well-practiced illusion of boredom. Vincent knew hunger would creep in eventually –it was their curse of course; to be forever hungry – he just didn't expect them to feel the effects quite so soon. "Maybe I indulged in their fatalistic tendancies a little too much." The thought took him by surprise, made him laugh under his breath a little, unknown to himself, to think that he, a Prince had been doing anything for the benefit of a lowly human.

Unaware of him finding his realisation so humourous, they continued to cry and screech and moan, in a pain so intense there were no words to capture it.

"Sshhh," he responded their baying wails, if not for his own sake. He saw how each noise they made fuelled the next, every sound crashing against their new senses and sending them further into distress. "Hush now, little one."

The quiet words caught Lovely's attention, and when they turned their head to meet his gaze through the bright glare of the lights above, it was as if everything else ceased to exist. Their jerky, erratic, unhuman movements halted immediately as if his presence alone soothed their unspoken fears borne of confusion and desolation.

“That's it. You know who I am,” he crooned softly. “I'm your master, have been for a while now. And now, I'm your Maker.” Recognition flashed across their features as he spoke, a small gasp that merged into a sigh as they settled back into the mattress. They remembered him, knew what he had done to them. But there was more. He could feel something else lingering in their mind, it wrapped around his thoughts through the Bond, twisting and pulling and clawing desperately at the edges. Their hunger dwarfed even his own, their Bloodlust was immense, overwhelming all of their senses and threatened to pull them down where they would be helpless to fight it.

Would they try? Would they even want to? Or would they slip down into its endless depths without any hesitation?

He saw the hunger in their eyes, could feel through the Bond how desperate they were, teeth aching for the blood that hung in the air around them both. Their blood. His blood.

Maybe this would be easy, for both of them, maybe it wouldn't, there was only one way to find out.

Staring them down, he asserted his control over them, showed that they were no match for him. Not even five minutes old and chained to a bed, they had to see that he was in control. But still they writhed, seeking to free themself, to feed their hunger with more blood than they could stomach. A low whine slipped past their lips as they bared their fangs, though not in an attempt at aggression, as that would be the wrong move, but in submission as they pleaded for something, anything to make it all make sense.

Everything Vincent had – once, long ago – despised in himself, he saw in them now, the monstrous appetite, the inhuman stare, their perfectly shaped fangs! Oh, how they peeked out between their lips, catching the light on their razor points. And it was all… so… Beautiful. Their heaving chest slowed as their mind soon caught up to the fact that they no longer had that human need for oxygen to survive, allowing the room to fall into complete silence once again.

Only this time, the air felt unimaginably lighter with their time as a corpse set firmly behind in the past.

“You're a Vampire now," he explained once they had settled back against the bloodstained sheets in a position that could possibly be called comfortable. Since finding him amongst the bright lights, they had not looked away, entranced by his prescence, they clung onto every word that came from his lips. "You're mine. More than you ever were before, bloodba-" The insult-turned-nickname halted on his tongue, it didn't quite fit them now.

Puzzled, he frowned, thinking of an alternative. “Hmm, I guess I can't call you “bloodbag” anymore… a shame; it suited you so well. But still, you're mine.” Stroking a finger across their cheek, still stained with a dried mix of their own blood and his, he looked on them almost fondly.

A body to die for, powers yet to be tested, and the blood of a soon-to-be King. They were a vision.

He had thought they would stay sated a little longer and give him some time to come up with a plan, but perhaps their time of constantly circling the cloudy brink of hypovolemia had affected the lasting effects of his blood. How was he to know? He wasn't a damned Healer or anything. Human health wasn't something he was very familar with, and his own Maker had been very frugal in his education, so his lack of knowledge betrayed him and unsettled his nerves once more.

"Though," he reflected. "Keeping them half-drained had kept them quiet and pliant, the way all good bloodbags should be." But now they weren't a bloodbag, they were Progeny now, and the empty silence was starting to get to him.

Vincent watched patiently as they opened their mouth as if to grace the room with their voice but then closed it again, instead pressed their fangs into their bottom lip, denting the flesh, willing it to puncture under the sharp pressure. They were starving and painfully desperate for blood. If none could be found elsewhere, surely their own would suffice?

Immediately Vincent recognised the action, remembered all too well the way he'd sliced his own lip in the midst of starvation, and how William had forced upon him the truth of what happened to Vampires who succumbed to their own blood.

Death.

Excruciatingly painful death.

These cautionary tales, aside from the "gift" of this new life, were the only things his Maker had ever given him, no doubt to scare him off making Progeny of his own. He knew little of how to care for a Newborn Vampire, but it had been drilled into him that were wont to harm themselves in search for sustenance if their needs weren't met. "Impatient little things" as the old King had called them.

But this little one wasn't going to give in to something as unbecoming as petty impatience; Vincent wouldn't allow it. They were going to learn. He contemplated his words carefully, exceedingly aware of the shiny allure of finding loopholes in commands, not that William made it easy for him. Having a Maker five hundred years his senior had its own set of difficulties, and getting the upper hand against him was a pointless task.

"Stop!" He held their face with one hand, his fingers and thumb pressing hard into the sides of their jaw, inhibiting their ability to sink their teeth into their own flesh. Rings and nails biting into their skin were familar sensations, but now he needed to squeeze tighter than he ever had before; his Progeny was strong.

"My blood made them strong."

Vincent's grip was unrelenting, but necessary; their fangs were sharp, even for a Newborn. His complacency would be their ruin. "Biting and drinking from yourself will only bring you pain. And not the fun kind. Don't do it again," he growled, fangs bared. "Am I clear?" His silver eyes narrowed, staring them down, pushing his will against their own.

Yielding, they nodded as much as his hold would allow, conceding to the Prince, to their Maker, and making him smile in return. "Lovely," he remarked on their easy compliancy.

Content with this show of good behaviour, Vincent slowly reached out his hands towards the manacles that caged their limbs. He was not afraid, far from it, but he needed his new Progeny to recognise the meaning behind his actions, that he would not harm them if they complied.

Whatever had come before was not what would happen now, they were human then, but now? They were a Vampire. They'd been yanked up the ladder by the scruff of their neck, things would be very different.

"Don't move." The order was simple, easy to understand. From their months as his favourite live-in source of blood and stress reliever, Vincent knew how well they took commands; his little doll that did exactly as they were told.

In setting them free from the bindings, he was testing the Bond, their obedience, his control. They could easily break through the bindings now – releasing them was little more than a symbolic act – but they had chosen not to. They trusted his word, trusted him.

It could all go so very wrong in as little time it took to blink an eye, but he had faith that they would continue to choose correctly, that he had sufficently imposed his power over them to dissuade any imaginings of a fight for freedom.

What kind of freedom would it be anyway? A lone Vampire was powerless in the scale of things, and would be quickly exterminated if they failed to swear fealty to the Crown of the Imperium, their rebirth as a Free Vampire be damned. Even if they somehow managed to avoid that, all that would be left was a life of hiding and scavenging for scraps, holding onto the fractured hope that their next meal wouldn't be their last.

No, that was no freedom at all.

They were better off with him, especially as he would soon be stepping up from his position of Crown Prince to that of Vampire King. Vincent needed them to understand this.

“Stay.” Voice low with a rolling undercurrent of authority, the word not issued as a command this time, but rather a suggestion. He didn't want to have to chase them down through labyrinthine hallways; there would be no knowing where they could end up.

He turned and left the room without another word, leaving a delirious Lovely to lie in silence until his return.  They didn't even think to roll their joints, to exercise movements that had been restricted thus far. He had told them not to move, so that was exactly what they did.

Dark eyes merely stared at the open doorway, waiting for him to reappear.

They were not wrong to believe so, as their Maker did return. They knew he would; doubt had not been allowed to make any attempt to cloud their mind

With him, Vincent brought two of his bloodbags, one for himself and one for them. “That should be enough, right? Enough to take the edge off and make them docile.” The years of bloodsoaked depravity had worn away the hazy memories of his own Bloodlust, and the appetite of a Newborn wasn't something that had particularly interested him in the intervening time

He shoved at the shoulder one of the bloodbags, pushing them onto Lovely's lap without further fanfare; he wasn't about to celebrate this milestone lest they expect more of that down the line.

They were still his plaything, "nothing more."

Yanking at the limp sacrifice in his arms, Vincent manipulated him into a more suitable position. He dug his fangs into the pliant neck, sucking and licking, replenishing himself as he watched to see what his new source of entertainmen would do.

But they did nothing. They simply stared blankly back at him.

Disappointed, Vincent let the fresh blood drip from his chin as he lifted the Trance on both of the bloodbags. A little struggle wouldn't hurt, in fact, it might entice a stubborn Newborn to feed like they were supposed to.

And still they did nothing.

Lovely only moved to look up with their unseeing black eyes, waiting for an order from their owner, their master, their Maker.

Were they that subservient? Would they starve themself until he finally gave them the go-ahead to feed? He thought about dragging this out and forcing them to beg for blood, to submit to the thirst choking them from the inside. The sweet sadism floated by and kissed his senses, but even he wasn't that heartless.

“Drink."

The command was basic with no further instruction or guidance to adorn it unnecessarily. He needed to see them obey. As he returned to his own meal, he kept his eyes trained on his first – only – Progeny.

Copying Vincent's stance as much as they could while still lying down, they sunk their nails into the bloodbag’s arm, not even flinching as she wriggled and weakly punched at the stronger limbs to get away from the creature that held her firmly in place with one hand. Drawing her close, Lovely took in the scent of her wild pulse, fear gunning through every vein. Instinct took over, as fangs sank deeply into soft skin. They punctured the jugular without the need for any outside guidance while pointed incisors pinched the vein in place as they drank and drank at the delicious nectar that promised syrupy satiation.

In a word, Vincent was impressed, but also relieved. A vamp that couldn't feed was next to useless, so the fact that they were quick to grasp the concept was reassuring. They would survive if nothing else.

But it was no surprise; they were of Solaire blood, of his blood. Anything less would have been an insult to the power that flowed from their newly awakened Core and through their veins.

What did surprise him though, was the sheer mess they were making of their meal. As a newly Turned, formerly unempowered human, he expected them to be careful and delicate, scared to hurt the girl, but no. Her neck was torn open, and her skin now shredded with numerous gashes and wounds where their nails had sliced through, both when she had initially fought back and then again when Lovely began to learn and appreciate the extent of their new strength.

Skin was no more a barrier to them than tissue paper. Bones might as well be made of chalk for how easily they crumbled between their fingers. No longer were mortal limitations able to hold them back.

The girl cried out, a piercing noise that reminded Vincent of a bird that had died slowly – needlessly slowly – after Adam had shot it down with a well-aimed rock. Tortuous and choked, calling out all those in the vicinity as complicit in its tragic demise.

He might be unmoved by such soft sentiments, but he never could affiliate himself with those who felt they could gain anything from mindless violence. Pain for pain's sake never was the Prince's style.

But this? This was majesty.

With each greedy gulp of the girl's blood, Lovely felt the thrumming of her pulse quicken further and further, like a rabbit caught in a trap, her rasping breaths shallowed as her resistance faded away.

The creature that Vincent watched now was more beast than human, that much was obvious. Their only aim was to drain the girl dry without a second thought. The only things that mattered to them now were blood, and how to get it. The thick, red liquid flowed like warm honey, over Lovely's tongue and down their throat. As they gulped and swallowed it whole, the bitter fear and despair giving way to a gentle sweetness; an almost reluctant acceptance of what was to come. A blissfully quiet end.

The girl slumped further into Lovely's unyielding embrace as her strength waned, and as if in response to these changes, the young Vampire began to relax their grip. Even through the bone-deep hunger and the desperation for satiation, they understood innately how pointless it was to exert unnecessary force on prey that was already dying. Only a whisper of consciousness left as the last drops were drained from her still body.

Blind eyes stared into nothing, an exhausted heart stopped pumping, empty lungs ceased to breathe.

Lovely licked and sucked around the wound for more blood as they realised the heavy weight of what lay across their lap. Partially sated, they could smell how her scent had changed, no longer was she full of life and fresh blood, but a dry husk that could no longer give them what they wanted.

Black eyes stared intensely into dull, lifeless ones that now only served as tiny mirrors of what they had done, reflecting the bloody mess of their own face, tinted with a pale blue.

Pushing the body off of them with a hard shove, it landed somewhere out of their sight, down by the side of the bed. Expressionless, they were unrepentant and uncaring of their actions. Their silence only disturbed by the measured sips Vincent was taking from his bloodbag; experience had taught him that savouring one's meal prevented the nasty headrush that often came with gorging oneself.

As the seconds slipped by, the reality of what they had just done slowly became clear. Vincent still had not said a word, watching them carefully over the shoulder of his meal. Lovely could barely see him with how bright the room was; their vision still partially blinded. Eyes opened wide in panic, they were suddenly overcome by the deep-seated fear that they had failed some kind of test, that this was all just a bad dream, a nightmare that they'd soon wake up from and all would be well. All part of the last ditch efforts of a fading humanity to steer them away from this path of blood and cruelty

They would never kill someone… but that's exactly what they had done.

They killed.

And they enjoyed it.

There was no turning back now.

Shaking in disbelief and shock, Lovely turned to where they could sense their Maker on the fringes of their senses. He was near, he was close. They could feel him like he was a part of them.

He had not looked away in disgust or contempt, they could feel his gaze on them, it blanketed them in a quiet relief. They had passed the test, done the right thing, he accepted them as his own.

Vincent waited as Lovely blinked, their vision slowly clearing and focusing on him as he held the struggling human as close as one would a lover, stealing both his blood and his body heat. At last, he saw their black eyes, pupils dilated, completely swallowing up their bright silver irises that struggled to be seen but he knew were there. “There we go, Lovely, that's it," he crooned softly, the whole world disappearing outside of the two bloodthirsty beings. "Look at me.” They were beautiful. He was infatuated by how raw and animalistic they were willing to let themself be.

He took in their form, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before gripping the back of the bloodbag's neck to direct him to look at his Vampire eyes. Reactivating the Trance, Vincent removed whatever fight was left in the human. “Pick up the other one and go back to your room.”

The human did as he was bid, silently bending down to pick up the body and left the two Vampires alone.

Vincent stepped closer to the bed once more, smile widening as Lovely leaned towards him. “My little Lovely's finally gotten what they wanted so badly, how do you like it?”

They raised a trembling arm towards him – skin pristine; the defensive wounds from the girl were already gone – not in supplication as one would imagine, but as an entreaty, a plea for something.

“...volo…plus.” Sounds that were unfamiliar to his ears, the first actual words Lovely had spoken in months; bloodbags didn't need to talk, but they weren't a mere bloodbag anymore. No, they were Progeny. His Progeny. They were of his blood, under his command.

Blood itself had memory that called back to something primal, something innate, but beyond that, things that were no longer practised became lost. Through some echo of an ancient time, they had gained access to something he himself had lost a long time ago.

So what were they saying? He had to know. Stroking a thumb over their cheekbone as they laid the weight of their head in his palm as they blinked almost lazily now. “Blood-drunk already?” He was amazed, he had never seen a rebirth before, only holding the blurred memories of his own. He faintly remembered a hunger that yearned and burned and scorched from within. Looking at them now brought that back to the fore. They were both hunger and satiety personified. If he needed air to breathe, he would be gasping for it at the very sight of them, so enraptured by their descent into depravity. “Hmm? So hungry you can't even remember how to speak English?” He chided them, a long way from the venomous remarks he had previously spat at them before.

He watched their brows and the bridge of their nose twisted up in confusion as they searched for the right words to express their meaning. “M-more. Want... more,” they corrected themself. Their raspy voice bubbled out past the thick blood that slid down their throat. Every other thought in their mind forced out by the deep hunger that sat in their bones and called out to be sated. “Need! More!”

They sat up, pushing their face into his chest, repeating their demand without pausing to take breath, staining his shirt wherever they touched him. Lips, neck and hands were dripping with crimson. His lovely thrall had become an insatiable monster, and the fact it was his blood which made that happen made Vincent all the more ecstatic.

“You want more? I'll give you more.”

[elementary-my-dear-daddy]

so like. Frog Patton is a frog, which have breeding seasons. But Patton wouldn't know that. So he's left there with a drooling dick and not knowing what's wrong with him.

Breeding Season

Intruality (Patton and Remus)

Warnings: Frog!Patton, breeding, slight overstimulation

Read it on AO3!

Patton would generally say he was indeed a morning person. He liked getting up bright and early, having the house to himself for at least an hour before everyone else was awake. There was no arguing over what to watch, so he could put on retro saturday morning cartoons! No one arguing about needing to use the kitchen or who got the last of the coffee, he always got the stove to himself and the first cup of a fresh brew. None of the hot water for the shower was used, the first rays of sunlight got to greet his face, even a warm set of clothes would be greeting him from his laundry that was waiting in the dryer from being done last night. Well, what wasn��t there to love about the morning?

Except, this morning, he cringed awake, feeling an awful scratch at the back of his throat. Not a sick kind of scratch, but the kind he felt when Thomas went through puberty, as did all the sides, and he’d wake up with a tickling at the back and a new octave to speak in. He coughed when he reached over for his glasses, but that didn’t clear it much. Maybe it was just a cold?

In addition to his new illness, his morning wood ached. Most mornings all he had to do was think of something nasty Remus had said the week before and it would eventually go away, but his little friend remained at-attention, despite him thinking about the moldy-cheese macaroni sandwich Remus had for lunch three days ago. 

He groaned as he reached into his pants, running his hand along the outline of his hard cock. He was already leaking into his boxers, great. He didn't have any especially nice dreams to cause this, but he guessed he’d have to just rub it out to get it over with. He tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to start stroking himself. It wasn’t elegant or very enjoyable, he just wanted to get in a quickie so he could start getting ready for the day. With a final gasp he came over his hand and stomach. A change and a quick shower was in order.

Except, he was still hard as ever. Normally he needed a quick break to recover with his partner after he came but he was still painfully aroused and had no clue why. He felt like rutting up into his hand again, still sensitive from his previous orgasm, but he resisted. 

He got up and felt how tense his muscles were, his legs, at least. He felt like he ran a marathon without even stretching first, but all he did was go about his normal day- cooking, chores, and hanging out with his favorite famILY. Maybe it was whatever was making his throat hurt. Nothing some warm water couldn’t fix!

He stripped off his clothes on the way to his bathroom and tossed them in the laundry bin to be done later. Right! All his clean clothes were in the dryer downstairs. Well, the benefits of waking up early, no one would be awake to see him march down in a towel to get it. With that thought, he stepped into his bathroom, flipped on the light and-

“OH MY GOSH WHAT IS THAT.” Patton shrieked as he looked at his naked reflection. He instantly closed his eyes, sticking to his ‘if I can't see you, you can’t see me’ motto. When he did open his eyes, he noticed the green and brown splotches that adorned his face and neck, making their way down his shoulders and chest as well. He touched the spots, almost moist from what he hoped was sweat from his earlier activities, and let out a gasp at how sensitive they were, almost like how it felt to press into one of the love marks someone left on his neck. He looked at himself in horror studying his new form. At last he noticed how his still hard cock wore similar markings, and that it was starting to needily drool pre from the tip again.

He let out a disgusted whine and ran to the shower, turning it on and hopping in. He immediately reached for a washcloth and soap and started rubbing at the spots across his body to wash them down the drain. As he scrubbed harder and harder trying to rid himself of the splotches he gasped and whined. They were so sensitive and each drag of the cloth over them sparked some pleasurable feeling deep in his belly. He looked down at his cock and repeated the same action, this time feeling twice the pleasure. He tried to hold back moans, failing when he realized the spots weren’t coming off. He sat down in the tub, letting the steaming water fall down over him as he started to desperately fist his cock with the washcloth. He finally came into it, whimpering at the feeling. He sat in the shower for another ten minutes conjuring up a plan for how to survive the day with whatever was happening to him.

He toweled off the best he could, still unable to completely dry some of the spots. He was tempted to grab himself for a third time, but decided that the way to go here was probably to just ignore it until it went away, no matter how hard he got.

With a quick peek out his door and towel wrapped around his waist, he rushed downstairs to retrieve his clothes. He could find some baggy pants in the dryer and wear his cat hoodie with the hood up to cover up his condition. Downstairs seemed to be clear as he approached the laundry room. Once inside, he opened up the dryer and started digging around. It had to be here somewhere-

“My, my,” a suspiciously wicked voice came from the doorway, “And here I thought my color was green.”

“Gah! Remus!” Patton shouted, surprised to see the duke up at this hour. He pulled his towel up further to attempt to cover himself, but it did little to hide what the other had already seen, “I’m just- I need to- um- I can explain!”

Remus smirked and slinked into the small room, “Oh, Patty, there’s no need to do that! Not when your dick’s done most of it for you, anyway.”

Patton winced and looked down at his cock tenting the only thing keeping him covered. He looked back to Remus who was wearing a toothy grin, like a wolf waiting to devour its prey.

“Poor little froggie doesn’t even know it’s mating season yet, is that it?” Remus closed the gap and started marching Patton into the wall, “That’s ok, between Virgil’s heats and Janus’ mating times I’m pretty used to lending a helping hand. You do want help with this, don't you?”

Patton felt conflicted. On one hand all he wanted was to not give into… whatever this was and wait till it was over. On the other, he wanted nothing more than to deal with the pangs of arousal by having Remus take him back to his room and ride him like no tomorrow. He didn’t know how long this would last, and what it even was, and it seemed like Remus at least had some idea of how to manage it. He felt the towel around his waist begin to slowly unravel. He panted, thinking about what would happen if he said yes, what sort of hellish pleasure he was in for.

The towel fell to the floor with a soft thud as Remus pinned him to the wall, “Well, what’s it gonna be frog-face?”

“I-”Patton’s lip quivered. He felt the other slot a knee in between his legs and he couldn’t resist any longer, “Please, Remus, yes.”

Remus chuckled, a dark laugh that made Patton shiver, “Happy breeding season~”

[silvanils]

A Reason to Stay

A prompt fill from @blossom-adventures​​ over at @nirnwrote​​!

I had so much fun with this one! For story-context, this would be after Eira becomes Thane of the Rift but before her ill-fated mission with Mercer... So Niruin’s smitten, but has not quite realized he’s in love just yet!

Rating: T+ (language, mature themes, off-screen sex - no explicit smut!)

Word Count: ~850

You can also read it on Ao3 here!

“Look at all this space, Niruin!” Eira says, gesturing around the kitchen. “There’s room down below for me to put up some displays of my favorite, uh… acquisitions. What do you think?”

Niruin’s not sure why she’s asking, or even why she invited him over for dinner when they’re just friends with a few extra side-benefits, right? They’ve always kept their meet-ups fairly brief.

But she’s staring up at him, now, with her too-pretty eyes — and damn it all, she always leaves him feeling foolish and tongue-tied. He’s been staring too long. “It’s a beautiful house, Eira. Much nicer than my tiny apartment, anyway.”

She flashes one of her knowing grins at him, then, and reaches out to tug him closer by the lapels of his coat. “Just wait until you see the bedroom,” she teases. “And the heated bath! It’s absolutely decadent.”

.

“Perhaps we should have eaten out,” Niruin sighs, later, poking at his half-burnt dish. “Not that I doubt your cooking abilities, of course, but…”

“I blame you,” she huffs, her cheeks all dark and ruddy. “This recipe is supposed to be foolproof, but you showed up in those snazzy clothes and distracted me!!”

Niruin can’t help but laugh at how stupidly adorable she looks when she’s embarrassed. No one’s perfect, I guess. “Oh? Well, I had to look my best! You live in the nice part of town, now! I can’t strut down these streets looking like a… a… you know!”

“...A thief and scoundrel?” Eira offers, raising an eyebrow. “That’s fair. Honestly, I’m surprised you clean up so well — where did you find that coat?”

Niruin tugs on the end of his sleeve. It’s one of his nicer possessions, a wine-red coat lined with fur. He hasn’t worn it in years. “Valenwood,” he finally says. “It was a gift, and… one of the few things I kept from my old life.”

It feels like a lifetime ago, now: his father’s verdict, all the frantic farewells, the hasty packing… and his older sister showing up, teary-eyed, this coat folded up in her arms. ‘Don’t forget this, you dumbass. It gets cold where you’re going.’ 

He’d only found the note she had tucked in the pocket much later: instructions on how he could get in touch with her if he ever needed anything. But he’d been to stubborn, too proud, to reach out. And when he had to buy an even warmer coat for the thick of winter, this one had gotten shoved into the bottom of a chest where it had stayed until… recently.

“It really suits you,” Eira says, snapping Niruin back to the present. “You should wear it more often.”

“Well,” Niruin says, coughing and flushing as he sits up a little straighter. What man wouldn’t preen a little when someone looks at him like that? “Perhaps, if I were to go out more…”

“That could be arranged,” Eira teases, standing up so she can move closer. “But tonight, I’d rather you stay in.”

.

Niruin is used to brief, quick affairs that end before the night does, usually with him picking his things up and slinking out a window feeling only a slightly better than before. He’s not used to staying until morning, or waking up to a sight as lovely as this.

Eira is still fast asleep, surrounded by her collection of soft, down-filled pillows. At some point during their coupling, his fingers had tugged her hair free of it’s binds — leaving it all mussed up, now, fluffed out around her face and curling up around her neck and shoulders. 

Niruin can’t help but grin as he hears her soft, barely-noticeable snores, watches the slow rise-and-fall of her bare chest. No one’s perfect, he thinks, but she comes pretty damn close.

He slips out of bed carefully and tugs on a robe before heading upstairs again. “Foolproof, huh?” He sighs, flipping through the recipe book on her counter. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Soon enough, the whole house smells of warm cinnamon and baked apples, and Niruin grins when he sees Eira pad up the stairs just as he pulls the tray out of the oven. She’s only wearing a thin shirt, her hair still a fluffed-up mess… and she’s pouting.

“Still trying to one-up me, aren’t you?” She mumbles, grabbing one of the fritters and shoving it in her mouth before Niruin has time to warn her not to. “Ow! Fuck, that’s hot — !”

“Yeah, no shit! It just finished baking!” He huffs, setting the tray down. But his curiosity wins out as she keeps chewing, her cheeks growing flushed. “Well? What do you think?”

She glares at him. “They’re good,” she concedes. “Much nicer than mine, anyway. Oh, and we should get  some wine-colored curtains.”

.

Somehow, impossibly, they spend the morning together as well. And when they head out to have lunch together in the market, the falling leaves make Niruin think of autumns at home but… for the first time in ages, it’s not a feeling that leaves him sick with longing. Just a warm, cozy sense of nostalgia.

Maybe our luck is changing, he thinks, his eyes lingering on Eira’s snow-bright hair. One thing is sure, though. You’ve given me a reason to stay.

[allylikethecat]

the 'discussions of piss (in a non sexy way)' LMAO. but how did it end up being actually kind of endearing tho lol

fictional taylor constantly thinking about how tiny he is (as a theme, not just the new chapter) :( i dont even know who that makes me sadder for honestly

and fictional matty being so protective even though he was forced into the whole thing is very sweet. but oh no karlie knows...i totally didnt pick up on that in the previous chapter. im on the edge of my seat 😬

side note, whenever matty mentions george it makes me want to read taylor to meet him so bad. excited for that, if you have it planned. excited anyway if not lol. tbh im not a swiftie in the slightest, but youve made me like your fake taylor so much haha

hope that was coherent lmao. ill try to organize my thoughts better and leave an actual comment later <3

OH MY GOSH! The happy dance-squealing sound combo I made when I saw this ask was absolutely insane. Buckle up because I am very excited, very caffeinated and going to write you a small novel in response!

I had way too much fun writing the whole piss segment, I too get extremely pee shy when there are people around and can hear it so I obviously had to inflict that on poor Fictional!Matty as well. In interviews from that era, Matty was also extremely passionate about Frozen, and Let It Go just seemed way too fitting 😂

Matty in 2014/2015 was tiny, at the time I don't think I even realized how tiny he was. But especially looking at pictures and videos of him now compared to then? Whoa. The man looked like a strong breeze would knock him over. Taylor during that time period, and Fictional!Taylor in my fic (who is a more dramatized version) was struggling with disordered eating and body images issues. Therefore, in my fic, she's hyper aware of those around her, and Fictional!Matty is skinny, boney, and as far as fictional!Taylor knows, basically living off of cigarettes, red wine, and Starbucks brownies, so obviously she is captivated by it. She had no idea that he's spiraling deeper and deeper into addiction. I think I had said it before, (and if I haven't I've at least told the Bestie) this isn't going to be a story where they make each other better. It's going to be one where they make each other worse.

IRL Matty during that era was a very outspoken Taylor Swift fan (before the whole putting his foot in his mouth thing about it being emasculating to date her) so my Fictional!Matty is obviously protective. He's still very much an up and coming artist at this point, and she's Taylor Fucking Swift in her 1989 era! He also has a little bit of a hero complex, we haven't seen it as much yet, since this fic is primarily from Taylor's perspective, but Fictional!Matty is an absolute disastrous mess and he is salivating at the chance to be the one to have it together, instead of having to constantly have someone else clean up his mess making him protective... And in terms of Fictional!Karlie, I hate to say it, but she is a model, and even if Heroin Chic wasn't necessarily all the rage in 2014 - it was still prevalent and influential enough that unlike my Fictional!Taylor, she knows what she's looking for and can clearly see the signs in Matty.

Taylor and George will be meeting in an upcoming chapter! It might not go the way that you're thinking or hoping though 👀

I'm glad that you're enjoying this fic even though you're not a Swiftie! I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying my fictional version of Taylor, I was really nervous about getting her right because she is so famous, but I've had a lot of fun creating her into her own stand alone character!

Thank you so much for your wonderful long message, and I hope you read and enjoy all of this overenthusiastic, extremely long answer I've written in response! I look forward to reading your AO3 comment!

Thank you for reading and reaching out and all of that wonderful fun stuff!

❤️Ally

[paramouradrift]

"Can you hear me?"

@febuwhump

Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender, Pairing: Zukka Modern AU in which Zuko is the captain of the fencing team.

You can scry for the location of this fic on AO3 here.

Sokka lay in his dorm room bed, sick as a dog. He was alone, his roommate having vacated the place to go and stay with his girlfriend for a few days while Sokka recovered (and in turn, he was sure, his roommate’s girlfriend’s roommate was probably staying elsewhere, continuing the chain of exiling and sexiling ad nauseam). He had a box of tissues and a massive two liter bottle of water next to his bed, a sick bucket on the floor, and every blanket he owned piled on top of him. His body ached, and his nose hadn’t stopped running in days. He felt like death was upon him. His monitor was on while he tried to stream something mindless he could try to enjoy, but frankly all he had the energy for was 90s infomercials and Chinese soap operas. He took a swig of water and settled in for another episode when his phone buzzed. It was Zuko.

“Hello?” he said, and was greeted by a blast of sound.

“Sokka!” Zuko yelled over the cheering crowds. He must have still been in the fencing arena. The team had gone to regionals, leaving Sokka and a few other unlucky teammates at home to recover from illness. “Hello?”

“Hello! Zuko, can you hear me?” Sokka asked, voice as thick as his sinuses were full.

“Wait, let me get somewhere quieter,” Zuko yelled over the background noise. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then the roar of the crowd was cut off. “Is this better? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, captain,” Sokka said.

“Hey,” Zuko said, and Sokka could hear the smile.

“Hey, dork,” Sokka said. “How’d we do?”

“Jet came in second in the senior foil division,” Zuko said. “And you’ll never guess who swept all their matches.”

“Aang?”

“No. Suki,” Zuko said, and Sokka loved how proud he sounded. “She was incredible, Sokka. It was almost a clean sweep, too. Her epee was so clean, it was like she just danced around her opponent’s swings. She didn’t get touched once until her last match, but she was up against Haru from BSSU, and I’ve heard he’s their rising star.”

“That’s great!” Sokka said. “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“I think coach filmed it, I’ll show you later,” Zuko said. “You know how he gets, he wants us to do some post mortem thing if we lose or have something to post to the website if we win.”

“How’d you do, though?” Sokka asked, dabbing at his nose with a tissue.

“I did alright,” Zuko said. Sokka snorted, and then coughed. He put the phone down to blow his nose.

“Come on, Zuko,” he said. “What the hell is ‘alright’ supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’m bringing home 1st place in the senior saber division,” Zuko said. Sokka sat up.

“Alright!?” he cried. “Zuko! Congratulations! That’s incredible!”

“Thanks,” Zuko said. Sokka could picture him blushing while trying not to look smug.

“Seriously, who hurt you?” Sokka asked. “You should be waving that medal in everyone’s face.”

“Well, growing up with my dad and my sister, I guess I got used to thinking of myself as…untalented?” Zuko said. Sokka’s heart squeezed painfully. “I know, I know, it’s dumb. I’m not the team captain because of my winning personality, but. I don’t know, I don’t like showing it off in case I’m not as good as I think I am.”

“Wow, my handsome and talented boyfriend is so humble,” Sokka said. “What a man. What a catch.”

“Shut up,” Zuko said, chuckling into the phone and sending shivers down Sokka’s neck. “I’d kiss you if I was there.”

“You’d get sick again,” Sokka said, sniffing loudly. “Hey. When you get back. Can we…?”

He heard the door open through the phone, and his teammates called to Zuko. Zuko replied, and then said to Sokka, “Listen, I’ve got to go. Coach is treating us to dinner, and then we’ll be on our way back. Probably won’t be until midnight, though, so don’t stay up for me.”

“Hadn’t planned on it,” Sokka said. “I feel like shit.”

“I love you,” Zuko said. “Get well, okay?”

“Okay,” Sokka said, grinning despite himself. “Bye, boyfriend.”

“Bye!”

The call ended, and Sokka burrowed down into his blankets. He turned off his monitor and forced himself to sleep, determined to get better as quickly as possible so that he and Zuko could properly celebrate his win. Scenarios played out in his dreams, warped though they were by his subconscious mind, and he had more than sweat to wash from his clothes when he was mobile enough to do laundry again.

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

dan's cradling milo in his arms, singing along to "your mother should know" by the beatles, swaying slightly as he sings seriously, and nate opens the loft door with the spare key, about to let himself in, but the sight makes his breath catch in his throat, and he hesitates at the door.

he looks at dan, singing the song with a strange sort of solemness, so absorbed in singing to milo that he hasn't even noticed nate yet. he can see milo in a pastel blue onesie, a narwhal themed knitted cap on his head. it's a sweet image, sweetly familial. yet again, nate's aware that he does not belong here.

but dan's singing a song that goes, "your mother should know," and nate thinks of milo's mother, thinks of how that's going to end for milo. thinks of his own mother, feels a heaviness in his stomach like granite. for a ridiculous moment, he thinks he and milo have two things in common - their terrible mothers, and the way that dan humphrey is very much their anchor. if dan held nate in his arms like that, nate thinks he'd feel quiet, at peace, and safe, too.

dan finally turns, eyes widening as he sees nate. he blushes, stops singing. nate smiles, hopes it doesn't look too forced. "i think 'does your mother know' is a better song choice," he tells dan. "abba over the beatles, any day."

"nate, i am not going to sing about hookup culture to my infant son," dan says drily. "also abba is not better than the beatles. you and serena are the same person, i swear to god."

does that mean you'll kiss me? nate wonders. he looks at dan, the slope of his shoulders, the edge to his smile, the sharp edge that is his jaw. he wonders if this is how serena thinks about dan. beautiful, compelling, solid dan humphrey.

"maybe serena and i are the same person," nate agrees. he walks over to dan's fridge, pops it open, pulls out a carton of cranberry juice.

"that would explain a lot, frankly," dan says. he looks down at milo, and asks, dead seriously, "what do you think?"

milo, it appears, is too fast asleep to comment on this statement. he might also, due to being a baby, not have any voiceable opinions. nate doesn't say anything, he'll humour dan.

nate kind of really wants to hear dan singing again. oh, fuck. he's in deep.

[dominimoonbeam]

Scars That Remind - Part 2

More teen pack drama! I will be aging them up soooooon.

AU where Gabe basically adopts Darlin and they end up being like a sibling to David. 

Posted on ao3 as well as here!

tags: homelessness, pack family, dysfunctional darlin aka canon darlin, bullying, family dynamics, learning to trust.

Scars That Remind - Part 2

“You drove Darlin to school,” Milo notice allowed.

David grunted once in the affirmative and dumped some books into his locker. They went to an empowered high-school, one of the perks of growing up in Dahlia. He heard empowered people outside of big cities either had to homeschool or try to go to unempowered schools—which could easily get messy. Just the other day, Asher flirted with an electro until they accidentally fried the lights in the gym.

“You’ve driven them to school every day this week,” he added, not noticing when Asher stole the second half of his sandwich from his lunch.

“Mhm…” David finished his apple and looked up at the sky where a cloud was sliding in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the crowded quad and all the students eating lunch. Milo was a year younger than him and Asher, and a year older than Darlin. The week had been weird to say the least. Darlin was living in the guest room at his house, eating breakfast with them in the morning before going to school and then coming home with him. They pretty much hid in the guest room except for meal times, where they cleaned their plate and eyed the rest of the food but never took anything more than whatever his dad put on their plate—which was a lot.

“Didn’t they leave the pack? Why are they still in Dahlia?” Asher asked, mouth full of Milo’s sandwich. He asked the way only Asher could, without any offense or ill thought, only vaguely curious.

David shrugged but it was only a matter of time before they knew. Any day now, Asher usually went home with him on Fridays and slept over sometimes on the weekends. And plenty of the pack hung out at the house. It was actually kind of weird no one had noticed in the last few days. “They’re parents left the pack and Dahlia.” It was a fact. Not a secret.

Milo had been about to yell at Asher for stealing his sandwich when the words hit him. “Wait. You mean…Their parents left without them?”

David nodded once, still scrutinizing clouds.

“So…What, they’re living with you and Gabe?” Milo continued, voice pitching.

David felt Asher watching him. Asher could be flighty as fuck but he never missed a detail and he was often first to put them all together. He’d asked David about the bandages on his shoulder on Tuesday in the locker rooms before gym class.

The bell rang and Milo swore, grabbing his shit and hustling off to his class. Asher and David had their next period together and he waited until Milo was gone to ask, “You said someone bit you when I asked. You weren’t joking?”

David sighed and got up. He started walking, Asher falling into step beside him. “No.”

Asher smirked curiously. “Did Darlin bite you?”

David snorted. “No.” He sighed, glancing around to make sure they were alone, walking around the outside of the buildings toward gym. “Don’t say anything?”

Asher nodded once and David knew whatever he told him now, he’d take to the grave.

“They were sleeping in a park and this other wolf showed up. We got in a fight.”

Asher glanced at his shoulder again, like maybe he could see the wound through his t-shirt and hoodie. “That’s rough. I can’t imagine being alone like that.”

David sighed, nodding. Leave it to Asher to find the point and ignore everything else.

“Can I still come over after school tomorrow?”

David nodded again as they ducked into the locker rooms. “Yeah. Of course.”

A couple hours later he was sitting in his truck waiting for Darlin. Waiting too long. What the fuck? The parking lot was almost empty. Had Darlin finally made a run for it? Did they really think Gabe was bullshitting when he said he’d chase them down? It wouldn’t even take him that long to do it. His dad would probably have them back at the house before dinner.

David considered driving home without them and growled at himself for thinking it. Asshole. He got out of the truck, slamming the door and storming back into the school. Where was there last class? They always came from this direction…

“Do it!” he heard someone laugh-shout.

He followed the voices outside, to a spot between buildings where kids sometimes snuck out to smoke.

He heard the very clear sound of someone slapping someone just before he rounded the corner to see the group of younger students. Darlin’s age, and Darlin was the one with a growing handprint across their cheek—the one that was still bruised yellow and brown. The four other kids had them cornered. Still, Darlin should be able to knock these idiots out. He’d seen them fight.

“Shift! I wanna see it!” the air elemental shouted, shoving hard at Darlin’s chest to slam them back into the wall, using a little wind to give themself more force, that air rolling around between the buildings to kick up leaves.

Darlin grinned, lip bleeding onto teeth. “If I shifted you’d shit yourself and I don’t wanna smell it.”

One of the other kids moved fast, grabbing at Darlin’s arm. Darlin growled and tried to shake them off but there were too many hands and for some reason Darlin wasn’t throwing punches or shifting. Smoke rolled off their arm where the other kid was holding—a fire elemental.

David growled when he stepped forward, the sound loud enough that it started all of them. All eyes turned to him, growing bigger when they had to turn their heads upward. He bared teeth. “You want to see a wolf shift?”

The fire elemental stumbled into a second, both looking around for an exit but David was in the way now. The air elemental grew instantly teary, jabbing a finger at Darlin. “They threatened us!”

Darlin’s eyes widened at that. “What? No! Fuck you, I didn’t do anything!”

“I saw you. I heard you,” David said, stalking closer. They all backed up—except for Darlin who just grabbed their bag up off the ground and rubbed at their arm, their sleeve burned. “You were using your powers on them—to cause pain. You know you could get expelled for that, right?” He took another step and they were backed into a brick wall. “You know they belong to the Shaw pack right?”

“But-But they’re always by themselves,” one cried, full tears now.

David growled and one of them screamed. “Pack is pack and if anything like this happens again, you will be enemies of the pack for life. Am I understood?”

They whined and nodded.

David sneered before turning on his heel and catching Darlin by the arm, pulling them along with him around the building and toward the parking lot. “What the fuck was that?” he asked when they were well out of earshot of those shits.

“What?”

“You were just going to stand there and take it?” He kept walking, only stopping when he got to the truck. He pulled them in front of him and then lifted their arm. He grabbed their hand and carefully lifted the sleeve to get a look. Red and welted but not a burn that would scar. “Why?” he demanded when they didn’t answer.

“I…If I did anything they would have told someone. You think anyone would believe me over them?” They jerked their arm back from his hold. “And I can’t get in trouble again. They’d try to call my parents and it’s not like that’s going to work. Then they’d call—” they stopped suddenly, jaw ticking when they snapped it shut.

David stared. “My dad.” They would call Darlin’s pack alpha if they couldn’t get ahold of their parents. “So?”

Darlin looked away.

David’s dad had been called by schools plenty of times. “What? You think he’d believe those assholes over you?”

“Would it matter? It would be a scene. I would have fucked up. Either way I didn’t handle it myself. The last thing I need right now is your dad regretting letting me stay.”

David actually took a step back. It was like this kid learned new ways to hit him. “No one is letting you stay,” he said clearly. “You belong with your pack.” Did they think his dad would kick them out for getting into a fight at school? They made it sound like they were a criminal granted mercy. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Darlin. You aren’t in trouble. Your parents just…” He tried and failed to understand what exactly Darlin’s parents had done or thought they’d been doing. “They left. But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

Darlin stared back at him, eyes big with surprise, like they were actually trying to absorb everything he said. They swallowed hard and nodded once, looking away.

David sighed and opened the passenger door of his old truck. “Get in.”

Darlin did, slinging their backpack onto their lap. It was always just as heavy and full as it had looked Monday night when he found them in the park. He wasn’t sure if they’d actually left anything in their room at the house. He suspected they took everything they owned with them every day.

After that, Asher or David would find Darlin on their way to lunch and drag them along to sit with them.

 -

 Darlin made the bed in the guest room, grabbed their bag and headed out to the living room. Asher and David were in David’s room playing video games and Darlin had overheard something about Asher staying the night.

They planted themself on the couch, in the corner, and pulled a book from their bag, thumbing it open.

When Gabe came home they tensed but kept there eyes on the page. Why did they always want to run away when he showed up? He’d never been anything but nice. They knew that but it didn’t change the gut reaction.

He hung up his jacket and took another couple steps into the house, stopping and looking at Darlin on the couch.

A million thoughts flashed across their mind. Were they not supposed to sit out there? Darlin’s parents hadn’t had house rules, aside from staying out of their way and not touching any of their stuff. Did Gabe consider the couch his stuff? Fuck.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Darlin creased the cover of their paperback. “Yeah. Why?”

Gabe shrugged. Was he smirking? “Haven’t seen you come out of your cave all week.”

David and Asher laughed in his room down the hall, the sound carrying.

“Ash is spending the night, so I moved to the couch,” Darlin explained, suddenly worried they’d made the wrong move. Maybe they weren’t allowed to sleep out there?

Gabe took another step closer, shoulders eased back. “Asher sleeps in David’s room when he’s over. The other room is yours as long as you want to stay, Darlin. You don’t have to give it to anyone and you don’t have to share it with anyone.”

Darlin stared, surprised. He sounded so firm on that—like it was a real rule, like it was their own space and no one else’s. They got the feeling he wouldn’t go back on it either.

Gabe’s gaze flicked to their backpack for a second and then away. “If you want to leave stuff in there you can too. No one’s going to go in there and take anything.”

“I don’t have anything,” they said reflexively. They didn’t have anything anyone else wanted, anyway. It was just their junk. But they wanted to keep their junk. It was all they had.

Gabe was so calm—so different from how Darlin’s parents had been and even farther from how they’d said he would be. They’d been staying at his house all week and there hadn’t been any red flags, no signs that his invitation had been a trick or anything to suggest he’d done it for any reason other than…what? Loyalty? He said they were family like it meant something.

“You have things,” Gabe said clearly and Darlin felt heat in their face. “But I mean it, Darlin, your room is your own.” He smirked and turned toward the kitchen. “But you are always welcome to sit out here too.”

Darlin looked at their bag, considering grabbing it and bolting for the guest room…their room. Gabe was going to make dinner, so he’d be in the kitchen for a while. They chewed their lip and went back to reading on the couch.

Next week when they went to school, they didn’t take all of their junk. They left the clothes they weren’t wearing in the drawers and their toothbrush on the desk with some of their books and the rubbed duck they’d had since they were a kid on the bedside table. It was all right where they left it when they got back. Eventually the surprise of that wore away. Eventually they even thought of the room as their own, slammed the door when they were pissed at David, and told other teens from the pack to stay out with the full belief that they couldn’t come in.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

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

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

-

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

-

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you – sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

-

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

-

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

-

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

-

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

-

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

-

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

-

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”

[djarinsbeskar]

gif credit: @di-n​ for this beauty 

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 1 - NEXT TIME

A/N: And so friends, we begin our rapid descent into filth. I have to admit, whenever I write anything remotely sexual, especially in a fic for the first time, I get so flustered worrying that people will think it’s too crude or too much. But then I remembered that this is exactly why y’all are here and I felt much better about throwing away any inhibitions and embracing the filth. 

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 10k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Injury detail, injury treatment, language, masturbation (male and female).

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

What do we do now?

Three months later… and you still hadn’t received an answer.

After the mess on Mynock, the devastation at the loss of both Biran and Kuiil and the mystery that still surrounded the child, you had been drained, physically and emotionally.

So, after your question had received nothing but silence in answer and being too tired to demand one, you had holed yourself away in one of the only private areas of the Razor Crest, a storage area adjacent to the cockpit. Half of it was taken up by the slabs of carbonite the Mandalorian kept his quarries in, but there was space enough to sit and try to work through the slew of emotions you had been bombarded with in only twenty-four hours.

You had scoffed, resting your head back against the unforgiving metal of ships interior; twenty-four hours ago, you had been lamenting the loss of adventure, of some sort of elusive fulfilment. Once again, caught up in thinking the grass is greener on the other island… It was a flaw you were beginning to recognize in yourself and you weren’t happy about it.

An incessant longing for an unknown goal.

You wanted to make a difference when you were stuck on Pamarthe, so you joined the Rebellion and it had given you a purpose.

After the Empire fell, and your skills as a combat medic became obsolete, you chased that same desire for purpose back to the Outer Rim in the hopes that altruistic work in a voluntary clinic would somehow satisfy that longing.

Then the New Republic pulled back the curtain and shown that in essence, things had not really changed, that you had somehow wasted years achieving something that suddenly felt hollow. And it was unfair. Unfair because you knew it wasn’t hollow, you knew the galaxy was in a better place than it was before you joined the Rebellion and yet you felt your life was lacking once more.

Biran had soothed the jagged edges of a life that hadn’t been able to fit in any one particular place and – for a time – you had been content with working in his practice. Until the moment you weren’t. When the gaping maw of dissatisfaction crept back into the corner of your eyes, making you agitated and wishing for more once again.

You seemed to have gotten your wish the day the Mandalorian had entered your life and brought with him an unyielding ability to take life by the jaws and roar right back at it. He seemed to create his own purpose, the child a testament to that, and even if you had no way of knowing the innermost workings of his mind, you were fascinated by it, by him.

You spent so long seeking a purpose when you should have been creating one of your own instead.

It was a sobering realization as you sat alone beside the generator room on the cold metal of the Razor Crest’s storage room, nothing to show for that wasted time but a bloody arm and a dead friend.

The tears came then, for Biran, for yourself, for the child, even for Mando. You had buried your face in your arms and allowed yourself to grieve.

You had no idea what to do. 

A little less than two days after your hasty escape from Dandoran, you entered the cockpit again sheepishly.

If you hadn’t heard the Mandalorian moving around the ship, climbing the ladder down to the hold or the hiss of the refreshers hydraulic door opening and closing, you would have thought he hadn’t moved an inch since you were last there.

You had had a severe talking to yourself over the last day and had laid to rest a portion of the self-loathing you had been wallowing in, realizing it wouldn’t do you any good to stay fixated on things you could no longer change. It had given you a measure of peace. Self-awareness was not always a flattering reflection, but with it, you were able to see what needed to be worked on.

The slightest incline of his helmet to the right was the only indication he gave you that he was aware of your presence, the child cooing happily from the seat beside him when he saw you.

You had taken the same seat as before, letting the child clamor up onto your lap to make room for you both. Silence still reigned and you were suddenly so aware of how much you relied on external white noise during your last meetings with him; the murmur of a bustling crowd, Biran’s jokes or simply your attention being focused on an injury. Without such distractions, the Mandalorian’s silence was deafening.

You knew he didn’t converse easily, that much was obvious from his abrupt statements and cantankerous nature whenever you saw him. But you had never felt the lack of cues – physical or verbal – until you sat in his ship with him alone. It felt like you were being asked to treat a patient when you could neither see where they were hurt or listen to their reaction; their breathing or any pain they might be in. You were adrift in this ship and for the first time since you saw him braced against that alley wall on Klatooine, you felt a jolt of nervousness race up your spine.

“How’s your arm?”

The question was spoken quietly but still felt too harsh on your ears. Maybe you were just feeling overly sensitive, you couldn’t tell at this point. All you knew was that the sound of his voice was jarring when only moments before you felt as though the silence was drowning you.

“It’s fine.” You muttered after a moment, “It wasn’t deep.”

“You know I would have---” he started before he cut himself off, the frustration evident in the huff he exhaled afterwards. No, Mando was definitely unaccustomed to speaking with you when the bickering and banter that provided you both with a safe wall to hide behind was stripped away.

But you knew what he was trying to say; I would have taken care of it.

Your chest filled with a soft warmth at the thought. But you didn’t mention it. Instinct told you that he would get defensive or spooked, like one of the regal crested stags native to Pamarthe. Massive and intimidating but would bolt at a loud noise or sudden movement. You felt that if you acknowledged the emotion, the tentative willingness he had tried to express to dress a wound for you, he would immediately throw up more walls, more barricades around himself.

You appreciated the sentiment none the less.

He seemed to appreciate the fact that you didn’t bring it up too, because a few silent minutes later, he spoke again.

“I don’t need to tell you that Mynock isn’t safe for you anymore.”

You looked up from where you had started playing with the child on your lap, simply passing his small metal ball to him before he handed it back to you. He seemed to take immense joy out of the game, delighted to show you his toy but equally excited to have it back in his hands in the next moment.

Mando kept his face forward as he spoke, so all you could see of him was the breadth of his shoulders where he had crossed his arms across his chest and the back of his helmet as it leaned back against the headrest of his chair.

“…But I’ll take you to whatever planet you want.”

“Oh.” Was your pitiful excuse for an answer. Pitiful, because you were slightly embarrassed that amidst your self-reflection, you hadn’t once considered your next move. You frowned. You always had a plan, but now? You had no idea where to go.

You mulled over your next words carefully.

“Can I think about it? I have to… figure out where would be best.” You continued when he offered nothing in response. It was true; you had no credits, no clothes, you didn’t even have a toothbrush you realized grimly. You had to be smart about where you went next if you were going to survive.

You ran through the list of friends and contacts you still had from the Rebellion, pilots and other medics who would no doubt help you in a pinch without question. You could go home, the clans on Pamarthe were loyal to a fault but your mind immediately shut that idea down as a wave of nausea washed over you, a combination of homesickness and fear making you feel slightly ill. No, you hadn’t been home since before the Rebellion, and you weren’t about to break that streak now.

You were so absorbed in your own thoughts, that you didn’t notice Mando’s quick glance at you over his shoulder. He had never seen you look less put together. Hair a disaster, clothes bloodstained from your arm and slightly sooty from the fires. Your face was clean, and so were your hands so you had obviously washed up at some point. You were a mess, honestly. But he was relieved to see the same fire that lit your eyes remained if a little subdued, the underlying steel of intelligence that glinted like beskar was still there. He knew you had seen worse than what happened on Mynock, knew you were tougher than to let it break you, but his own guilt over sending the child to you aggravated his worry that you might be… altered, changed, different because of what he did.

Obviously, his worry was misplaced.

He might wear beskar armor, but you were the one who had a spine of it.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

He spoke slowly, as if perhaps, he shouldn’t say those words. Their ambiguity was dangerous, leaving a back door to interpretation, but your appreciative smile he caught in the reflection of the wraparound transparisteel of the Razor Crests’ observation viewport made him forget momentarily why ambiguity was such a bad thing in the first place.

 That was months ago.

Somehow, neither of you mentioned your destination again. You never told him where you wanted to go, and he never asked if you had decided.

The fact was almost dangerously acknowledged when Mando landed the Razor Crest to refuel a week later, when he had made the offhanded remark that you needed clothes and whatever else you might need as you travelled because, as he put it, “a man shouldn’t’ be told he can’t access half of his ship just because you’re waiting for your clothes to dry” and handed you a pouch of credits as he pushed by you gently to get to the entrance of the ship.

He could have asked you then where you planned to go, it was the perfect segue into that conversation, but after a tense moment when he stood at the top of the open ramp on his way to find work to tie them over until he started taking Guild jobs again, he straightened his shoulders and simply nodded to the child,

“Take care of the kid while I’m gone.”

That change in topic seemed to put the idea of you leaving to bed and you never brought it up again.

Not when you returned with several sets of clothes, feminine products, medical supplies, and foodstuffs for the ship on Ryloth.

Not when he brought back a thin sleep mat on Lothal with only a grunt in response to the thanks you had offered him after he had noticed you rubbing out a kink in your shoulder the day before.

Not when ‘I won’t be long’ replaced the stiff order of ‘take care of the kid’ thrown over his shoulder whenever he left you both alone, taking the time now to stroke the child’s long ear as you held him in your arms, feeling his eyes on you as he spoke.

No… the two of you had fallen into a delicate, if slightly hesitant routine; one that didn’t involve you leaving the Mandalorian or his child.

Next time, it appeared, did not end in goodbye.

Adjusting to life on a ship again had been both easy and difficult.

Having spent a portion of your life sleeping in hard, cramped spaces with a number of other rebels, living on the Razor Crest was not as difficult as one might think. It wasn’t idea, Maker no. But there was running water (even if it was constantly recycled), something of a galley (kitchen was too generous a term, but there was a single nanowave ring and small cooling chamber) and somewhere soft to rest your head at night (even if your pillow was just a bunched-up blanket).

The areas you struggled with predominantly, could be summed up in two words: boredom and privacy.

You were used to spending twelve hours or more a day on your feet treating patients. Complacency and downtime were not in your repertoire, and while you can admit that you took advantage of the rest for the first week or two, you soon found yourself getting agitated and itching to do something.

The child proved to be an excellent distraction when he wasn’t holed away in the cockpit with the Mandalorian. While he was a darling little bogwing who fussed extraordinarily little, he needed constant vigilance. You learned very quickly that those doe-eyes hid a proclivity for mischief you had only glimpsed at back in Mynock. If you didn’t keep one eye on him at all times, you would lose sight of him only to find him in the cooling chamber looking for food or Maker forbid, in the weapons chamber.

Apart from keeping up with the child, you had taken to cataloguing the medical knowledge you had swimming in your mind on an empty datapad you had found in the storage area by the galley one day. You lamented the loss of the stacks of datapads you had collected over the years to further your knowledge and keep up to date with the latest medical advances, so you took it upon yourself to organize a one-stop-shop for all the information you had accumulated. It was antiquated given the knowledge was already in your head, but it filled the time, nonetheless.

Regarding privacy however, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any.

You had flatly refused to take Mando’s bunk when he had thrown the offer to you soon after Ryloth, and instead took it upon yourself to reorganize the holds setup. The small alcove by the galley that kept excess inventory of food, ammunition, blankets, and medical supplies was relocated to the storage area outside the generator room on the same level of the cockpit. The generators themselves had been too noisy to sleep beside so, despite being a larger area, you had settled the sleep mat down in the now empty alcove across from where the crates Mando used as a table and chairs was set. You didn’t need a whole lot of space while you slept, so it suited you fine. You had spent years sleeping on ships so a somewhat soft mat – however thin – was all you needed to get a good night sleep.

Rather, it was your feeling of invading the Mandalorian’s privacy that you struggled with. Your unwitting shipmate was a large, somewhat stifling presence in the beginning, and you felt an illogical imposition on his life before growing more accustomed to living with him after several weeks. 

 It was as you got used to him though, that your troubles began.

After six weeks of travelling on the Razor Crest, you had learned several things about the Mandalorian.

One, that despite the ship being as small as it was with three – read; two plus a pint-sized gremlin – people living in it, Mando could be elusive and you could easily go days without seeing him and even longer without hearing him speak. Whatever progress you had made previously during your encounters in getting him to talk only seemed to apply in small doses. You found yourself growing used to silence and adjusting to speaking softly without realizing it, your normal speaking voice sounding too loud even to your own ears.

Two, for all you did see of him, you had never once seen him without every stitch of armor on him. Beskar wasn’t light and you knew he had to remove it sometimes to shower and sleep and eat, but you never heard even a whisper of metal clattering as he took it off or put it back on. The only thing you ever heard that would suggest he ever took his armor off, was the sound of the water in the refresher as it ran down his body. Mando only showered when he was certain you and the kid were both asleep, a habit you had picked up on only when the sound of the spray pulled you from unconsciousness for the fifth night in a row. The simple sound of the water and the occasional splash as he rinsed his hair – if he had hair – or body clean of soap immediately pushed tiredness and any hope of sleep away, which led you to fact number three.

That your attraction to the Mandalorian was growing, rather than dissipating, the longer you were around him. Whatever attraction you had entertained on Mynock over the years was magnified when you were forced to live in such close proximity to the man each and every day. Perhaps it was because you didn’t have as much to focus your attentions on, but you suddenly felt hyperaware of his every movement whenever he was in your presence and each of those movements seemed more enticing than the last.

There was the time he was cleaning his blasters.

Mando had just entered hyperspace after finishing up a job on Sriluur and after a grumbled, “No, I did not see a Raquor’daan” after your tongue-in-cheek question upon his return, he returned to the hold after putting the ship on autopilot.

Unexpectedly, he pulled one of the durasteel crates out from beside the makeshift table instead of remaining in the cockpit, the sound of the crate dragging across the metal flooring making both you and the child startle while he took a heavy seat down and pulled out the blaster at his hip. Another two followed as he lay them out almost reverently on the table.

Given that his adopted father was staying down in the hold, the child very quickly lost interest in playing with you and his metal ball. He whined at you insistently until you placed him in the crab carapace that sat on the same table in front of the Mandalorian before taking your seat again to focus on the compilation of medication doses per age, race, and pre-existing condition on your datapad to keep yourself occupied.

“No.”

You were amused when Mando’s filtered voice stopped the kid from touching the blaster without the warrior even having to look up from where he was using a small pipe brush to clean out the barrel of the first blaster. The little bogwing only watched him as he slowly tried to take a small, but no doubt important part of the blaster that sat on the table closest to his small frame, waiting to be cleaned.

After a few moments of this back and forth between father and son, you recognized when the Mandalorian was beginning to lose patience. The clipped edge of his voice that usually took a lot longer to show itself whenever he spoke to the child. The deliberate turn of his helmet to look at him as he spoke. All tiny, insignificant things you were becoming aware of despite yourself.

“Okay buddy. Let’s play over here instead.” You reached across the table and picked him up before Mando reached his limit and sat back down with the child on your lap, a safe distance from the blasters and the child’s wandering claws. Mando didn’t say anything, his movements never faltering as he lifted the barrel up to the front of his T-visor, inspecting its interior for a few measured moments before he set it down and picked up the next piece, satisfied.

While the little bogwing was most certainly not impressed to have been removed from Mando’s side, you had discovered a secret weapon early on that you could pull out whenever the child became fussy. It was truly a lifesaver of a thing; one you thanked the Maker for every time it stopped a tantrum or soothed away a fear.

You simply pulled your hair over your shoulder and waited for the tell-tale widening of the child’s eyes before his clawed hand wrapped around a bunch of the strands. He was content to hold it, pull it occasionally and enjoy its’ texture and color. You flattered yourself that it was comforting to the child, but you knew nothing comforted him more than the cool steel of beskar under his cheek whenever Mando held him.

At the thought, your eyes shifted to the man in question, oil rag in hand as he gently ran it over each part of the disassembled blaster, slow in the drag down the exterior of the barrel and examining it regularly before continuing.

It was the first time your breath had caught looking at him.

The way he completed each task so meticulously made you feel like you were witnessing a ritual; there was something innately private and intimate about how the warrior took care of his weapons. Should you look away? Perhaps… but after a few monotonous weeks, your eyes drank in the sight, taking in far more than you would usually be aware of in such a mundane act. The dexterity of his gloved fingers as they ran over each part of the weapon, they way they expertly shifted to disassemble the other two blasters laid out on the table, as if with a simple touch, the steel fell apart to obey his wishes.

It was the first time you felt an image of him, a fantasy, brush against your mind.

A fleeting image of those same fingers running down your spine slowly, deliberate, and certain in their path. As experienced with handling a woman as he was when he handled a weapon. The brush of his knuckles down your sternum, along your cheek. The strength of his grip behind your neck or holding your hips down.

You startled, yelping as the child giggled when he yanked your hair after your momentary lapse in concentration.

The visor shifted slightly to look at you and you hoped the guilty look on your face didn’t tell him everything you had just imagined before he pointed at the child,

“Mind your manners, kid.” He rasped before turning back to his work.

The child cooed in delight, thinking all of this was a truly wonderful sport and pulled your hair again. You laughed at his antics, slightly embarrassed as your yelp had been drawn out in surprise as opposed to pain. You didn’t think the child was even capable of inflicting pain; even at his most excited, he never pulled your hair hard and it softened your heart to him further.

The Mandalorian only sighed in your peripheral, pushing himself to his feet and making his way around the table. Those fingers you had been thinking about not two minutes earlier gently untangled the child’s claws from your hair and picked him up into his arms to settle him down.

“You’re too young to be pulling girls hair yet, ad’ika.” You heard him chide in that low baritone as he moved further into the hold towards the child’s hover-pram. It took every ounce of self-control not to let your jaw hit the ground. You barely succeeded.

Unfortunately, you didn’t succeed in stopping your thighs from shifting, subconsciously rubbing them together to relieve the uncomfortably need that settled there, quickly escaping to your mat under the pretense of needing to untangle your hair from the child’s ministrations. 

 Then there were the numerous times you had to get by each other, to get down the ladder to the hold, or to leave the ship, or even just to get into the cockpit. Anywhere that involved you both being in the same space at the same time resulted in the Mandalorian brushing against you accidentally as you crossed paths. Like you said before, Mando was large, and the Razor Crest was not.

One fateful encounter had yet to leave your mind.

You had been frantically looking for the child for nearly half an hour after breaking your second cardinal rule:

 Do not take your eyes off the child.

Well, you did. And you were – once again – contemplating the pros and cons of throwing yourself into a sarlacc pit over facing the wrath of the Mandalorian if you didn’t find the sneaky little bogwing he called a son.

You linked your hands behind your neck as you released a long breath to try and calm your rapidly increasing panic. He wasn’t in his hover-pram (though his metal ball was there so surely, he couldn’t have gone far?), he wasn’t in the crab carapace (it sat cold and empty apart from the few errant credits Mando had tossed into it the day before). He wasn’t in the refresher and he wasn’t in the cooling chamber. He wasn’t hiding under the blanket you used for a pillow and he wasn’t playing in the carbonite chamber. You had even taken a panel or two from the side of the ship to see if he had gotten into the electricals, but they too were missing a little green terror.

“He can’t have gone far…” you whispered to yourself, your eyes scanning every single area of the hold carefully, looking for any movement or flash of green that might tell you where your charge had escaped to.

Your eyes landed on the rarely open hydraulic pocket door beside the refresher at the front of the ship, to the bunk where you knew the Mandalorian slept whenever he got the chance to.

What were the odds that things would work out in your favor, that the child wouldn’t be in Mando’s private quarters? That you could quietly continue your search elsewhere on the ship because underneath it all, the child knew there was nothing interesting in there?

The odds? Fucking zero.

Closing your eyes as you dropped your head back on your shoulders, you dragged your hands over your face,

“Why me?” you groaned into your hands, feeling infinitely sorry for yourself before you dropped your hands and stared at the open hydraulic durasteel door in distrust, as if it were going to alert Mando of your trespassing for even pondering the idea.

It’s just a room. The lovely, logical part of your brain said, soothing your nerves before the treacherous, licentious part finished the sentence:

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian sleeps…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian removes his armor…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian---

You curtailed the rapid descent your thoughts were plummeting towards and took three confident steps towards the room to prove to yourself that you were unfazed. You faltered on step four, but as your foot landed on the metal flooring, you were practically in front of the room already. So, you glanced in with a slight arch of your neck, leaning to the right.

This was the only place on the Razor Crest you hadn’t seen fully. Mando never locked it, but you tried to respect what privacy he did have by avoiding it. You understood that everyone had their space; a single area that was theirs to completely unwind in, even momentarily. You understood the significance of a place like that and invading Mando’s made you feel guilty.

The room itself was clinical in its simplicity. Your eyes roved over the bunk to see if the child was there. You took another step in so you could lean down to see if he was down the side of the bunk, where several metal shelves sat empty apart from a single blaster and a piece of durasteel armor that looked suspiciously like Mando’s old vambrace. He must put his armor there whenever he takes it off. You couldn’t think of another reason for there to be so much wasted space in the room otherwise.

“Psst, kid. Are you in here?” You hissed, not wanting to tempt fate and draw the Mandalorian’s attention if he heard you.

As it happened, the odds that you had put at zero for yourself might as well have been negative infinity, because the response you received was a filtered throat being cleared that had you spinning in place to see Mando watching you with his head tilted and a thumb hoked in his utility belt as he leaned against the wall casually.

And there was the child – proud as the tooka who caught the titterling – sitting in one strong arm, watching you with curious eyes as you stood back up, heat rising to your face as you floundered.

“I---”

“Found him.”

Mando saved you from what was no doubt going to be a terribly awkward attempt at an explanation as to why you were snooping in his bunk, so you merely offered him a sheepish smile when he didn’t question you. You held out your hands when the green monster stretched his own short arms out to you.

Mando pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to hand the child over and his body ate up the space around you.

It was surreal and slightly unnerving, the way his body seemed to dwarf any space he walked into, particularly this small area in front of his bunk. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the light behind him, and you were ensnared by the faint memory of their strength from realigning his arm after the Houk Incident. You mind was suddenly barraged with sinful images of anchoring your nails into those shoulders, or the sight of your thighs thrown over them as he---

“Can’t take your eyes off him for even a minute.” You laughed to cover your runaway thoughts, honestly you needed to get laid the next planet you landed on, fingers stroking absentmindedly over a large ear while the unpainted helmet stayed trained on you before nodding slowly.

“He gets into more trouble than you do.” He rumbled, the faint lilt of a tease making you instantly narrow your eyes, secretly thankful for the more familiar territory.

“That’s rich, coming from the guy who ended up wanted by not only the New Republic, but the Empire and Bounty Hunters Guild as well.”

He scoffed as he rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms, a clear rebuttal he decided didn’t warrant a verbal response, but it made you smile slyly in response, eager to keep the upper hand as you moved to get by him.

“You’re quite impressive, you know?” You purred as you passed him, the warrior not conceding an inch of space to let you get by him more easily, his body remaining an impassive mountain in front of you.

“Yeah?” His voice – husky even when filtered – dripped with a curiosity he tried to mask with arrogance as he tipped his head back to look down at you from his greater height while your front brushed against his lightly. You could practically hear the smirk behind his helmet in that one word.

You smiled sweetly at him and – for the first time – touched him for reasons other than medical as your patted the beskar on his chest twice,

“Mhm…” you hummed slowly, squeezing past him finally even as he turned slightly to keep his eyes on you, eyes that were scorching your body despite your inability to see them,

“You single-handedly united the galaxy in getting all three of them to agree that you’re a menace.”

Your saccharine smile grew at the indignant noise that left the warrior in response, the sound so boorish and organic coming from a man who could at times seem as emotionless as the droids he despised. It was a human sound, and your heart thrilled at it, the sensation settling between your legs as you wondered what other human sounds the Mandalorian could produce as you escaped back up the ladder to the cockpit before he could respond. It stroked a primal part of your ego to have been the one to draw out a sound, even one of derision, from him.

You thought about that sound for longer than you cared to admit, one of the few others you had added to the growing catalogue of memories you had accumulated over your short time on the Razor Crest. Each memory was capable of tormenting you to the point of arousal while you stubbornly refused to give in to your body’s need for release over thoughts of him.

You might have broken your second cardinal rule of ‘do not take your eyes off the child’ but you were steadfast in sticking to your first cardinal rule:

Do not cross that line with the Mandalorian. 

 You might have been able to abide by that rule if all you had to worry about was the limited content you had to fantasize about. The way he moved, his voice, those glimpses of the human underneath the metal when he spoke in that growling language whenever he was frustrated, or the occasional groan from a stiff neck after too long in the pilot’s chair. The faint memory of the tanned skin you had seen when treating that poisoned stab wound over three years ago. You could deal with all of those. They were ambiguous and vague.

Vague enough that when you did succumb to your own please and give yourself the release you craved night after night while biting your lip to contain even the smallest sounds escaping, you could fool yourself into thinking that it was any nameless, faceless man and not the Mandalorian you travelled with.

That changed the day you were exposed to the sheer strength and power of the Mandalorian first-hand as he wrestled a quarry into the ship after a hunt. The base, primordial desire for physical strength used for the purpose of provision and protection was stoked inside of you.

Mando had shown up with a live quarry, a Trandoshan who – once on the ship – had made one last desperate effort to escape, using the Mandalorian’s distraction as you came out of the refresher to break the binders with the brutal strength Trandoshan’s were known for and lunge right at you. Whether it was to kill you or to use you as leverage for Mando to release him, you never found out.

You had managed one startled step back before the Trandoshan was tackled to the ground in front of you. Mando’s size belied his speed and he quickly had a knee pressed into the quarry’s back, a hand pressing down on the Trandoshan’s neck to keep him in place while he used his free hand to try and restrain him once again.

The image of Mando’s body, humming from the thrill of a fight and the testosterone that rolled off of him because of it, seared itself into your mind. How the quarry could hardly move under the strength of his knee pressed down on his back. How – even under all that armor – you could practically see his muscles ripple and strain taut as he kept the quarry subdued enough to attach a new set of binders.

It was primal.

And it was your undoing.

As you let your fingers roam down beneath your sleep shorts that night to find yourself already soaked, you didn’t even try to stop the memory of Mando man-handling the quarry from filling your thoughts. You didn’t stop the memory from morphing into something else as you imagined yourself underneath him instead. Imagined the Mandalorian using that strength on you for an entirely different reason as you easily sunk two fingers inside your twitching cunt, desperate to be filled by something more than what you could give yourself.

You imagined his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down, to keep you submissive and could almost hear his voice growling in your ear while you desperately tried to replace the sensation of your own fingers inside you with his. Your other hand traced down your overheated body to circle your clit lightly. Your hips bucked, your body already strung too tight as a whimper slipped past your lips as you imagined he would no doubt leave you wanting more, removing his fingers to replace them with the blunt head of his cock. Just the thought of him pushing into you was enough to send you over the edge, biting down on your lip hard enough that you tasted a tang of copper from where your teeth broke the skin while your orgasm washed over you. You were left panting in the pitch-black hold of the Razor Crest wondering how long you could handle your attraction to the Mandalorian before it drove you crazy. 

 But it wasn’t until a month later, three months since Mynock, when Mando’s penchant for colorful injuries proved to be the straw that broke the bantha’s back.

You had landed on Scipio a week ago.

The frigid atmosphere of the planet was only made worse by the fact that the majority of structures in its capital city sat at a high altitude to escape the snowstorms that could leave entire ships buried in a matter of hours.

It was the first Guild job the Mandalorian had taken in a long time, but it offered a good bounty. From the short answers you had managed to pry from the stoic warrior as you entered Scipio’s atmosphere, he was a money launderer. A disgraced member of the Banking Clan back in the day before he found spice and flesh trafficking to be a more lucrative venture.

The guy was a genius when it came to cleaning dirty credits, funneling them into dummy accounts and businesses, directly influencing the rise in power of several top tier warlords of the fallen Empire. You had thought to question why it was so easy for former Imperials and their supporters to gain power but then you answered your own question. Credits. Credits could buy you anything; buy your survival, buy loyalty, and even buy freedom.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem too concerned about the quarry himself, rather the security detail he might have around him. This type of guy would rather pay someone to die for them instead of picking up a blaster themselves.

The spaceport where you landed doubled as a motel, equipped to stand the sub-zero temperatures and for people like yourself and the child, who would usually remain on the ship, provided somewhere safe to sleep for the duration of your stay. Mando had been frustrating as he explained again about keeping an eye open while in the motel, to double check the locks and not to let the child out of your sight.

It had ended with you snapping at him that you weren’t stupid, weeks of frustration catching up on you.

You had effectively shut him up though, and after a few tense moments he reached out to stroke the tip of the child’s ear gently,

“I won’t be long.” His voice was measured in its control to bite his tongue on a sharp retort, so you only nodded once in confirmation.

You regretted your short temper the moment you had snapped at him. You knew he kept his worry over the child to himself but sometimes he tended to hover, particularly when you weren’t on the Razor Crest. But having once again woken that morning to slippery thighs and the lingering image of a blurred silhouette scraping his teeth down your neck, you were feeling a bit high-strung.

So you had lashed out in your irritation, and a week after he left, you still felt bad about it.

The motel itself surrounded the spaceport. For the first day you had distracted the child and yourself by sitting at the window and pointing out the different ships that landed and took off, the high vantage point of the rooms allowing you to see a good portion of the entire port.

You told the child what each ship was (those that you knew, anyway) and told him which was fastest and what each one was used for and even the ones you knew how to fly (even if that list was miserably short for someone from Pamarthe). You still had your suspicions that the child could understand everything you said to him and so spoke to him as if he did. It did no harm and he seemed to enjoy the attention, babbling on your lap, and pressing his forehead to the window.

The ships had been a distraction for all of a day. Neither of you had warm enough clothing to tackle exploring the outdoors so your exploration was limited to the corridors of the motel and the extended sheltered area of the spaceport. The freezing chill still managed to permeate the vast port and you soon found yourselves back in the room for the next few days.

When the commlink Mando had given you crackled on your wrist, you nearly wept with happiness that you might soon be getting off this planet. You would take a week in hyperspace over the prison you felt you had been in within the four walls of the motel room. There were only so many conditions, symptoms, and treatments you could document on your datapad before you started losing the will to live.

“We take off in twenty.”

The commlink warped the unmistakable voice of the Mandalorian, probably due to the raging storm outside affecting the connection but you didn’t care. You guys were leaving, and you wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of Scipio.

Packing up the few items you had brought with you for the child, you placed him back in his hover-pram and closed it around him to protect him from the cold. Pressing another button on the commlink, it began following you as you started making your way down to where the Razor Crest was docked. The few moments you had to spend in the freezing blizzard to get onto the ship felt like a life age, the snow and wind biting into your skin beneath your clothing and almost burning with how cold it felt.

You turned towards the open ramp of the Razor Crest, desperately wanting to close it but you knew the Mandalorian had been out in that weather far longer than you had, and the quicker he got in, the better.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long as a few minutes later, the hazy blur in the blizzard sharpened to reveal the beskar clad warrior with a limp figure over his shoulder. Your eyes raked over him, narrowing at the slightly tremble in his left leg as he threw down the prone body none too gently on the floor of the hold. He reached to his right to press one of the manual controls to lift the ramp and finally shield you all from the snow before he reached down to grab the human man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the carbonite chamber.

He hadn’t said a word to you but then again, that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He preferred silence and you were used to it.

Instead, you took a few liberties and climbed up to the cockpit to initiate take off procedures. The Crest was old, bless her, but after a moment or two you managed to get her up in the air and out of atmosphere. Once you were able, you activated the autopilot. You were still at cruising altitude and would only be able to enter hyperspace once you were a suitable distance away from the planet.

Mando hadn’t come up when you had taken off and you noticed his absence. It wasn’t like him to remain down below so, with a moment’s hesitation, you returned back down the ladder to find him sitting on one of the large crates with his head back against the wall.

Your eyes immediately focused, mind sharpening as you assessed him from a few feet away. Breathing was normal if a bit heavy, nothing bent at a wrong angle or limbs missing.

You let your eyes drop to the leg you saw tremble slightly. The flight suit Mando wore under his armor, especially the bottoms, were soaked through so you couldn’t tell if the darkened stains on his thigh were melted snow or blood.

“No.”

Your eyes snapped up to his helmet which had turned slightly once you caught his attention.

“No?” You questioned, a frown settling over your eyes as he sat up with a grunt.

“I don’t need you patching up ever scratch and bruise.” He snapped.

Oh, he was cranky. That meant he was in pain.

It was true that Mando had flatly refused any help if he ever came back bruised and sore and for the most part, he probably didn’t need any medical attention. Half the time you didn’t even know because he simply dealt with it himself wordlessly. He had lived this life long enough without you, he knew how to handle himself. Most of the time. Your trained eyes were able to spot a mile away what he could deal with himself and what needed more practiced hands. If he was acting like a cantankerous reek again, then you knew it was time to step in.

You scoffed and took the few steps towards him, completely professional as you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t miss the strangled noise the modulator picked up from behind the helmet, but you didn’t have time to worry about how you might look kneeling in front of his open legs.

All you were focused on, was the shredded duraweave near his knee, dried blood crusting along the flesh of his inner thigh just shy of the beskar plate sitting over his left thigh. You clicked your tongue and sent him a withering look,

“Seriously?”

A growl reverberated from his chest, a string of that foreign language leaving him before he looked away. He looked petulant.

“In Basic if you don’t mind.” You asked sarcastically, eyes already back on the wound underneath the torn duraweave. Your fingers picked a shredded edge of the duraweave to get a better look. You were reminded instantly of the wound he received from the poison laced dagger with you first met him, but you were relieved to note that this wound seemed clean of venom.

That was about all that was clean about it though, because unlike the single laceration of the dagger wound, his thigh had a semi-circle of shredded puncture wounds where something had obviously sunk into his flesh and shook its head.

“Fucking nerfherders, what bit you?” You turned your eyes back up to him, startled by the size given that the single row indicated only one side of the jaw met his flesh. You worried momentarily if the back of his thigh carried similar wounds where whatever it was bit down but you would deal with this first.

“Whitefang.” He bit out, the frustration in his tone evident but you had grown accustomed to him acting like this whenever he was hurt.

You had gotten to your feet again, turning away to your small area where you could rifle through the medipack you had built for such occasions. You almost dropped the bacta and saline when you turned back to him.

“A whitefang? How in Malachor did you---”

“He didn’t only have mercenaries guarding him.” Mando spat, groaning when the anger in his voice caused his muscles to tense and the obvious pain that followed. You shook your head and knelt back down, sitting on your heels as you peeled back the shredded edges of the duraweave, stopping only when a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist in warning. Your eyes flickered up to the expressionless T-visor, a sigh leaving you as you looked back down.

“I’m only pushing it back as far as the wound goes. I won’t see any more of you than it takes to treat your bite.”

You tried a different approach to your usual Mando Method. Negotiation as opposed to strong-arming him. You didn’t try to remove your wrist from his grip, despite how tight it was but your patience seemed to work because with a steady exhale, his grip loosened and released you. You nodded once,

“There, that wasn’t so hard?”

Mando simply leaned his head back heavily and looked up towards the ceiling, his hands resting back on the crate behind him and leaving you to your work.

You turned back to his thigh now that the hard part was over, truly he was a menace when it came to looking after himself. You tutted to yourself while you cleaned the caked, dried blood from around the puncture wounds with clean gauze soaked in an antiseptic solution and assessed their depth as you did so. There were seven punctures in all, the two canine fangs being the largest and deepest, so you focused your attention on them first.

While the Mandalorian hadn’t said a word despite the sting the antiseptic no doubt caused, he let out a soft exhale when you cleaned them out with saline water to flush out any dirt that might have entered the open wounds. You bit down on your lip to hide the slight smile, he seemed to enjoy that part last time too. Now that you were sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger; you allowed your eyes to travel down the length of his body on their way back to his thigh.

You covered the hitch in your breath with a small cough when your eyes passed over the prominent bulge that was nearly at eye level; he was hard. Your mouth instantly went dry as you turned back to his thigh with a bit too much force, a heavy tension settling in the air that was making it hard to focus. 

So, you tried to lighten the mood when he sighed again softly at the cool liquid on his heated skin.

“Careful Mando, or else I’ll start to think you enjoy getting injured.”

You had quickly moved on to threading the dissolvable medical thread through a wicked sharp curved needle and began to layer tight, neat stitches inside the two deepest wounds, anything to distract your hands and eyes from straying somewhere they were wholly unwelcome.

The needle moved easily through his flesh, the thread laced with bacta, one of the greatest creations to come from the last five years of medical research which allowed the healing qualities in bacta to penetrate the body better, using the physical thread to hold the flesh together while it knitted everything back together quicker than the body would be able to by itself.

The Mandalorian hadn’t moved since you began, but you felt the telling warmth on the top of your head where his eyes had settled, watching you sit between his legs and once again, soothing his pain. You hadn’t expected an answer given his mood, so when he did reply, you nearly dropped the needle you were carefully putting away for cleaning later.

“In my line of work, you learn to like a little pain.” His voice sounded thicker, a dark undercurrent to the usual rasp and it made your cunt clench at the veiled insinuation. He must have known you could see, right? He hadn’t made any move to hide his obvious arousal, but then maybe he felt that to draw attention to it would be to acknowledge it.

You smoothed a large bactapad over the wounds, the smaller punctures not deep enough to warrant stiches and satisfied there were no other wounds on his thigh. You used the action to buy yourself some time as you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, desperately trying to get some moisture back as your mind ran wild with the possibilities that single sentence meant about the Mandalorian.

When you had done all you could do, you bit the bullet and looked up at him again. His head was tilted down, not hiding the fact that he was watching you as you worked, and you just knew your underwear was ruined from the image that lay before you. The Mandalorian leaning back with his legs spread and watching you like the hunter he was.

“I’m sure there are other ways you can enjoy that without getting you leg bitten off.” The words that left your mouth were smoother and said with a confidence that made you want to pat yourself on the back. You packed up the medipack and stood up, keeping your eyes on his visor so they wouldn’t be tempted to stray down to the bulge that had yet to disappear.

“No strenuous exercise until they’re healed.” You ordered, your tone allowing for no argument as you turned to put the medipack away, thankful that he couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks when you started moving towards the galley to prepare something to eat for the child and be away from this suddenly stifling situation.

Mando seemed content to remain where he was for a few moments longer before he stood to test his leg on his full weight. You staunchly kept your back to him under the guise of heating a ration pack on the nanowave stove, but you could feel him brush past you on his way to the cockpit.

“Pity.” He dropped the word on your lap without stalling his movements as he passed you, his voice still thick and laced with a sinful darkness before his presence vanished entirely up the ladder, albeit a bit slower and into the cockpit so he could get you all into hyperspace.

When you heard the tell-tale hiss of the cockpit door closing, you braced your hands on the edge of the galley counter, a shaky breath leaving you.

What the ever-loving fuck what that?

A few hours later, and you were in the refresher, the hiss of the shower the only security that your moans were smothered as your fingers played with your clit, expertly circling it before swiping over the sensitive bundles lightly. Your head fell back, the water soaking your heated skin and running down your body the same way you imagined his hands might, how his tongue might follow that same path.

Your eyes closed on a whimper as you slid a finger insider of yourself, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily it slid in, your arousal providing the perfect lubrication.

You still hadn’t been able to unwind from the tightly strung ball of tension the Mandalorian had left you in hours before and despite your better judgement, had locked yourself in the refresher seeking even an ounce of relief. You should have been ashamed, getting off to the memory of a man who – while being someone you already accepted your attraction to – was a patient in that moment.

It didn’t matter that he seemed just as aroused, that he stoked a desire deep inside you with his words. You didn’t even know his name and yet, the physical attraction you felt for a man whose body you had seen only slivers of, was unlike anything you’d felt for anyone you had been with before. He had you soaked with a few choice words, a tilt of his helmet and his legs spread arrogantly as if he hadn’t just been bitten by a whitefang.

You moaned quietly as you imagined yourself kneeling between those thighs again, but this time not to treat an injury but to satisfy a different sort of ache. You thought about the noises he might make if you took his cock into your mouth; if he would try to control your pace and how much of him you took. You added another finger as you wondered if he would finish in your mouth, or if he was someone who wanted to finish deep inside your cunt instead. If he would pull you up from your position between his legs so he could sink into you and fuck you until he finished.

You could feel your orgasm cresting, your fingers drenched with your arousal and a final forbidden fantasy of what he must look like when he came – what expression would paint the face you would never know as he spilled inside you – was what had your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You couldn’t muffle your cry at its intensity, nor could you control the moan spilling from your lips despite swearing you would never say it, never acknowledge outside your own mind that you wanted him.

But you couldn’t help yourself, and it changed everything.

“Mando…”

He was right the first time.

He should have fucking listened to his instincts when they told him you were dangerous on Klatooine.

He should have known when that lick of desire danced across his body the night he first met you.

He should have known when the blush he caused to rise on your cheeks made his chest swell with masculine pride.

He should have known when he hesitated every time he went to ask you what planet you wanted him to bring you to.

And he should have damn well known when he had to stop himself from fucking you the moment you knelt between his legs to treat his bite.

But he hadn’t listened and now he was stood frozen on his way to his bunk, the sound of his name laced with desire as it rolled off your tongue on the other side of the refresher’s door rooting him to the spot.

He felt himself get painfully hard under his armour again.

He had felt edged all day after trying – and failing – to calm himself down in the cockpit after you had finished with him. He recited his Creed in his head over and over until the memory of you looking up at him with those expressive, intelligent eyes had him hard again almost instantly.

Din felt his lips curl into a snarl at the sound of you moaning his name, at the torture you had unwittingly inflicted on him now that he knew what you sounded like in the throes of pleasure. It would be so easy, so easy to just pull the door open and give you a real reason to moan his name.

He clenched his hand to his side where it itched to open the door, it would be so easy…

He shook his head, trying to shake the insidious thoughts of giving in to the attraction that had skyrocketed since you began travelling with him.

A shift of his weight sent a twinge of pain through his thigh and that grounded him.

No, not tonight.

He continued on his path to his bunk before he had been interrupted, locking the hydraulic door behind him before he removed his helmet and ran a hand down his face.

Not tonight.

He removed each part of his armor, setting it down on the shelves beside the bunk, fingers ghosting over the bactapad that still clung to his thigh, the whispered memory of feeling your fingers on his bare skin again causing his cock to twitch beneath his flight suit before he removed that as well.

Not tonight.

He lay back heavily on his bunk, muscles and joints exhausted from the arduous week on an ice planet. He let his eyes roll closed when his hand wrapped around the hard shaft of his cock where it lay heavy against his stomach, lips parting on an exhale. The memory of his name on your lips filled his head as he swiped his thumb across the head of his cock to spread the pre-cum already leaking from the tip and hissed at the sensitivity.

Not tonight, he thought as his grip tightened as he stroked himself towards a quick release, but one day soon he would make you pay for the torment you inflicted on him today.

He came with a low groan, your voice in his head chiding him once more about no strenuous exercise and he smirked in the darkness at the memory, fatigue making his eyelids heavy.

Soon.

Some liberties I have taken with Star Wars Canon:

- Pantran whitefangs (a species of big cat) are native only to Hoth, and are notorious for being impossible to domesticate and are constantly hunting. Anyone who tries, usually ends up dead. For the purposes of Stitches, it didn't seem likely that a money launderer would hide on Hoth. It's a desolate planet with a population that "would just about fill a cruiser". Scipio was at one point, the centre of the Banking Clan during the Galactic Republic and was such an important location that both the Republic and Separatists each sent ambassadors to ensure there was no corruption there. It has a larger population and more cities, somewhere I can justify a money lauderer hiding out in. This is why I transplanted Whitefangs to a different planet though I have made sure that it was an equally frozen one!

- Bacta usually removes the need for literal stitches as we know in real life, but I theorized that, while bacta is a perfect healer given time; in triage and emergency care, going back to basics sometimes helps. That's why I tried to combine the idea of bacta thread, something that would physically hold a wound together and prevent blood loss while the bacta worked in the interim.

- The generic "bending the Creed but not breaking it" spiel about reader seeing Din's body so long as it's not his face.

Stitches Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata​ @greatcircle79​

Hopefully I haven’t forgotten anyone! But drop me a message if I did! 

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Land of Thieves #ChapterOne

Western/ Red Dead Redemption AU / Slow Burn / childhood best friends to lovers 

Gif is not mine.

Read on AO3 (English Version) 

Ler no AO3  / “Terra de Ladrões” (Versão Português)

Chapter warnings: explicit language, explicit violence. 

Word count for this chapter:  4002K

Summary:  When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Pt.1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3 || Pt.4 || Pt.5 || Pt.6 || Pt.7 || Pt.8 || Pt.9 || Pt.10 || Pt.11

You were covered in mud and blood when you entered the saloon. Curious and judgmental eyes turned to you, but you didn't stare back. Stretching your back, you felt your whole body ache; the recent beating was sure to leave marks. Walking over to the counter, you threw three gold coins onto the wood, muttering in a mumbled tone "bath" to the saloon keeper. He nodded slightly, showing you the way to the restrooms. As you washed up, you grumbled against the recent cuts, but you were happy to know that you hadn't been shot. Your body ached, but without bullet wounds, you would be better in no time. A pretty girl who worked in the saloon smiled at you when she took your muddy clothes to wash them, and you looked away blushing helplessly. She handed you new clothes before she left. When you finished your shower, you put on the white silk shirt, and beat-up jeans that were handed to you. The boots were not new, but they were comfortable. You also put on spurs, but they didn't give you suspenders, so you left the shirt loose against your body, enjoying the lightness. Attaching your holstered belt to your waist, you checked to be sure your Schofield revolver was clean and locked before you holstered it. You walked to the top floor of the saloon, ignoring the curious glances cast at you on the way. You hoped that no one would recognize you from the reward posters, but you weren't so sure about that, since your face was quite exposed without your hat, which must now be somewhere lost in the middle of New Elizabeth, or on some thief's head. Whistling softly, you walked to the saloon balcony, watching the town below. Valentine is a ranching town, small and not very crowded. Lots of pedestrians, you observe. You light a cigarette as you watch the citizens go about their mundane lives, many opportunities passing before your eyes. You let your gaze wander to the town bank, a few meters ahead on the right of the saloon. You notice that security is low. Making mental notes about everything you could observe from there, you put out your cigarette, returning to the lower part of the saloon, toward the counter. - A whiskey and a beef stew. - You grumble, handing the bartender some coins. He nods in agreement and in a few minutes you get your meal. While you are sitting at the farthest table in the room, you listen attentively to the conversation of two men at the poker table, who have caught your attention. - My cousin saw the carriages in Saint Denis. Four horses in each, and he said that the riders were armed to the teeth." - The skinny man commented excitedly, his friend didn't look so happy. - Those damned bankers are like pests of the soil. You saw what happened to that southern town, I think it was called White Gate. - commented the man with the mustache, his expression frowning. - After the oil ran out, everybody lost their jobs. Stark closed the mine and the citizens began to starve. Almost everyone moved to the neighboring towns. Stark. The name was not strange to you, but you could not tell exactly where you had heard it before. You finished your stew, deciding that Steve would want to know about both the bank and the possible rich men who were visiting the town. Finishing your whiskey in one gulp, you stood up, leaving the saloon just as you collected your freshly washed clothes from the same woman who had brought them. It was hot and humid outside. Knight, your Hungarian half-breed horse, grunted with delight when you stroked his mane. You smiled at him before you mounted. You rode south, figuring you would have no trouble finding the new camp site, and trying to remember Bucky's instructions about where exactly they were. It took some time, but you finally found the camp. You dismounted Knight as you entered the area between the trees, walking calmly to the largest tent. Steve Rogers was like a father to you. When your birth parents died of cholera, you ran away from the orphanage the government put you in, and started living on the streets. You were only seven years old, but you were smart enough to hide in one of the garbage carts when the nuns weren't looking, and you ran away because you couldn't stand being beaten by the older children and your own teachers. You ended up somewhere in West Elizabeth, and while trying to steal some food, you were chased by two officers. But just as they were about to catch up with you, someone knocked them out. You smiled when Steve held out a big piece of bread and water to you. From that moment on, you lived with him. The Avengers gang became your family. Steve took care of you, and trained you as an outlaw. You learned everything that was essential to survive in the Wild West, from hunting to murder. And as the years passed, other people joined the gang, and you accepted them all as your family. When Steve saw you, he smiled tenderly, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief as he motioned for you to enter the tent. - So, kiddo, what did you find out in Valentine? - asked the man as you sat down in the opposite position, on a wooden chair. - They have a poorly protected bank. - You shrugged. - But you know how these small towns are, the risk is almost always not worth the gain. - That's too bad, we need money. Especially to buy medicine. You let out a low exclamation of agreement, you knew exactly how difficult the situation was. It had been a particularly difficult season for the gang. With Fury's death at the last service, and the move out of town to get away from the officers, you were still facing a wave of illness. Carol and Bruce had been feverish and bedridden for days, and Thor had been shot during an unsuccessful robbery. - I overheard an interesting conversation, though. - You say, and Steve looks at you curiously. - Some rich people are coming to Valentine in a few days. The name Stark was mentioned, have you ever heard of it? Steve's eyes widen in surprise and excitement. - Of course I have! - he exclaims. - Filthy rich folks there! Rich enough to lend us a little money without even noticing. - I think Stark is going to buy the oil mines at Heartlands. And he's staying in Valentine while he does the negotiations. - That's excellent. - Steve says, running his hand along his chin in a thoughtful expression. - If the deposit is made in Valentine, we will have the purchase money first hand. You nodded. - But even if the deposit is made here, the money is sure to be transferred to Saint Denis. - You retort, trying to think of all the details of the scam. - Which means that we have to steal the money the same day it is deposited, or we only stand a chance during the transfer. Steve stood up, walking around the tent with the same thoughtful expression on his face. - No, no. - He began to speak as if the alternatives were rapidly forming in his head. - The carriage will be extremely protected. In the gunfire, we can be very worried about not getting killed, which will give them a chance to escape to the city. And then we'll have no way to reach them there. You sighed, knowing that he was right. You frowned, trying to think of something, but Steve soon spoke again. - We need to do this while the money is in the bank. And we have to do it fast. - He says, and then walks to the edge of the hut, looking around the field. He whistles, attracting the attention of Peggy Carter, who is chopping wood, and when she raises her curious gaze to him, Steve beckons her to join him. - What is it, Rogers? - Peggy asks gently. You exchange a smile with her. - We've got a new hit. - He says, making room for Peggy to join you. - Is Bucky around? - He went out hunting a few minutes ago. The twins went with him. - Peggy says and you rest your face on your own hand, waiting for Steve to speak again. - Oh right. I'll explain the details to them later. - The blond man says, walking around the cabin to the table in the opposite corner, and he takes a pen and paper and begins to write down what you think of as a rough draft of the plan. - We will rob Valentine's bank then. - I thought that banks in small towns were not worth the risk. - Peggy commented with a slightly confused expression. - Ah, but we have a unique opportunity. - Steve remarked, bringing the doodle over to Peggy. - Howard Stark, big oil guy, is going to buy the Heartlands mines. The purchase money will be deposited in Valentine before being transferred to Saint Denis. I believe we will have about a few hours to rob the bank - Steve, are you sure this is a good idea? - Peggy assumed a worried posture. - We are short on snipers... - It's a great idea. - He interrupts, looking at Peggy seriously, but still maintaining a calm tone. - We need the money, Peggy. If this is planned correctly, we don't have to worry about the number of weapons. - I appreciate the confidence in my abilities, by the way. - You playfully push your shoulder lightly against Peggy, she smiles at you. - Of course I trust you, Y/N. - She answers, but her gaze is still worried. - We just need to be careful in this job. You spend the rest of the afternoon planning. It doesn't take long for Bucky to join you. He hands a deer carcass to Pietro, who carries it back to the supply hut. Steve repeats the plan, and you let your gaze drift quickly to Wanda, who smiles at you, and you feel something in your stomach drop. Blushing, you look away, turning your attention back to Steve. It is already night when you have finally finished working out the plan. Wanda and Pietro joined you at some point, and you had to mentally repeat to yourself to pay attention to Steve's words and not to the redheaded girl a few feet away. You didn't want your passion to cost your life or put everyone else in danger because you didn't absorb the plan correctly, but you were getting to this level of unfocused. You felt a light tug on your arm as you walked toward the fire, and found yourself smiling wryly as you faced Wanda already looking at you. - I got my first deer today. - She declared, looking up at you with bright eyes, a tone of pride and happiness in her voice. You raise your eyebrows in a pleased expression. - What? That's amazing, Wands. - You replied. - I told you that you would learn soon! I would have liked to have seen it. - We can hunt together. - She says, and you try not to show your nervousness at the thought of being alone with Wanda, but you don't disguise it very well, which makes Wanda confused, and she looks almost disappointed when she quickly adds - Pietro can come with us too. You blink a few times, believing her to be clarifying that she had no intention of spending time alone with you, and swallowing dryly, you nod in agreement. - Yes, yes. Sure, we should call him too. - You say taking a few steps back, hands in your pockets as you stare uncomfortably at the floor. Wanda bites her lower lip lightly, finding you extremely difficult to decipher. You spend a moment in silence, before she speaks again - We can go tomorrow afternoon if you have no business in town. You think about it for a moment, trying to remember if you had made any appointments, if any robbery opportunities had been signaled to you, but you can't think of anything. - No, it's fine. We can hunt tomorrow. - You say, trying not to be too embarrassed by the contented smile Wanda flashes at you. She was probably going to say it was marked, but Pietro interrupted the moment by extending a bowl of stew in front of her face. Wanda blinked a few times in confusion, but thanked her brother as soon as she grabbed the item. Pietro turned to you next, a relaxed posture as he took a sip of the beer he was holding. - What were you two talking about? - he asked, his tone curious. - It's rude to snoop, you know. - You teased, drawing a short laugh from Wanda, and Pietro rolled his eyes stubbornly, but smiled. - We're going hunting tomorrow. I'll show Y/N that I learned how to use the bow on some deer. - explained Wanda, looking at her brother. - Will you come with us? Pietro frowned, denying with his head. - Sorry, little sister. - He speaks seriously, but his eyes have a malice in them that you didn't know how to recognize. - I'd love to join you on your date, but I have an appointment. You and Wanda blush at the insinuation, but Pietro continues with a playful aura as he takes another sip of beer. Although embarrassed, you can't help but be happy to know that you would be spending some time alone with the girl. - Oh, all right. - Wanda says in what seems to be an attempt to sound disappointed, but her eyes sparkle slightly as she speaks. You don't notice, but Pietro smiles at the expression. - You're full of secrets lately. What kind of appointment? Pietro laughs, shrugging his shoulders. He walks toward you with a playful expression, and puts his arm around your shoulders, smiling at Wanda as he leans on you. - Your girlfriend taught me how to play poker and now I am famous, my presence is requested in Rhodes. I need to bet and win some money for this place. You choke slightly on the phrase and feel your face heat up, looking down at the floor. Wanda lets out a nervous laugh, and pushes her brother lightly, making him let go of you. - You mean lose money, don't you? - she teases. - Even Thor plays better than you, and he usually just flips the table. You laugh, risking a glance at Wanda, who has a reddened face and quickly exchanges a smile with you. Pietro rolls his eyes and walks past you, waving goodbye. Deciding that you should eat something, you nod to Wanda that you are going to the fire. She smiles and follows you silently

You didn't hunt very often. Although you were good at it, it was not your function in the camp. You were a gunslinger, and your jobs usually involved carriage robberies and trespassing, even the occasional robbery. You were always part of the team for the big scams. And then Wanda invited you to go deer hunting and you became an anxious mess. Stumbling out of your tent, you hurried to take a quick swim in the creek near the campground. It was important not to smell too strongly when you went out hunting, as the animals could more easily notice you. Coming out of the water with wet hair, you put on your clothes, leaving the suspenders hanging from your waist and a few buttons open on your shirt. You were feeling heated. You waited for Wanda at the campfire. She also bathed before meeting you, and she seemed slightly anxious when she found you. You smiled as you poured some coffee, and Wanda looked a little airy when she accepted the cup. You didn't understand why, but the sight of your relaxed appearance, your loose hair and your exposed collarbone was absolutely irresistible to her, making Wanda feel heated in places that were not appropriate. You joked that soon she would become the best hunter in the camp, and you were happy to make her smile. As you rode out of the camp, you smiled as you felt Wanda lightly tap her foot against yours, as you used to play with as children. Riding in silence for a few minutes, you enjoyed the gentle breeze until you came to a hunting spot. You descended from Knight slowly, stretching your body when you reached the ground. Wanda watched your shirt lift and reveal some skin, then she looked away quickly, her face red. You cast a curious look, thinking she was feeling heat. Grabbing your rifle stored on the horse, you watched Wanda take from Lily's saddle - her red sorrel - a longbow and some arrows. You walked in silence, heading for the shallow part of the creek beside you, where you could easily find deer. It was comfortable to be in Wanda's presence, even in silence. Neither of you had to say anything to know exactly what to do next, your body following her along the way as if you had done this many times before. One look and you knew when to wait, or when to be quiet. It didn't take long before you spotted the deer. There weren't many, and Wanda bent down in front of you to take aim. You watched her with admiration. She raised her bow, and you noticed the slight tremor in her hands and frowned. You came forward, also bent down, and stood beside her. - There's no need to be nervous, Wands. - You whispered softly. - It's just me. The trembling in their hands seemed to diminish, but it was still there. You moved closer, raising your hands to join Wanda's, helping her to keep a steady aim. - Take a deep breath. - You said against her ear, waiting for her to obey. - And then shoot. With her speech, Wanda let go. The arrow cut through the air with speed, hitting the animal straight in the head. A perfect shot. You smiled, and when you looked at Wanda, she was already looking at you. You were about to congratulate her on the shot, but Wanda hugged you by the neck, surprising you. You felt your face heat up and due to the shock, you didn't respond to the hug, your body seeming asleep for an instant. Wanda let you go quickly, her face flushed with apology. You were about to tell her it was okay, and maybe hug her back, then you heard an animalistic noise that attracted your full attention, a low growl that you knew all too well. Glad you had brought your rifle, you looked around, searching for the source of the noise. Wanda blinked curiously, but you didn't look at her again. Standing up, you held the rifle with both hands, your gaze roaming the surroundings. A moment later, the bushes a few feet away moved, and you watched the creature sneak through the undergrowth, only to run toward you the next second, preparing to jump. The sound of gunfire echoed for a few seconds after the shot. You let out the breath you were holding and watched the panther lying on the ground, just a few inches away from your feet. Wanda looked at you in shock, and you offered your hand to help her up. - Sorry for the scare. - You grumbled, walking towards the panther intent on retrieving the skin, which should be worth a few dozen dollars. - We always have to be careful not to become the prey during the hunt. - How did you hear it? - Wanda asked curiously. - Practice I guess. - You said, kneeling down beside the panther. - Every sound around us is important. - You explained - Pay attention now, for example. Besides my voice, what do you hear? Wanda seemed to think for a moment. - I can only hear water, I think. Maybe birds. - She confesses, you finish cutting the skin off the animal in front of you. - Oh, sorry. - You say quickly. - I forgot that I just drove all the animals away with the noise of the rifle. You laugh to yourself, and Wanda smiles at you tenderly. - Let's go after that deer. I'll teach you to hear the sounds another day. - You tell her as you stand up. Walking over to the dead deer, you observe Wanda kneeling beside the animal, drawing her own knife. - Bucky taught you how to skin? - you ask, watching the firm but still amateurish cut Wanda was giving the animal. - Yes, he told me to skin rabbits before he taught me to cut the deer during yesterday's hunt. - said the red-haired girl focused on the activity. You tried not to blush as you watched a drop of sweat trickle down your neck. - I learned to skin animals from him too. - You commented as you waited for Wanda to finish the task. - I was a little smaller, I think. - I guess it took long enough for us to learn how to hunt, didn't it? - Wanda joked, drawing a smile from you. It was true, hunting had been the last activity Steve and Bucky taught you. For some reason, teaching them to shoot was a higher priority than getting food from the wild. A moment later, Wanda finished, raising the deer leather in the air, showing off her work proudly. You laughed at her expression, signaling for her to step away from the animal. You handed her your rifle, and bent down, grabbing the carcass with both hands and throwing it over your shoulders to carry it to the horse. It was quite heavy, but you concentrated your breathing as Bucky had taught you, and managed to carry the animal to Wanda's sorrel. After placing the carcass on the back of the animal, you grunted when you saw the state of your shirt, completely covered in blood. - What's the matter? - Wanda asked curiously when she heard your sigh. - Pepper made me promise not to come covered in blood to the camp anymore. - You say, rolling up your sleeves. - She told me she would put me to sleep with the horses if I showed up like this again. Of course, she will probably just change my watch shifts, but it will still be a pain to hear the lecture. - You could have told me to carry the deer. - Wanda retorted, looking at you with a mixture of seriousness and guilt. You just smiled. - Don't be silly, I just need to clean up before I go back. - You said simply, and Wanda frowned in confusion. And then she choked in surprise, watching you pull your shirt over your head. You went around her body and towards the creek. It took Wanda a few seconds to snap out of her shock, then she turned her head toward the creek, her face flushed. You rubbed the fabric with your hands, watching the blood drip into the water. You put your shirt aside only to wet your own body, wiping any traces of blood from your skin. Completely oblivious to the shy mess Wanda had become as she watched you wash yourself. Finished cleaning yourself, you wrung out your shirt, getting as much water buildup out as possible. You put your clothes back on, feeling the damp fabric against your skin. Wanda stood in the same place you had left her, and you frowned when you saw her look quickly away from you, her face red. You suddenly felt very embarrassed, thinking that you must have crossed some boundary with her. Coughing awkwardly, you walked toward your own horse. You rode in silence back to the camp, you mentally going over the whole conversation trying to find what you had done wrong that made Wanda so quiet. You were surprised when you heard her singing softly. Smiling without looking at her, you slowed down the speed of Knight's gallop, trying to enjoy the moment to the fullest. Wanda continued to sing the whole way, and you tried to ignore the feeling of butterflies in your stomach

[cvtqr]

365

pairings; eren jaeger x reader [+ jean x reader]

notes; this was also posted on my ao3, which has the same username as this one [cvtqr]

“i never loved you y/n.” 

“WHAT DON’T YOU GET? I NEVER LOVED YOU SO STOP COMING HERE Y/N.” 

he slammed the door in your face. you didn't know why he was treating you this way. you've been with him every step of the road. there was no way he couldn't love you. you didn't want to leave. you didn't want to stop coming to see him. so you didn't stop. you weren't going to leave. you sunk down onto the concrete in front of his door.

on the other side eren was doing the same thing, just sitting against the door. he didn't want to see you. he didn't want to give into you. if he hurt you now he wouldn't hurt you in 365 days. but seeing your face was so hard. he never wanted to scream at you and slam the door in your face. right when you showed up the only thing he wanted to do was pull you into his arms. he wanted to feel your warmth. but he can't. he knew you were like a drug, he couldn't get enough. he also knew that he could never be with you again. no. not after 365 days. he could never give you a family, the life you deserved. his biggest mistake was falling in love with you. it was impossible to give you everything he wanted to. he never even knew when it happened. when you walked with him in the snow during training? when you saved him countless times? your soft, sweet smile? he needed you, but you didn't need him.

you ended up falling asleep on eren’s front porch, waking up the next morning from the bright sun shining directly onto your face. and the blonde boy standing in front of you.

“so he won't talk to you either hm? you should go, you don't deserve that y/n. he hasn't talked to anyone in days, im just leaving a bag for him to make sure he's taking care of himself and all.” 

you nodded and stood up, walking down the step on eren’s porch. 

“the captain wants to see you too. i think he wants you and jean doing field work today.”

“thanks” you mumbled out before going to meet up with levi. 

armin was right, you and jean were out on the field today. jean secretly cared about you and he hated seeing you like this. the bright cheerful girl, now not saying a word. you lost the glow in your eyes. as the sun set, you and jean were about done. riding your horses back to the stables, jean took a turn.

“where are you going.”

“come on, y/n.”

sighing, you turned the direction of your horse, following jean.  

he stopped over the lake, the sun setting above you two.

“i used to come here with marco all the time.”

you looked up and over at jean.

“s-sorry, lets go.”

“wait jean.- i, i miss him too.”

“do you maybe wanna get dinner in town? we haven't ate in awhile and you seem very down today.”

“i don't know jean...”

“oh come on, my treat.”

knowing you couldn't go home and cook with eren like you used to do, you accepted his offer. 

279 days

the time for you and jean to do field work all day came around again. after, you found yourself in town with him again. over the past 86 days you found yourself going to eren’s less and less. after hanging out with jean all day for the first time, you realized that you both had a lot in common. jean lost someone and even though eren was still here, you lost him. you now only go there about once a week with armin, just to leave a bag with a note on his doorstep. he completely ghosted everyone. he hasn't talked to anyone in almost 100 days. you were the last person he spoke to. 

back to today, you found your smile slowly coming back. but were you over eren? no. not at all. jean just simply made you somewhat happy. out in town the both of you decided to try food from a bunch of carts. that was until you got to a small band playing music. jean pulled you close to him and started slowly swaying the both of you together. jean knew you were probably wishing he was eren, but that was ok with him. he had you in his arms.

what you didn't know, eren was sitting on a nearby bench. from a far, he was un recognizable. his hair draped over his shoulders and he hasn't shaved in months. he looked like shit. he questioned his decision of pushing everyone away. should he have spent the 365 days with you? no. no no no no no, he made the right choice. now he would just have to watch your life with jean. even though it hurt, it hurt like hell, this is what he wanted for you.

123 days 

wow, its been awhile since you've seen eren. you stopped going there. you didn't feel like need. its been way over 200 days. you had jean now. you were so close, yet so far to being over eren. but you didn't want to hurt jean by going to see your ex-lover. jean didn't bring up marco, you didn't bring up eren. you haven't had as much time with jean that you had with eren, but you were slowly falling in love with him.

just the little things.

4 days

letters. eren had written a letter to each and every one of his friends, but no. he only needed you to see yours. he ripped up the rest, but put yours into a plain white envelope, leaving it on his kitchen table. he needed to think about a lot of things in the next four days.

1 day 

eren took all his decorations down. all the pictures of you two that he's been looking at for the past 364 days. the only thing left was the letter, still set on his counter.

2 days after 

y/n. open in five years. i understand if you want to throw this out and forget about me, but give it a chance.

that's what you read on the envelope left on eren’s counter. 

you and close friends cleaned out eren’s house, collecting his personal belongings.  

saying the day was gloomy is being generous. the next few years were gloomy.

1825 days after

“marco kirstein! get back here right now or im getting your father.” 

you never imagined yourself chasing after a three year old toddler while your husband drank coffee on the balcony five years later. 

1826 days later

“have fun on your camping trip boys. connie loose my child when jean goes on that interview and ill kill you.”

“mommy stop worrying! uncle connie is a great babysitter!” 

6 hours later

you un crumpled the old envelope sitting in a box of belongings. 

hey sugar! so i see you didn't forget about me. if im right you have started a family? or that's what i hope at least...

those last 365 days were painful as all hell. sorry for bringing up old memories but i just want to clear things up with you. i lied the last time i saw you. i love you. i loved you so much. that's why i needed to let go. I've been watching you and jean over the past few months. you seem happy. stay that way please. i fucking cannot stand jean but please don't let go of him. if you're reading this and you did, i hope your children get/got your genes so they don't have horse faces. 

i don't even know why im writing this, i guess i just wanted to say i had to let go so you wouldn't get hurt once i died. i thought it would be less painful for you that way. im so sorry if i hurt you at first. so, so sorry. at least you had jean. someone, just like i wanted you too. 

im not sure if i regret my decision. actually scrap that i shouldn't have wrote that because i don't have an eraser. i don't regret it. but i just wanted to let you know that i loved you over those last 365 days. tell the gang i said hey.

i love you, my atlantis.

-eren

[just-a-dumb-gay]

Lady Dimitrescu X Reader - Bad Day

710 words

Reader gender is not specified, Reader is smol soft bean though, Alcina is 8ft of softness

Because I'm touch starved, want comfort, and decided to try something new.

You wake up feeling more exhausted than normal, but instead of it being earlier than you were expecting the clock beside your bed indicates you've overslept by quite a few hours. Alcina appears to have already been gone for a while, probably into town for supplies because although she can go without food she knows you can't.

Reluctantly you get out of bed, knowing Alcina would have many questions if you were still in bed when she got back. Not to mention the judgment from her daughters that you would be hearing for a week.

You don't bother to pick out any nice clothes, simple hoodie and sweats, stuff you don't mind getting a little dirty. You've been putting off some cleaning for a few days under the lie you feel slightly under the weather but you know that lie won't hold up much longer.

You try to go about as normal, but sweeping 1 room takes you twice as long as normal and you don't have the energy for all the stretching that comes with dusting.

With no more energy to continue you curl up on the couch in front of the fire, laying with your head on the arm. Despite how tired you are you can't seem to fall asleep. So there you stay for an unknown length of time staring into the fire.

Some time later a powerful but gentle voice echoes through the house calling your name. Alcina is home, meaning you're going to have to think of another lie for your lack of energy and fast.

You don't call back to her, knowing your voice isn't strong enough today. But you here her footsteps nearing the room you're in barely a minute after she shouts for you, since you arrived she's had a 6th sense allowing her to find you quickly. Maybe it's the smell of your human blood, or maybe some other magic, you don't know and have stopped trying to guess.

"There you are Y/N, are you still ill?" She kneels in front of you and holds her hand to your forehead. "You don't feel ill."

Without waiting for a reply from you, she tells you to stay where you before leaving the room seemingly with a plan.

Moments later she returns with a thick blanket, she gets you to sit up so she can wrap it around you. She makes sure you're comfortable before leaving from a different door this time.

When she comes back again, it's with tea. She hands you a mug before sitting beside you and gently pulling you against her side. She wraps her arm around your shoulders, ensuring the blanket stays in place, and gently takes your hand in her other. Your hand is small compared to hers and she can easily cover your whole hand, something you quickly found to be extremely comforting.

Nothing is said, all you can hear is the fire crackling, light rain hitting the windows and Alcina's slow heartbeat. The 3 most calming things all at once.

"How are you feeling now, my love." She asks when you've finished your tea.

Your answer comes in the form of a wide yawn before your head falls against her shoulder. She lets out a light chuckle, finding everything you do endearing, before wordlessly lifting you up bridal style still wrapped in the blanket. She moves swiftly through the well decorated hallways leading to the bedroom you share.

With you still in her arms she sits down against the intricate headboard and pulls another blanket up over your legs. She holds you close and runs her fingers through your hair and occasionally down your back.

You still can't fall asleep, but Alcina has one more trick up here sleeve to help with that. Something she learned about you almost immediately after confessing her feelings and starting share a room is that you often fall asleep to her humming while she works. And so she starts humming an old melody you had never heard before meeting her, and within seconds it's lulling you into what you can tell will be a peaceful and well needed rest.

Alcina falls asleep not long after you, always feeling most content with you beside (or in this case, on) her.

The End

Look I could not care less that we're all gonna be killed so many times by her hand. She's a softie with people she cares about and that is not up for debate. Also this is my first Character X Reader so please be nice.

I've also posted this on my Ao3 (Fandom_Trash_13), just before anyone questions if I've stolen it.

[kim-ruzek]

life's strange sense of humour

Summary: Kim, Hailey, Sylvie and Stella all conceive their babies around the same time... Then also go into labour on the same day. Pure Crack, but taken seriously because this is me.

Or; a love letter to the upgess friendship because they went funny fic? Nah, we're gonna make it wholesome.

Warnings: Childbirth, I guess.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on AO3

Notes: So. I had this funny thought months ago, recently talked about it with Cíara when they mentioned something similar and I'm having Thoughts about how I want the upgess friendship to go so apparently my mind went yes, write this, please.

Also Cíara: it's not the child number we decided and not the exact circumstances but I couldn't help but make burzek's conception happen this way 👀

Life, Kim has learned, can have a strange sense of humour sometimes.

This, she thinks to herself as her and Hailey stare, open mouthed, speechless, shocked at each other, is definitely one of those times.

“I... What?.. I,” Hailey stumbles out, her eyes wide, Kim staring back with equally wide eyes, watching as the blonde tries to process this, tries to process how they even happened—all while wondering herself what the chances of this happening are, that this can only be because life has a strange taste in what’s funny.

“This—this isn’t right, right? Kim, right?” Hailey almost looks desperate at her, glancing down at the stick in her hand and back up at Kim frantically, her eyes darting as she does so, gliding over the pink positive line like if she doesn’t focus on it, it won’t be there.

“Well, I kinda hope it is,” Kim lets out a dry kind of laugh as she answers, glancing at her own stick, with a matching pink line. “Since we brought these together and I—I want to be pregnant.”

The panic lessens briefly in Hailey’s eyes, her friend smiling again at Kim’s own shock. “Right, yeah. And you want to be pregnant—so no more freaking out, yeah?”

Hailey grabs Kim’s hand with her spare one, giving it a supportive squeeze. “No more freaking out, this is good.”

Kim smiles back at her friend, the hand holding her stick drifting over her flat stomach. Her earlier worries—about if she can do this, if she could handle being pregnant again—still clinging to her but not making her feel as sick, the joy and excitement at being pregnant, at having Adam’s baby in her again, flooding her stronger. She repeats her friend’s words in her mind; this is good.

“But like—yours could be right, and mine wrong? Right? Like that could happen? I mean— people get false positives. This, mine, it could be false?” Hailey has gone back to freaking out. Kim places her stick down so that she can run her hands down the blonde’s arms, calming her.

“Hailey, breathe. Everything is okay.” Kim pauses, letting Hailey breathe in and out before continuing. “It could be a false positive—it could also be real. But it’s okay, it’s not a crisis if it is real. Have you and Jay discussed kids?”

Hailey smiles momentarily at the mention of her husband, her hand twisting the wedding ring on her finger before answering Kim. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, of course we have. A few times—before we were even together, even. Not that we were planning it together—well, not out loud—”

“Hailey.” Kim cuts off her rambling. There’s not many times that the blonde rambles, even when she’s panicking, she keeps a—seemingly—calm head. But when she does, she can really start to spiral.

“Sorry.” Hailey stops, running a hand through her hair, the other still clinging to the stick, almost as if she can’t put it down, like the thought is something incredibly out there and impossible.

“What have you discussed? Do you two want kids?” Kim gently probes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Another short-lived smile. “But not—not now. It’s still, it’s something in the future. And we still weren’t fully decided if we’d do it this way, like I always wanted to adopt but I know, I know it’s not a walk in the park and we’ve been talking. I’ve been wondering if it was just because of the fear of my genes and I. We agreed we’ll leave it for a bit, but that’s gone out the window.”

Hailey pauses, running her hand through her hair again, before groaning. “Kim, tell me, what should I do?”

Kim gently holds both of her hands, closing Hailey’s fist around the stick. “You talk to Jay.”

That seems to calm the blonde, Hailey getting a soft smile on her face—the face Kim has dubbed her Jay smile. “Yeah. I talk to Jay.”

“Okay. Can we leave now—I think if we’re any longer Adam might just walk in. You know he has no patience,” Kim looks at Hailey’s expression carefully, noting every part of it, making sure that her friend is good enough to get through the rest of the day.

“Yeah. Yes.” Hailey nods, pulling Kim into a hug. “Thanks, Kim. And congratulations, again. This is really great.”

Kim squeezes her back, looking forward to when she might—maybe—be able to say it back to Hailey.

The day had started with Kim throwing up in the toilet. She had been feeling nauseous for a few days, going in waves, and that feeling—that thought that it might be because she’s pregnant and not because it’s flu season—had been in the back of her mind.

She had tried not to focus on that thought too much, not wanting to go down that path, not when it could just be a bug. Not wanting to give herself hope, only to get it taken from her.

Kim had rationalised it, even the throwing up. It was a minute amount, nothing compared to when she was pregnant the first time. Adam had a food related bug the other day, so this could just be that, Kim had told herself. Things tend to hit her a bit slower, after all.

And then there’s that Sylvie has a stomach bug—one that’s kept her in bed all week, texting Kim often to complain when Matt is on shift. And Kim had hung out with Sylvie the day before she fell ill. This, Kim told herself, is probably just it affecting her, now, too.

This day was the first time she threw up, and so was the first time she told Adam she’s been feeling nauseous. His reaction was exactly how she predicted it would be.

He had lifted an eyebrow, pausing as he sipped his coffee. “Are you... Do you think..?”

Adam had asked it very casually, his expression neutral. Like her, he was unable to say the words, finish the sentence, neither one of them wanting to voice the possibility, not wanting to voice it in case it’s not, not wanting the hurt associated with false hope.

“I don’t know. It’s probably a bug.” Kim had answered and he had hummed in response. A part of her wished that she wouldn’t tell him this, that she wouldn’t be having this conversation with him when it’s just a thought and not even, really, much of a possibility.

But communication is important, a lesson she had learnt many times before—that in the long run, it does more than doesn’t. And it’s not good for her, for herself, to keep these thoughts locked up only in her brain. Especially when having more kids is something they want.

It’s not like they’re actively trying. Kim’s only just come off birth control, and the doctor warned them it takes a while for her body to adjust. They had even been using condoms, occasionally, as it makes the clean up easier in their busy lives.

That had been all they had said to each other, then, needing to get Makayla ready and to school, before heading to work themselves. But it was only a few hours later, when another wave of nausea had washed over her while Adam and her were in the break room that she had stopped them making the coffee, grabbing at Adam’s arm.

“I should get a test.” Kim had told him, murmuring, but her urgency clear. She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until she knew if she was or not, the thoughts in her mind almost distracting her.

“Okay. Now? We can say we’re going to see a CI?” Adam immediately got his game face on, and that’s when she had started to panic. About what if she is pregnant, about if she’s ready to be pregnant again, about if she can handle it.

Suddenly, the thought of simply peeing on a stick seemed impossible.

Hailey had entered the break room, then, and had took on look at Kim’s panicked expression and Adam trying to calm her to know that something was up. It only took one look between her and Adam, after Hailey asked if she was okay, for them to fill in Hailey, needing another voice to help them through this.

“Hey, calm down.” Hailey had said in that way of hers. “It’ll be okay and there’s no point panicking until you know—and here. If it’s too much to pee alone, I’ll take one with you. Moral support.”

It was an insane idea, Adam staring at Hailey incredulously. But it clicked in Kim’s brain, and she found herself saying yes before she knew what she was doing.

They had used the CI lie instead, telling Voight they were going to see one of Hailey’s. Kim had watched as Hailey tried not to focus on Jay’s eyes following them out the bullpen, not wanting to let him know there was anything more to it—good, considering.

The journey there and back was filled with Kim’s nervous ramblings to Hailey, as she voiced her fears and worries about this, the blonde just listening patiently and giving her comfort and support when she needed it.

They had taken the tests in the district ladies room, Adam waiting outside—probably shooing away anyone else. Which, Kim had thought, probably means Trudy will have a theory to her being pregnant before the day is up.

“It’ll be alright, Kim.” Hailey had reassured her as they waited those long two minutes. Hailey had gotten out her phone, had set a timer for them and even though Kim could see the seconds counting down, it felt like eternity.

“I can’t. Can you look at it?” Kim had asked after the minutes were up, unable to look at the stick, feeling quite like her heart was in her throat. Hailey had rolled her eyes good-naturedly, before telling Kim that she will.

The excited yelp that left Hailey’s mouth almost instantly after told Kim all she needed to know and Kim turned the stick to look at it herself, and seeing that amazing pink line.

“I’m pregnant! Hailey, I’m pregnant!” Kim couldn’t help her own excitement, throwing her arms around the blonde, squeezing her into a hug.

“Oomph,” Hailey clearly hadn’t been prepared for that, lifting her arms weirdly at the sudden brunette weight barrelled into her and that’s when Kim saw it.

Hailey’s own stick.

Hailey’s own stick, with her own pink line.

“Hailey!” Kim gasped before she can stop it, squeaking out her friend’s name. Hailey pulled back from the hug, frowning at Kim.

“What?”

“Your...” Kim couldn’t finish the sentence, instead she pointed at the stick and watched as Hailey looked down at it, watching the comprehension and then shock over take her face.

It’s a few days later, and Kim is sitting in Molly’s. Sylvie has gotten over her bug and immediately organised a girl’s night out. Not that Kim or Hailey will be drinking—a shame, since Sylvie had told them that she and Stella had some exciting news.

The day after the found out, Hailey had come into work and whispered into Kim’s ear that everything was okay. That her and Jay decided that this is unexpected but welcome, and they had a doctor’s appointment to confirm it.

Very little people know yet. Kim has been to the doctor, the doctor confirming she is ten weeks along. They told Kevin almost immediately, Trudy—as Kim guessed—had yet again figured it out and of course Hailey knows, alongside Jay.

They told Voight, just so Kim could explain why she doesn’t want to go out in the field—can’t, really, her pregnancy being somewhat of a high risk—although she’s waiting until Monday to officially disclose.

This weekend Adam and her have plans to tell Makayla, something she’s quite excited too, knowing how much her daughter wants to be a big sister, having been begging them for a baby for months—well, that or a puppy.

Hailey and Jay have only told, obviously her and Adam, and Will. They’re waiting until after today—the day of their doctor’s appointment—before disclosing and Kim and Hailey had a conversation about announcing it to their mutual friends, deciding it might be nice to do it together. Of course, it depends on how along Hailey is.

“Hey,” Hailey slips into the booth next to her and Kim smiles in greeting to her friend.

“Hey. How did the appointment go?” Kim asks, knowing once Sylvie and Stella gets here they won’t be able to discuss the pregnancies.

“Great,” Hailey practically beams. “We heard the heartbeat! Jay cried.”

Kim laughs slightly. “So did Adam. I mean, so did I, but I cry at everything.”

At that, Hailey laughs too. “Kim, so does Adam. Not like you—but I wouldn’t say he’s not a crier. Jay—I’ve seen him cry, but, man, it was. It just hit me, this is the father of my baby. And it made me more happy then I think the heartbeat did. We were both raised by a men who never be seen crying but our baby isn’t going to have that. It was...it was wonderful.”

“I’m so happy for you. Congratulations,” Kim pulls her into a hug before quickly adding on, checking to see if Sylvie and Stella had arrived yet. “So come on, quick. How far along are you?”

At that, Hailey excitedly grabs her arms. “Yes! How could I forget! Kim, you’ll never guess—I’m also ten weeks along!”

Life, Kim thinks again, really does have a strange sense of humour.

A thought she once again thinks when Stella and Sylvie arrive and they make their announcement.

“We’re pregnant. Both of us.” They announce and Kim’s mouth drops open, and she realises they all ordered water instead of alcohol. She barely knows how to process this, Hailey squeezing her hand in shock under the table, but before she can, they’re dropping the next bombshell.

“Stella found out about a week or so ago, I found out earlier this week when I kept throwing up. We’re both around ten weeks,” Sylvie continues.

“No fucking way.” The words drop out of Hailey’s mouth, and judging by the way she gasps, holding her hands across her mouth, Kim guesses she didn’t mean them too. Kim tries to calm her down, widening her eyes at the blonde, but the other two catch on to that there’s something going on.

Kim sighs, after Hailey gives her the go ahead. “Hailey and I—we’re also pregnant. Ten weeks.”

Life has a strange sense of humour.

Kim doesn’t think there’s any mutual acquaintance in their lives who doesn’t somewhat doubt that the four couples didn’t plan this. If Kim wasn’t living through it, she’d scarcely believe it herself. Especially when they narrowed it down and are pretty sure all four pregnancies are the result of a faulty condom—condoms taken from Kelly’s infamous bathroom supply.

Kelly and Stella are self explanatory. They hadn’t used them in a while, but Stella was changing birth control and so they did. Matt and Sylvie a little bit less, but still less incredulous. Matt doesn’t live with Kelly and Stella anymore, but the guestroom—now a nursery—was still open to them any time, the boys having slight separation issues. And apparently when they did this, they’d just use Kelly’s supply.

Jay and Hailey had apparently ran out, and they hadn’t gotten more before Stella and Kelly hosted a night at theirs and Jay had apparently thought grabbing a handful from the supply would be a good idea. Hailey almost questioned her choice in man then, not that Kim could judge her.

Because on that same night, Adam and her were getting a little too flirty and when they realised they were feeling a little loud than they can be, with Makayla sleeping at home, they, in their wisdom, decided why not do it in Adam’s jeep.

And they didn’t have any protection, naturally, on them so Adam had grabbed a condom for Kelly’s supply.

And thus, all four pregnancies were made.

There are benefits, however, Kim would happily admit. Voight, maybe not, depending he’s down two members and another two when there’s doctor appointments. And with them being due around the same time, they’ll be a month he’s down all four, give and take. The unit—especially Kevin—might also not, especially on the days her and Hailey’s hormones and cravings and hated smells conflicted.

But there are benefits. Having your three close friends going through the same things is nice, especially when they could see if a symptom or something is usual—especially when one of the friends is a paramedic and the other’s brother in law is a doctor.

It also makes it more fun, all of them—the men included—having a light hearted race about who’s bump shows first, who kicks and moves first and so forth. It made the pregnancies that little bit more fun, even when it was miserable, even when doubts and anxieties about the upcoming parenthood loomed.

The biggest race, especially as the pregnancies drew closer to the end, was the competition and bets who will go into labour first, who will have their baby before the other.

But, of course, life has a strange sense of humour so, naturally, they all went into labour on the same day.

Stella had technically started the night before, her contractions beginning then. They were far and few in between so she was advised just to wait.

Kim’s had started earlier that morning. She had been woken up at the crack of dawn with back pain. Nothing too unusual at this stage of the pregnancy, but as Adam was helping Makayla pack her lunch for school, Kim’s waters had broke.

When Adam and her had gotten to the hospital, about to update the group chat, they had passed Stella and Kelly and the high five they had shared had raised some nurses eyebrows.

Childbirth being the thing that it is, they didn’t look at the group chat after that. Kim’s contractions were starting to come more frequently, and Adam had left the room to holler at the doctor—only to run into Will. Will, who raised his eyebrow at Adam, and asked if he was here for Hailey and Jay.

Because the one thing Voight joked better not happen, that he can’t be down four members, plus a fifth and the desk sergeant as they were determined to meet Kim and Adam’s second daughter as soon as possible, had happened and Hailey had gone into labour around midday.

Flora Leslie Severide is born first, at seven point six pounds. Her godparents had plans to meet her first, but they had got laid up with their own new arrival so the man who had been like a father to both her parents and his wife met her first.

Alice Trudy Burgess Ruzek is born second, at eight point seven pounds, a weight that got her father nearly cursed at. Her older sister was the first to meet her, shortly followed by their grandmother Trudy and godfather Kevin.

If you were to ask Kim who’s kid would come next, she would’ve guessed the Halstead’s son, but it wasn’t. Sylvie had gone into labour later than the others, but had a much faster labour, her daughter being determined to be born quickly, apparently.

And so, Estelle Kelly Casey is born third, at nearly seven pounds. Met first by her honorary grandfather, Mouch, already at the hospital to be with his wife and her godparents, with her cousin Flora sleeping, having been in the world a little longer.

And finally, Nikolas Patrick Halstead made his arrival, last but the biggest at nine pounds, met by his uncle and godfather first, but shortly followed by uncle Kevin, his godmother Kim and uncle Adam still occupied with his cousin.

Life has a strange sense of humour sometimes but—as Kevin joked—at least they can all split birthday costs with each other and not have to worry about their various aunts and uncles not being able to make it.

Not to mention how it made finding the balance between being new parents and having a social life easier.

And eventually, people stopped looking at them as if they planned this. That is, of course, until Sylvie and Hailey had their second kids—Andrew Casey and Theodore Halstead—at the same time, too.

[shinygoku]

Trust Thomas, the Better Version

I find Trust Thomas to be a guilty pleasure of sorts, an episode of Season 3 that has some serious writing issues but I can’t bring myself to hate it. But I can bring myself to improve it significantly with a rewrite!

Helped along by @mean-scarlet-deceiver ‘s commentary tags on the post I’d made about it before, I present to you my saltier, spicier interpretation! 😼✨

Maybe a smidge over the target audience’s recommended intake.... no actual swear words but still, I give it a PG for Parental Guidance ;3 Also no, I’m not gonna put this on my Ao3 as it’s an Episode Rewrite and not one’a my Original Plots.

===

======

Thomas the Tank Engine was feeling bright and cheerful. It was a splendid day, with warm sunshine, birdsong and lush green fields.

“Good morning!” he whistled to some Cows, but the Cows didn’t reply. “...Never mind, they’re busy with their breakfast.”

He stopped at a red signal, somewhat relieved that Bertie only came by after a brief pause, so he probably hadn’t heard Thomas talking fruitlessly to the cattle. Instead, Bertie was preoccupied with a large jolt as he drove over a hole.

“Owch!! That’s another one!”

“Um, sorry?” Thomas was preoccupied with the signal changing and set back off.

Thomas was still in good spirits when Bertie arrived at the next Station.

“Bad luck, Bertie!” he teased. “Now, if you were a Steam Engine, you’d be running on a pair of Reliable Rails!”

“Huh!” Bertie spat. “The Railway was supposed to deliver tar to mend the road two flippin’ weeks ago! You can’t trust a thing that runs on rails!”

“Oi, I run on rails, you big red lunchbox! I’ll show you, I’ll sort the matter out! You can at least trust me to get results.” 

Thomas left Bertie and chuffed away importantly, along the branch line towards the Big Station by the sea.

James was snorting about in the yard. He was saying many rude words and bashing the trucks roughly, cross about having to cover for Percy.

“Ooh!! Arghh! Oww!” wailed the Trucks. They longed for vengeance but were powerless to bump the big Red Engine back.

Gordon watched the events from another rail and chortled. 

“You know, James, if you were ill, you wouldn’t have to shunt trucks here, would you?” he offered, safe in his luxurious role pulling coaches that day.

James’ furious scowl lifted, all too ready to latch onto this half-baked suggestion. “That’s a good idea! Here comes Thomas, I’ll start pretending now!”

Thomas was perplexed to see the two big engines looking miserable.

“Cheer up, stick-in-the-muds! It’s a beautiful day!”

Gordon assumed the air of quiet suffering, his face creased with frown lines. “Not for James, it isn’t. He’s sick.”

“Yes he is --I mean, I am.” wavered James. There was a pause, and then he coughed a couple of times. “Ooh, I don’t feel well at all!”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he looked over James. He didn’t really look so poorly, but then, Henry didn’t often look as bad as he’d felt before getting Welsh Coal, and then that new shape. Shame he wasn’t here to help judge.

“Hmph, really? I suppose I'll help out, if you're ill. Lucky for you that I'm already headed for the Quarry.”

He bustled out with some of James’ trucks. Once out of earshot, Gordon and James sniggered.

The Trucks were still furious over their mistreatment, and Thomas was a tempting outlet for their pent up aggression. They began to plot amongst themselves.

Thomas collected the heavy stone from the quarry and set off back to the junction. “Can’t let James forget he owes me...” he muttered, going slowly over the wooden bridge. There was something else he wanted to remember, but it was escaping him at the moment.

He was too preoccupied with these thoughts to prepare for the Trucks’ plan. “Go faster, go faster!” they shrieked, pushing forwards, assisted by the weight of the rocks they were holding.

“Augh! Slow down!!” Thomas was braking hard enough for sparks to kick off his wheels, but it was no good. He was forced off the track and derailed into a shallow, muddy pond.

He was dazed and confused, but in the wait for help his mind cleared enough to become rather cross. “Lovely flippin’ day, indeed!” he muttered, further disappointed by the lack of onlookers to hear his withering sarcasm. The only audience was a horrible slimy toad, it’s warty arms climbing up by his lamp-iron.

Eventually two engines came to his aid. Duck pulled the Trucks away, giving them a bump on the way out. “Hard luck, Thomas!” he called, over the pained sounds of the battered Trucks.

Edward helped Thomas back to the Junction and patiently listened as Thomas ranted about the horrible day he’d had.

“I’m going to find James and stuff the stones down his funnel! Gordon, too! James barely has enough brain power to think of a stupid plan like that, it must have been his smart idea! Oooh, when I get to him, I’m going to wait until his fire is out and I’ll dump him off the quay!”

“Thomas, you can’t kill them,” Edward said, soothingly. “You’d have to pick up on James’ work, for one thing! That would probably be after the Fat Controller takes Ffarquhar away from you, cause if you off Gordon we won’t have an express! That’s very costly for the railway, you know.”

Thomas muttered but privately conceded. “Can’t take Ffarquhar away, it’s a place…. Oh! Ooh!! Edward, I just remembered something!”

Glad to hear the shift in tone, Edward listened keenly. “Yes? What?”

“The roads are all dodgy down part of my line, Bertie was complaining about it earlier. He said something about us having supposed to have delivered Tar for it, d’ya know anything about that?”

“Tar… oh, yes! There’s tankers in my station, but they never said what it was for! Must be that, Driver will make arrangements when we’ve dropped you off!” 

Inside Edward’s cab was a slight sarcastic muttering, but Edward and Thomas ignored it.

Later, James spoke to Thomas. He was having difficulty making eye contact with Thomas, who was still perched on the flatbed and needing to be cleaned from the pond, and whose expression had taken a darker turn once he’d noticed the Red Engine.

“I’m uh... sorry about your accident, and so is Gordon,” he shot a pointed glare back at the Big Engine who was lurking nearby. “We didn’t mean to get you into trouble, honest!”

“No, indeed,” spluttered Gordon. “A mere accident, but all’s well that ends well, isn’t that right?”

“It bloody well isn’t right, you big blue blimp! Make sure you don’t rest too close to the sea or you’re going to find yourself well acquainted, you hear?!”

Thomas’ tirade got cut off by Bertie’s arrival.

“My road’s being mended now!” he beamed, having completely missed the atmosphere of the scene.

“Oh.” Thomas was rapidly rearranging his face to put on a smile for Bertie. “I am glad!”

James was using the chance to slip away. Gordon was a bit slower on the uptake.

“Now I know I can trust an Engine, especially if his name is Thomas! Thank you!”

Gordon slinked away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Oh, enough of that soppy stuff.” But he was genuinely smiling, at least.

The toad had managed to stay on for the ride over, but Thomas was looking forward to watching it get put in the ditch when he was washed down. Maybe he should name it after a certain Express Engine who had ended up in that water himself some years before? The thought amused him greatly.

[5sosxqueen]

Ashton Sick From Stress

< Part 1 , < Part 2 , ~Part 3~

Okay, two as promised. Sorry about that.

Warnings: graphic depictions of illness, vomiting, mild scat, hospital

Written in 2018

Published (Wattpad) - Feb 05, 2018

Word Count: 1239

Updates are every Tuesday and Thursday

Also Available on Wattpad and AO3!!!

Part 3:

Michael's POV:

     The car ride to the hospital was a living for poor Ashton. He was sick the whole way there and he had another accident. He was constantly mumbling that he was sorry. All of us we're trying to tell him it was ok, but he didn't seem to listen. Luke reached over and felt his forehead, but it wasn't too bad.

     Once we got to the hospital we were given a clipboard full of paperwork, told us to give it to them when it was finished, and sit down and wait for the doctor. I was the one working on the paperwork while Luke helps get Ashton changed and Calum cleaned the bucket. I, of course didn't know everything about Ash's medical history so I had to wait for them to return. Luke handed Ash a sickness bag and gave Matt the bucket while Ashton sat down with a long sigh. He leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. "Ash, I'm sorry, but I need you to answer a couple of questions that are on here for me." He lifted his head off the wall and looked down at the paper.

     "My social is 142-01-2895. (AN: that's a completely made up social... So don't think anything of it.) Just put traveling for the address. Hold on..." He reached up and rubbed his eyes. I could tell he wasn't all here mentally. I don't blame him either. He leaned his head back against a wall again and took deep breaths trying fight the latest wave of nausea. I doubt it was working because he opened the bag. He suddenly let out a mix between a gag and a wretch and stood up. He sped walked to the bathroom and as he opened the door I saw him jolt forward with an unproductive heave and run.

     "Damn! I've been abandoned...." I muttered and looked over to Calum.

     "Maybe I can help with this. How much do you have left?" Luke stood up and walked over and took Ash's previous seat. We managed to finish the paperwork and Luke handed it back over to the front desk.

     "I'll go check on him." He stated before heading over to the bathroom.

Calum's POV:

     As soon as I walked in the bathroom I heard Ashton wretching along with other sounds. I sighed and walked over to the large stall, after coming to the conclusion he was in there. "Bud, can I come in?"

     "C-c-can't un- *wretch* lock the d-door. Can't g-get up." I slowly made my way under the stall door. I got up and saw Ash still hadn't been able to get anything up, as he was practically empty, but stomachs tend to toy with us while we are sick, so you never know. He heaved heavily and I heard the crinkling of the bag and grimaced. He vomited one time before he started dry heaving, only bringing up bile.

     "I think you're empty Ash." I put my hand on it back and he shook his head.

     "D-don't th-th-think so... I still-ll feel it." He was left dry heaving for around 10 minutes before his stomach settled. I took the bag from him and let him clean him self up. He went to get up, but his body was so weak, I had to help him out to the waiting room again. No sooner had we sat back down his name was called. He groaned loudly in annoyance as he got back up, with mine and Michael's help. We were brought to a room and I sat him down on a chair. His breathing had sped up again and he reached for the bag. I quickly handed it to him and he wretched loudly, just as the doctor walked in.

     "Ah, so I don't have to fully question why you're here then." The doctor said upon seeing his patient try to vomit. "How long has this been going on? What are his other symptoms?" He asked.

     "About two hours for the vomiting. He's had diarrhea for the same amount of time. This morning he stated that he was achy. He later told me that he had shortness of breath at some point. I brought him back to our hotel room after he fell over. He told me he had a sudden migraine and he decided, after taking some meds to take a nap. After a few hours of him being asleep, he woke up and vomited onto the bed and you see where that led us." Michael spat out. Ashton managed to get a bit more up and leaned his head on my shoulder.

     "I see... Well Ashton I'm going to need to check your vitals and some over things. Seeing as how you have been diarrhea as well as the vomiting, I will have to put you on an iv." Ashton nodded sleepily. "Ok Aston I'm going to need you to sit up for me. I know you're tired and I'm sorry." Ash sat up and the doctor put the thermometer under his tongue. When it beeped he looked at it. "100 on the dot, not too bad, but that is a mild fever. Ok lift your arm for me."Ash lifted his arm and he had a blood pressure cuff placed onto it. The doctor put a finger heart monitor on his finger and the doctor looked puzzled. "Hmmmm. Elevated heart rate." He wrote down the information on a pad. "I'll be back with your iv." He left and we all looked at Ashton, who was fast asleep against my shoulder.

     After 2 minutes the doctor reentered the room with the iv in his hands. He placed it on the hook plastered on the wall above us and I gently shook Ashton awake. The doctor hooked him up to it and gave him medicine for the nausea and diarrhea. After the iv finished the doctor took Ashton for a couple tests and we had to go back into the waiting room. Soon enough we we're called back and they we're in the room we had been in before.

    "So I have the results from Ashtons tests." We looked at in a 'well keep going' sort of way. He chuckled. "It's stress. He explained to me about your band and travels and how you guys never get a break. He said that your manager is here. Is that true?" We nodded and Matt stepped forward.

     "You need to find some way to ease up on these boys, or else this will happen again. It could get worse too. You need to be careful." The doctor explained to Matt. He nodded and walked out the the room to call management. "Hopefully that helps you guys out." The doctor smiled and we all returned the smiles. "You are free to go. I have prescribed Ashton with some medicine. He will need to take both of them every 4 hours." We nodded and gathered Ashton up and led him to the car.

     "I'm there manager." He said as he took another step forward and shook his hand.

     Matt came back and apologized for his and managements actions. He informed us that we will have two weeks off to rest and we all got excited. Ashton was asleep so he didn't hear, but he was excited when we told him. It took a couple days before he felt 100% again. Management was true to there word and they eased up a touch on us.