#it's the middle of the night and i should be sleeping and the only noun i can think of is 'bananas'

[luminoustarlight]

"Slut!" | Modern!Anakin Skywalker

a miss americana and the heartbreak prince story

(modern!au / high school!au)

High school culture in this series is extremely dramatized and fictionalized. As mentioned in the series masterlist, the characters are 18 years old. Padmé is very out of character in this series as well. There are lots of nods to Taylor Swift lyrics in this, too. So it's really fun for swifties and star war babes.

Slut

noun

a woman who has many casual sexual partners.

The definition of “slut” more accurately describes Anakin rather than you. Afterall, he is the Heartbreak Prince of Lucas High School. But men never pay the price for sleeping around. They’re awarded a higher social status. Or in Anakin Skywalker’s case, you become the Senior every Freshman boy wants to be. 

Anakin Skywalker used to be a player. Anakin Skywalker used to go through girls faster than the news could spread around school. He had no qualms with one night stands or taking a girl’s virginity because she asked him to. He was honored to be a girls’ first time. 

He dated Padmé Amidala exclusively from January until June. When the new school year began, everyone wondered who would be the next one to get their heart broken by Anakin. Nobody could’ve guessed it would be Miss Americana. 

The crowd at the Homecoming game nearly quieted when Anakin spun you around in the middle of the field. When he nuzzled his sweaty face into your neck, kissing your warm skin as if it was a greater reward than winning the football game. It took you by surprise, to say the least. You’ve only been seeing each other for about a month and had yet to interact or show affection at school. It was quite the announcement. And the message was loud and clear. Anakin had a new girl and she’s nothing like his ex. 

Padmé had watched you and Anakin with a fire fueled by jealousy in her stomach. You had a stupid, naïve smile on your face as you walked off of the field with Anakin’s varsity jacket draped over your shoulders. That should be me. Maybe it’s all an act to make me jealous. 

So that’s how the whispers began at the Homecoming dance. Padmé had rallied her cheerleading friends to start spreading rumors. By the time you walked through the gymnasium doors attached to Anakin’s arm, everyone had made up their mind about you. You’re nothing but a slut and a man-stealer. 

It’s unnerving having so many eyes on you at once. It’s like they all have a radar when Anakin walks into a room. He’s just that magnetic of a man. And he’s used to it. But it makes you uncomfortable and Anakin can sense it. 

“Are you alright?” 

You swallow and plaster on an unconvincing smile. “‘M fine.”

“Hey,” Anakin says gently. He cups your elbows and rubs his thumbs over your arms. “We’re all dressed up, you look stunning and I’m having a particularly great hair day. They might as well look at us. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger thrumming in your ears makes it difficult to think or to argue. Anakin is right. You didn’t spend $120 on an aquamarine dress for nothing. “Fine,” you concede. “But if I hear people talking about me, can we leave and go to Denny’s?” 

“They’re going to talk about you, angel,” Anakin kisses you on the cheek. “It’s just how it is. But none of it means a thing. C’mon, let’s dance.” 

You dance for about twenty minutes before needing to get something to drink. Of course it’s the same time Anakin meets up with his football friends, leaving you at the snack table with a target on your back. Serena and Molly, Padmé’s closest friends slither up next to you. 

“Hey, Slut,” Serena jeers. That insult was bound to reach your ears sooner or later. It’s by no means true or accurate but they don’t care. They’re not about to bad mouth Anakin. 

“So… you and Anakin, huh?” Molly begins. “He’s a bit out of your league, isn’t he?” 

“Don’t worry, Mol. She’s just his rebound. He’s gonna get back with Padmé when he realizes what a loser she is. No offense,” Serena adds insincerely. 

“That definitely felt like something you wanted me to take offense to,” you say. You scan the gym for Anakin, hoping he’ll see the situation you’re in and rescue you. But when you put it like that, you sound so pathetic. You can get out of this yourself. “And I’m not his rebound.” 

“No?” Molly puts her hands on his hips. “That’s not what I heard…” 

No, you tell yourself. Don’t indulge her. Whatever she has to say isn’t true. 

Serena laughs at you. “You don’t honestly think Anakin actually likes you, do you? He’s just using you to make Padmé jealous. You’re all part of his plan to get her back.” 

Even though you know Serena is lying, her words still manage to plant seeds of doubt in you. But they don’t know anything about you and Anakin. There is something special kindling between the two of you. Anakin cares about you. It’s in the way he drops off a Dirty Chai latte on your porch before going to school. It’s written in the notes he stealthily slips into your locker when he says he’s going to the bathroom in the middle of class. It’s the sweatshirts he lets you borrow and the sleepless movie nights eating buttery popcorn and stale Red Vines over the last two weekends. 

“You’re wrong,” you say with a slight quiver in your lip. You hate how Serena has made you question everything with Anakin. If it’s all just for show then why does he kiss you when no one is watching? Why did he insist on keeping your new relationship private if not to nurture your budding romance without prying eyes? 

He’s ashamed of you. 

Then why did he ask you to the dance? 

To humiliate you in front of the whole school. 

This is just a game to him. Your embarrassment is the prize. 

“Aw, I think we hurt Little Miss Americana’s feelings,” Molly feigns a sad face, dragging her finger down her cheek as if it’s a fallen tear. “I hate to make it worse but it looks like he and Padmé might be making up right now.” 

Molly and Serena point in Anakin’s direction, where he is indeed speaking with Padmé. It’s the first time you’ve seen her all night and she looks breathtaking. Her chocolate hair is curled to perfection, bouncy locks cascading over her shoulders. A plunging neckline draws your eyes down her chest and seriously, she was allowed to wear this to a high school dance? 

She’s throwing her head back dramatically, as if Anakin just told her the joke of the year. And then— dear God, you want to throw up— he’s hugging her. You count the seconds. 1…2…3… you can’t watch it anymore. You turn away from Serena and Juliette abruptly and make your way out of the gymnasium. 

“So long, slut,” Serena waves. 

The brisk October air assaults your skin and invades your lungs, but it’s welcomed compared to the betrayal you feel coursing through your veins. Is this the end of Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince? You’ve only had a month with him but you want a dozen more. You’ve barely had time to discover what your relationship could become. 

Perfect pearls of salt begin falling down your cheeks. How could you have been so lovelorn? How could you have gotten it all wrong? You were too blinded by Anakin’s charm to see that it was always meant to be temporary. 

“Y/N!” Anakin calls for you. He spots you sitting on the curb with your head in your hands. 

A little piece of him crumbles. Someone has hurt you. Little does he know it was him who did. 

He rushes over to you and lays his arm over your back as he sits down. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You let yourself relish in the feeling of having his protective arm around you. It might be the last time. “Go back inside.” 

“No,” Anakin replies, tilting your face toward him with a finger beneath your chin. “You’ve been crying.” 

“What an astute observation, Anakin.” 

Okay, so apparently you’re going back to the days when you hated each other. Right. Great. Why? 

“You’re… mad at me…?” Anakin thinks out loud. 

“I’m-” you stand abruptly, making you dizzy as all of the blood rushes out of your head. You wait until you can see clearly before continuing to speak. “I’m confused, Anakin! I’m angry at myself for falling for you, I’m angry at myself for being so naïve in thinking this was as real for you as it was for me. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid-” 

Anakin stands as well. Clearly, something happened in the gymnasium. Someone said something to you. Or you saw something that wasn’t what it seemed.  “What are you talking about?”

“You and Padmé.”

“Are over,” Anakin emphasizes. 

“But…” you close your eyes, replaying the scene you saw before you. Padmé laughing, Anakin bringing her in for a hug… it was all so friendly. 

“But you saw us hug?” Anakin asks calmly. You nod. “But you didn’t hear me?” 

“No,” you reply shamefully. 

“I told her that I don’t want to get back together with her. My relationship with her was the first real one I’ve had and it taught me a lot, but it is not what I want. It’s not what I need. She is not who I want or who I need.” 

“Ani…”

Anakin shakes his head. “I’m not done. Look, I know we’re only 18 and I know we have our whole lives ahead of us but let’s not think about that. Think about right now,” Anakin grabs your hands. “This is real for me. You’re my favorite person to spend time with. I’m so fucking excited that everyone at this fucking school knows we’re together because now I can kiss you whenever I want. I can push you up against the lockers and make out with you until we get yelled at by Mr. Windu.” 

That makes you giggle. You can totally hear Mr. Windu telling you to get off of each other before he gives you both detention. 

“I don’t have to be so fucking sneaky with putting notes in your locker. You can wear my Varsity jacket at games. We can actually go out to a restaurant and go on a date. Don’t give up on us, baby. We’ve only just begun.” 

It’s not a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. Everyone wants Anakin Skywalker and that seems to be your crime. You stole him before anyone else had the chance. 

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[hobiiiiiworld]

Hate Game | PJM + MYG - Chapter 9

⇢ No ill intentioned

Synopsis: 

Onus

/ˈəʊnəs/

noun something that is one's duty or responsibility.

__________

Jimin loses his brother. His father loses his first born son, the heir of his company, leaving it up to Jimin to keep his father´s company in the Park family. Jimin would never have pictured himself marrying out of duty. However, Mr. Min, who only married Jimin so he could take over the company, isn´t exactly how Jimin pictured. Now, all he wants is to make Yoongi regret his decision to marry for money.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Min Yoongi | Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

Genres: Marriage out of duty | Angst | Emotional Hurt

Word Count: 2,7K

Read on Ao3

Jimin wakes in the middle of night. Or, he isn´t sure if it's in the middle of night. He was sleeping, but now he isn´t, the vibrations from his phone slowly draws him from his sleep. He looks, the number not saved. He pushes the volume button, silencing the call, and goes back to sleep. Before he can fall back asleep, it rings again. It's the same number, and a surge of panic enters him as he sits up in bed, answering the call. Not again, he chants in his head. Please no, no, no, no. 

"Park Jimin speaking," he says, voice clear despite him just haven woken up. 

It's a woman speaking, and he isn´t sure what she said her name was or which hospital she said she's calling from, because his head is spinning. No. Please don't be dad. Don't be dad. Not yet. He repeats the words in his mind like mantra. Like he needs to think it to survive. He can't lose his dad too. Not yet. Not ever, but certainly not so quickly after Ji. He certainly wouldn't be able to survive that. The woman goes on. "I'm calling about a Park Yoongi? He said you're his husband?" 

Relief floods his body instantly. They aren't calling about his dad. His dad is fine, it's only Yoongi. His husband. Jimin wants to deny that Yoongi is his husband, but knows he shouldn't. Emotionally, Yoongi is nothing more than… Well, nothing to Jimin. Legally, however, Yoongi is his husband. "Yes," Jimin says, mustering up the energy to pretend to care now that the urgency of the situation is over. Now that he feels the relief crushing over him. 

He's been here before, but that time it was Ji. Jimin can feel the effects of this callback on his body and, even though the relief, he is shaking and his thoughts won't clear up. He reminds himself that this isn´t Ji, but Yoongi, which doesn't matters as much in comparison. At all, actually. A though occurs to Jimin: Yoongi´s real boyfriend should be the one they contacted, not the guy he married for money. Why didn't Yoongi give them his number? "Did something happen?" He asks, trying his best to sound interested. 

"Ah, your husband is fine. He fainted and hit his head, which is why we want to keep him for observation over night. If you want to come see him, we will allow you to come now." 

Jimin doesn't feel the need to go, knowing Yoongi would probably prefer for his tattoo-boyfriend to come instead. And chances are, he already called him. Chances are, tattoo-boyfriend, who he now has learned is named Jungkook, is already on his way to Yoongi. The last thing Jimin wants is to be embarrassed when he enters the hospital room with a nurse, finding his husband cuddled up with someone else. 

"It's not a great time right now. I don't know if I can, eh, find the time. But, huh," Jimin clears his throat, "tell him to text me if he needs something from our apartment and I'll bring it with me tomorrow." 

"Of course." She pauses, giving Jimin time to ask any questions he might have. "Have a good rest of your night, Jimin." 

"You too. And," Jimin says, forcing himself to say the next words. To pretend to be the husband he could be if... "Take care of my husband." 

"Of course we will!" 

They hang up. 

For the rest of the night, Jimin can't seem to fall back to sleep, thinking back to that awful Saturday morning when his dad called him. When he walked into the hospital too late. The feelings he felt that morning have returned, and Jimin wonders what happened to him that morning, because he can't seem to shake the feeling of being tired and angry and sad all the time. Although these feelings aren´t the exact same as they were three months ago, they are still present, always just there. Only now, they can't seem to surface. Jimin thinks it was better when he could have an outburst and get some of it out, but lately, he doesn't have the energy to cry or to argue or to do anything, these feelings are always just… there, simmering in the background. Building and poisoning everything.

He can't remember the last time he slept properly, because every time he falls asleep, Ji is there, haunting him. Some nights they are good dreams, some nights they are nightmares, but he always wakes up mourning after the dream. He wonders if he should go to therapy, but then again, he isn´t actually feeling all that much anymore, which means there aren't actually any feelings to deal with. Whatever, he doesn't know, and he doesn't care. Nothing matters, and nothing has mattered since that Saturday. Laying in bed, he can't sleep, but it doesn't matter because Ji isn´t here. Hoseok isn´t here. And he wonders if the old Jimin is gone for good, too. 

Jimin has figured it out. He has these moments where everything seems so good to him, where things are bright and light and normal, which occurs most often when he's with Taehyung or at work. And then, he has these moments where he's on autopilot, like when he married Yoongi. That whole month was him managing and trying to get though it. And then, he has moments where he feels and thinks, like last night. These are the times when things are heavy and he feels hopeless about the world and himself and his life. The realization that these waves happens has given him a little perspective. Things matters, he knows that, but not all the time. Not when he feels every bit of pain after Ji´s passing pulsating thought him. Things doesn't need to matter at that moment. 

Right now, he thinks he's on autopilot because he's entering the same door he did that Saturday, but he can´t be sure he's on autopilot, because he feels anxious and angry and sad. Anxious because he's walking though hallways that look the exact same as they did that morning. And he's sad because he's asking for the same last name he did that day. And he's mad, because this time, it isn´t Ji, it's Yoongi. And Yoongi is fine. Yoongi isn´t dead like Jimin´s brother, but he's just fine. And it's unfair. 

Walking up to the door, he hears familiar voices. He doesn't know why he stops, but he finds himself listening in instead of walking though the door.

"- for you, you know? It's coming up two years," tattoo-boyfriend says. Jimin knows it's him because he can't count how many times he's heard his voice though the door. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says, sounding tired. 

"How-" Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Yoongi. 

"Don´t," he bites back.

"Yoon -" 

Once again, Yoongi interrupts him, which is the first time Jimin has heard him being harsh toward Jungkook. "I'm fine, so we don't have to do this." 

"Yoongi, you're laying in a hospital bed," tattoo-boyfriend argues back. 

"Well, my life doesn't stop because he isn´t here anymore or because I miss him." Jimin remembers when Yoongi said those words to him. He had taken offense then, thinking Yoongi meant it as a clap-back or as an insult. Turns out, Yoongi goes by those words himself. He actually believes them. "It has to go on."

"You have to take care of yourself, though, and not only other people. I know you want to -" 

Jungkook can't seem to finish a sentence without Yoongi interrupting him. "Listen, I remember how things were in those early months. He's trying to survive. I'm trying to do the same, but I've started to heal. I can't let Jim -" 

This time, Jungkook is the one interrupting, sounding mad. "Oh fuck off! You can't take care of anyone if you can't take care of yourself." His voice softens. "If you're not alive. Remember what he said before he passed. He didn't want you to do this to yourself. And I know you only want to help that poor guy, but he clearly doesn't want your help, the way he's treating you. I think…" he hesitates then. 

"What? I should rip the contract in two and kick him out?" 

"Yeah. Basically." 

"You can't be for real?" 

"Think about it. You're working your ass off, working to the brink of exhaustion, then you come home, only to be met with hostility. It's not good for your mental health, and clearly not for your physical health, either." 

"He isn´t that bad. I was worse," Yoongi says, clearly joking now. 

"Yeah, but not to strangers. To me. To your dad. To him. But never to people who didn't deserve it, you know?" 

"I deserve it, plenty." 

"This wasn't my point," Jungkook says, clearly exasperated. "My point is, you should still give yourself some space and time to heal. To grief. Actually, you should get yourself out of this situation. They can find a new asslicker like yourself to run the company, and you can find yourself a new ass to lick." 

Yoongi erupts in laughter, clearly enjoying Jungkoook´s humor.

Jimin doesn't know when he understood they are talking about him, but once the realization hits, he turns around and is about to walk away when he walks straight into a nurse. 

"Sorry," the nurse says loudly, drawing attention as he straightens up Jimin before he walks away. And Jimin doesn't have a choice but to turn around, because Jungkook is standing in the doorway, smiling politely at Jimin with his eyes wide and curious. Without a word, Jimin hands him the food Yoongi asked him to bring and walks out of the hospital as quickly as he can. 

Jimin spends the rest of his Saturday not thinking about the conversation he overheard. He cleans the apartment, he eats lunch with Taehyung - Jimin has to kick him out when he doesn't stop asking Jimin what is wrong - and he visits Ji´s grave, laying down flowers and the new angel he bought at the fair. Once dark settles, he makes himself dinner, lights some candles and puts on a movie. Halfway through the movie, Yoongi messages him. 

Warning. On my way home. 

Jimin sighs, ignores the message and hyper focuses on the movie, because that's much more enjoyable that thinking about that conversation and what it might mean. To Jimin, it doesn't mean anything, because Yoongi has still been a total ass to him. Still been rude and not cared about his feelings. He said it himself, he deserves everything he's gotten from Jimin. Even if he defended him and even if some of his ill words to Jimin might have been intended as kind advice, he definitely deserves all the anger. 

Yeah, Jimin is not thinking about it and he definitely still hates Yoongi. 

He hears the door opening. He hears Yoongi walking in. He hears the front door closing and Yoongi kicking off his shoes. Yoongi walking into his bedroom without hesitation, closing his door after him. And Jimin wants to call after him that he shouldn't close the door by slamming it shut, but puts his focus back on the move. Five minutes later Yoongi reappears in sweats, and much to Jimin´s surprise, he picks up the blanket, settles himself next to Jimin and cuddles up. 

They watch the movie with a weird tension in the air. Jimin wonders what the conversation was about. He wonders if Yoongi knows he heard. He wonders if Yoongi knows that he knows that he heard. And in the middle of all this wondering, he's still so unreliably angry at Yoongi for settling himself beside Jimin, ruining his peace. For coming into his life the way he did. The movies ends, yet none of them move, an indescribable bubble of something unsaid surrounding them. Jimin wants to ask, but he's too mad. He wants Yoongi to ask, but Jimin knows he wouldn't answer, he's too mad. The next movie in the series starts to play, and Yoongi settles even further down on the couch, clearly calm and relaxed. 

Jimin doesn't dare look at Yoongi, only watches the movie unfold on the screen. Tries to get the same peace Yoongi is currently feeling, but there is no chance. He huffs, and he puffs, but this time, Yoongi keeps quiet. Let's him get it all out. Or, he's too focused on the movie to even notice. Who knows. Probably the latter, knowing Yoongi. 

It's somewhere in the middle of the movie when Yoongi clears his throat. 

"Thanks for coming to visit me, and thanks for bringing food." Jimin wants to bark back that he didn't need Jimin to bring him food, wants to point out that he could have asked Jungkook, but bites his tongue. "And… I tried to stop them from calling you in the middle of the night. They…" he doesn't finish. 

Jimin turns to Yoongi then, sitting up on his knees. Yoongi is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened, and Jimin curses him in his mind. Why did you survive, huh? Why you and not him? 

"Yeah, you tried? Was it hard telling them that you married a man you don't know or care about for money. Was it hard telling them that said husband doesn't care if you're in the hospital? Was it hard telling them that I'm not the one they should be calling, but Jungkook, your boyfriend. Was it hard, huh?" 

"I -" Yoongi cuts himself off, looking stunned. "You-" 

"I- You-" Jimin mocks. "Huh," he snickers. 

"Firstly, Jungkook is not my boyfriend. Secondly, yes, I tried. It all happened so fast, one second they're asking who I'm married to, because it's very obvious that I'm married," he holds up his hand with his wedding band on. "And then I tried to tell them that I should call you myself, but they insisted that I rest." There is a second where Jimin sits back down and Yoongi sits up straight. "I hope you didn't react too badly when they called." 

"As I said, I don't care that you were at the hospital," Jimin bites back, rolling his eyes. 

"No, not me… The…" Yoongi closes his eyes in frustration, and when he opens them again, he is calm again. He looks at Jimin with kind eyes, eyes that Jimin has never seen before. "When they called… It was in the middle of the night and the hospital called. I tried telling them I should be the one calling you, Jimin, I did. They wouldn't listen." 

"You… You did?" Jimin asks incredibly. Because he did react badly, all those feelings and thoughts from that morning came right back to him. He was in panic when he picked up. Yet, he finds it hard to grasp what Yoongi is really saying. 

"What? You can't honestly think I'm so horrible that I want to trigger your trauma." Jimin doesn't answer, because yes, he does. Or he did? He doesn't know. "You do, don't you?" 

"You are horrible, so why wouldn't you do that? You have no regards for my emotions, and you just do whatever the fuck you want." 

"Are you serious right now?" Yoongi asks, voice cold. 

"Kick me out like you boyfriend suggested th-" 

Yoongi interrupts Jimin, voice loud. "He's not my fucking boyfriend!" Like Yoongi always does, he calms and speaks again. It's starting to get on Jimin´s nerves, because he can't seem to calm down, and he can´t think straight like this. "And yeah, maybe I should kick you out but I won't.  I'm going to be here so you have at least on way you can get your anger out."  Jimin doesn't answer, only fumes. Falters a little, because now he's confused. Really confused, but so, so, so angry. "What you're going thought has nothing to do with me, and -" 

"It has everything to do with you!" 

"Right," Yoongi says slowly, trying to prepare himself for Jimin´s next move. 

"You fucking survived, and he fucking died. It has everything to with you." Jimin stands up and walks away. 

"Take it out on me all you want, Jimin," Yoongi calls after him, calmer that Jimin has ever been. "It will get better, and then I'll still be here!" Jimin slams his door shut, the tears of frustration already falling. 

Yes, he definitely… or he thinks… no, maybe he doesn't hate Yoongi as much anymore. Something in Jimin rises, because he knows admitting he was wrong is even worse than continuing to hate Yoongi, so yes, he still hates Yoongi. 

[coquelicoq]

i am SO glad your dad said that last one was a mistranslation because i was about ready to do something dramatic, like idk climb on top of a roof and scream "WHY??!?!?!?" at the sky, and i just don't have the upper arm strength to scale the side of a building. so please tell him that il m'a empêchée de me casser la jambe, or whatever that would be in grammatically correct french!

thank you for sending me all these websites. i have read them and i am both more confused than ever and also doubling down on my original instinct. firstly, the frenchtoday.com page lists 4 shortcuts, but i'm pretty sure you could just go with #3 (which incidentally is the same as my shortcut lol) and it would account for the others as well. occam's razor, madame la prof, s'il vous plaît !

(firstly part two, her second shortcut is nonsensical. tous-with-a-silent-s comes after a verb all the time. am i supposed to think the s is pronounced in Elle mange tous les sandwichs?)

secondly, i'm still taking issue with what these sites and my textbook are classifying as pronouns vs. adjectives/determiners. consider the following examples:

Tous pour un et un pour tous.

here tous is a pronoun; it's replacing the whole-ass noun phrase, an implied "tous les gens" or something like that.

the websites all agree that this is a pronoun; my textbook doesn't give an example corresponding to this type of usage.

the s is pronounced.

Il boit du café tous les jours.

which days? all of them. modifies the noun, so adjective.

all the sources seem to be in agreement that it functions as an adjective here.

the s is not pronounced.

Elle les achète tous.

les is the pronoun; tous is modifying the pronoun les. my reasoning: if you remove les, i believe (again i could be wrong) that what you end up with is ungrammatical: *Elle achète tous. (you could say Elle achète tout, but that has a different meaning.) if you remove tous, the sentence remains grammatical and is simply less descriptive without changing the meaning dramatically.

both the non-wikipedia sites are calling tous a pronoun in this kind of usage, and my textbook used the phrase "referring to," which i interpreted to mean "pronoun," but i don't see how this is a pronoun rather than an adjective modifying a pronoun. i don't think either the wikipedia page on pronoms indéfinis nor the one on adjectifs indéfinis has an example of this type. (perhaps Les hommes sont tousdelles sont toutes parties. is meant to be one, but i think there's something wrong there...that is not a sentence as far as i know lol.)

the s is pronounced.

Les élèves sont tous là.

i modified your example slightly in order to see if the difference between the previous two examples could be because tous is an adjective modifying a noun in one and an adjective modifying a pronoun in the other. here it's an adjective modifying a noun.

because i made this up, i don't know for sure if it is pronounced or not, but i think it is. if that's true, then the difference in pronunciation between tous les jours and Elle les achète tous is not because of noun/pronoun but something else. perhaps placement in the sentence (before vs. after the noun phrase it's modifying)?

À tous égards.

this is an example given on the wikipedia page for indefinite adjectives. i agree that it is an adjective. it precedes the noun it modifies, but it doesn't conform to the "tous les [plural noun]" construction because there's no article.

the website doesn't say whether it's pronounced or not. if we follow the "pronounce the s except when tous is followed by les" shortcut, it would be pronounced here. if we follow the "pronounce the s except when tous precedes the noun phrase it's modifying" theory, it would be silent (unless it's pronounced as a z because of liaison?). hmm.

(i think the distinction you're making between "every"/"all the" and "all" works for either of these two theories. and "chaque" corresponds pretty nicely to "every", so that all checks out.)

so i agree with all these sources that the pronunciation of tous depends on whether tous is a pronoun or adjective, and i agree that the s is pronounced when tous is a pronoun. but i disagree with several of them about which usages qualify as pronouns, and i also think that the s is pronounced in some cases when tous is an adjective rather than a pronoun. my assessment is that tous is acting as an adjective in four of the five examples i gave above, excepting only Tous pour un, un pour tous.

incidentally, tous is standing in for people there. that one website does say that tous as a pronoun only refers to people. thoughts on tous as pronoun:

it may very well be that, when used as a pronoun, tous can only be referring to people (i can't think of any counterexamples off the top of my head).

however, the s is also pronounced in environments where tous is not functioning as a pronoun, and in those cases it can be modifying people or things or whatever (e.g., Elle les achète tous).

this would account for the discrepancy between "the s is only pronounced when tous is a pronoun" (which i think is false) and "tous as a pronoun only refers to people, not things" (which actually might be true).

so regarding the pronoun tous, i would venture "when tous is a pronoun, it always refers to people, and the s is always pronounced." (there's a different rule for when tous is an adjective, which i'm guessing is based on word order.)

IN SHORT, i think we probably could have stopped with "don't pronounce the s in tous in the construction tous les [plural noun]," which may or may not cover à tous égards and its ilk but does account for the rest (i think). if you get the chance to ask him, let me know whether your dad 1) pronounces the s in à tous égards (or a similar type of phrase with a noun that starts with a consonant where liaison is not a possibility), 2) pronounces the s in Les élèves sont tous là, 3) thinks Elle achète tous is grammatical or ungrammatical (and, if it's grammatical, would it have to mean "she buys everyone"? see next question), and 4) ever uses "tous" alone by itself (e.g., Tous sont là) to mean "all [the things]" rather than "everyone". i feel like we're really getting somewhere!!!

good news! i am currently at my parents' house and one of the ways my father and i bond is me asking him questions about french. re: si, this was taught to me, but i did also double-check it with him, the actual native french speaker, and he confirmed it as well. you're not crazy, it is indeed a thing. re: tous, the s is pronounced when it's standing in for a noun phrase. e.g. tous (silent s) les élèves sont assemblés? oui, ils sont touS (s pronounced) là.

this is very good news indeed!! thank you for asking your dad my french questions and reporting back!

i’m feeling very relieved about si. phew. weight off my shoulders there. maybe they just don’t teach americans about it because spanish is more common here and they’re worried it might confuse us? “si means yes, but only if you are answering no to a negative question? so does it mean yes or no?? preposterous!” that’s my working theory. (i’m mostly joking.)

the tous shortcut i have come up with is: when tous occurs in the construction tous les [plural noun], the s is silent, and otherwise, it’s pronounced. which i think is more or less what you’re saying? what do we think about that? yes? no? yes and no?

[tiffdawg]

Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Fifteen

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one’s life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 7.0k

Rated: E  | Warnings: NSFW – explicit sexual content, sex, public sex, oral sex (female receiving), cumplay, dirty talk. Mentions of alcohol. Mild language. 18+ only.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, you and Javier attend the holiday party for the social sciences’ faculty.

A/N: I really risked it all for y’all just to login and post this. I still haven’t seen the finale so I’m going to drop this and run but I’d love to know what you think. I hope this chapter makes the extra-long wait worth it.

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Fifteen

Unsurprisingly, things were tense the next morning

Javier was up before you but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Although considering it was a quarter past seven you wondered how much sleep the man could’ve gotten. What was surprising was that you woke alone.

Then you ate breakfast together in silence. Moved about your 400 square foot studio in silence. Worked across the dining table grading papers in silence.

Javier was never an overly talkative person but that was unlike him. It was unlike the two of you. You knew there were things from his past that troubled him. Things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. The longer you’d known him, the more time you spent together, the more you felt his sadness. But he seemed determined to hide it from you.

However, you couldn’t dwell on it. Not until you’d finished grading exams and assigned final grades and could put the fall quarter behind you. With a Monday deadline, work came first.

Eventually, Javier finished his grading. He gathered his things to go home and dress for the faculty party that evening, leaving you with just a kiss on your cheek and a promise to pick you up at six. You hummed noncommittally as you watched him leave.

Sunny whined at the closed door before looking over her shoulder at you with a silent question in her wide brown eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong either,” you answered with a shrug. She laid down where she was, head on her paws and a rather sad expression of her face.

… . …

By some miracle, you were able to focus long enough to finish your grading with enough time to spare to get ready for a night out. At 5:58 you walked out of your building into the dark evening and found Javier waiting for you at the bottom of the stoop. It was a chilly night and you pulled your wool coat tighter around you as you closed the last bit of distance between the two of you. For the first time that day, as he held his hand out to you, he smiled. It was nothing more than a slight pull at the corner of his lips, but it was something.

You took his hand and let him lead you toward his car. When he reached into his coat pocket, presumably in search of his keys, he pulled out a half-finished pack of Nicorette. He tossed it in a nearby trash can.

“Why did you do that?” you asked without thinking.

He shrugged as he unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. “I don’t need it.”

You made no move to get in. “I thought you were trying to quit.”

“I… I did.”

“Really?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement.

“I haven’t needed it for a couple of weeks now actually.”

 “Javi, that’s amazing,” you smiled as you brought him to you for a kiss by the lapels of his coat. “I’m so proud of you.”

 He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re proud of me?”

 “Yeah,” you said easily. He still didn’t seem to believe you. You continued tentatively, afraid you might say the wrong thing but needing to say something all the same. “Sometimes I just– I feel like I don’t actually know that much about you. Or, I should say, about your past. And I don’t need to know anything more than what you want to tell me,” you added quickly. “But I see you. I see you trying to be a better man. Everyday.” Your hands moved on their own accord to cup his freshly shaved cheeks. “I’m proud of you. Even if you think it’s silly.”

“I–” Javier opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t manage more than that single syllable.

Instead, he stared at you. You might’ve crossed some unspoken line, but you didn’t care. You’d meant everything that you said. His eyes shifted away as he stared at something past you for a drawn-out moment. “Come here,” he finally managed, and he pulled you into his embrace. The two of you held each other in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the few people out and about walk around you. “You’re too good for me, compañera.”

“I know,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. His fingers dug into your sides and you laughed. “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”

He sighed heavily. “I’d rather have one good night with you before I leave. I’m not going to see you for more than two weeks.”

Deciding not to question it, you put it out of your mind. Maybe what happened was a one off. Still, you pulled back and scowled at him. “Then stop being such a….”

“An asshole?”

“Exactly.”

He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes but nodded his agreement. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You gonna make it up to me?”

 “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

A chill shot down your spine at the insinuation. “Good,” you smirked, “so do I.”

… . …

The country club was only a short drive past the university and up into the hills amongst rows of gated mansions. Slipping out of the car before the valet approached, you darted in ahead of Javier. The bubble that the two of you were living in still didn’t extend to work, not entirely. Not beyond fucking in your offices and occasionally brushing hands under the table at faculty meetings.

Inside, the already gilded ballroom was draped in silver and gold holiday decorations from ceiling to floor. Every inch sparkled and shone in the chandelier light. Your colleagues from across the school of social sciences crowed the hall, all dressed to the nines with glasses of champagne and hors-d’œuvre topped with caviar in their hands.

You politely made your rounds before you found yourself conversing with Debra by the bar as you waited for a cocktail. She was her usual gossipy self, going on and on about the latest office drama. That was when you first spotted Javier amongst the crowd.

He wore a well-fitted black suit – one that was significantly more flattering than some of his older ones and you idly wondered if it was new – with a white shirt, forgoing a tie so that his tanned chest was still exposed, even on a winter night. His dark hair was styled just enough to keep it off his face. Even from across the room, you could see the glimmer in his warm brown eyes as he chatted away with someone. You were surprised when he walked right up to Rafael Garcia, one of the younger professors from the political science department. You watched as they shook hands and he was introduced to his wife, noting the genuine smile on his face.

“We just started seeing each other a couple of weeks ago but it’s going well so far. I really like him.” Deb’s voice brought you back to the present.

“That’s nice,” you replied absentmindedly.

“What about you, doc?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t have time for something like that.” You waved her off, but your eyes still followed Javier across the room. You tried to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach.

“That’s a shame.” Debra looked out at the crowd and sighed. “He never flirts with me. Not anymore, at least.”

“Your new boyfriend?”

“No,” she laughed and smacked your shoulder playfully. “Javier,” she answered, lowering her voice.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Although you hoped it wasn’t that obvious who you’d been looking at. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. And don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Sure, but Javier was always fun to flirt with. It certainly made work more interesting. You know,” she took a sip of her martini, “the two of you seem awfully friendly lately. I thought you hated him.”

“I do,” you answered quickly.

“Well, don’t let Dr. Campbell hear you speak ill about his favorite lecturer.” She raised her brows over her class as the department chair approached the two of you. You stifled a sigh.

… . …

Javier sipped at his drink as he listened to Sofia Garcia regal him with the story of how she met her husband. He’d hardly spoken to the man before than night, but after five minutes with his loquacious wife, he felt like he knew his whole life story.

“I played on the Mexican women’s national team for a few years after college until I injured my knee. But it was a blessing. I was offered a coaching position here a week later and by the end of my first season we were engaged.” She held up her left hand where a modest diamond sat on her ring finger. “That was nearly fifteen years ago. Now he’s the only one who plays soccer.”

“Yeah,” Rafael scoffed, “I play in an adult league with my cousin and some old college friends. That hardly counts. She’s the real athlete.” He looked fondly on his wife who beamed back at him. Even Javier had to admit they made a handsome couple. And it had nothing to do with his expensive looking suit or her champagne dress. It was something about the way they looked at each other. they were easily better conversationalists than most of the people in that room. You weren’t kidding when you said academics only knew how to talk about journal articles and research funding. “You ever play, Peña? We’re actually looking for one more.”

Javier shook his head. “I played when I was a kid but that was a long fucking time ago.”

“Don’t worry, man, it’s not that serious. We drink the whole game. All you gotta do is pay for the keg when it’s your turn.”

Javier laughed, surprised by his answer. “I could get on board with that.”

The conversation moved on, but Javier was only half aware of whatever question he was being asked. Just over Rafael’s shoulder, he caught sight of you. With a red dress with thin straps draped across your form that left everything and nothing to the imagination, you looked… alluring.

“Hey, uh, you look like you could use a refill,” Rafael commented, pointing toward the bar where you were standing.

“Yeah,” Javier nodded, “I’ll catch you later. Nice meeting you, Sofia.”

“I hope to see you around, Javier.” She smiled kindly at him, but Javier was already on the move, swiftly cutting through the crowd as he contemplated the ways that he could get you alone.

“Whiskey. Dry,” he ordered, leaning against the bar next to you.

“How are you enjoying the evening, Professor Peña?” Debra simpered.

“Much better now that I’m talking to you lovely ladies,” he answered without missing a beat.

On cue, Debra’s whole face flushed bright red.

“I’ll have you know I’m spoken for now. Your charm won’t work on me anymore.”

“That’s too bad.” His eyes slid to you. And then up and down your body. “What about you, sweetheart?” He offered you the perfect set up on a silver platter. And you took it.

“Not in your wildest dreams, Peña,” you shot back. His lips quirked as he repressed a smile.

“Don’t you two ever get tired of antagonizing each other?” Debra scoffed before traipsing off. He was hoping that would work.

The bartender placed Javier’s drink on the counter and then he turned back to you, still admiring your dress. Now that he was near you, he noticed the fabric was a soft red velvet he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on.

“You looked like you were enjoying your conversation with Rafael.”

“He does some interesting work on South American politics,” he offered distractedly, his eyes snapped back up to yours. “I probably shouldn’t ask you to dance.”

You reeled back a little, as if the question surprised you. “Probably not. That might ruin the whole facade of me hating you.” He made a sour face as he looked at his glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid a few times. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the dancing type, Javi.”

He grinned. “I love dancing.”

“You never take me dancing.”

“Fucking shame. I’m gonna start.” You beamed at him, uncaring, just for a moment, who saw. It was a smile nothing short of dazzling. He took a step closer. “You look stunning.”

“You drove me here.”

“I thought you were stunning then too. But you were wearing a coat and I didn’t get to see this.” He ran the back of his knuckles down the fabric of your dress just over that sensitive spot on your side he liked so much. “You were right. This is definitely worth it.”

“What if I told you there’s more,” you said unaffectedly, feigning interest in your empty glass. The mischievous look in your eyes when they met his confused expression gave you away. Gently, you brought his hand to your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and his fingers instantly hooked around the strap of the garter belt holding your sheer stockings in place.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“What a way to go,” you cooed. His hand traveled up the strap to the apex of your thighs where he found little more than a thin piece of lace below the belt. “Careful,” you warned him, pushing his hand away.

Turning so that his body pinned you between him and the bar top and shielded you from the rest of your colleagues, he grasped your hand and brought it to the front of his pants “Can you feel what you do to me?” he said against the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I was hoping for.” Your smile was absolutely wicked.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is not to kiss you right now?”

“Yes.” You squeezed him through his trousers. Javier might’ve looked remarkably calm, but he knew you felt his reaction. He steeled himself as he finished his drink and set the glass on the counter behind you.

“Follow me.”

… . …

Keeping a few steps behind him, you followed Javier back to the front of the club. You assumed he was leading you out to the car but apparently, he had something else in mind. He swung open the door to the coat check, since abandoned by the clerk now that all the guests had arrived and the party was in full swing. With some idea of what he had in mind, you hoped no one was inclined to leave early.

His mouth was on yours in an instant and as soon as the door was shut, you were pressed up against it.

“The coat closet at the holiday work party?” you asked in between fevered kisses. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

“Honey,” he murmured against your neck as his lips moved lower and lower, “I know for a fact it turns you on when we fuck in public.”

His hand slipped underneath your dress again, following the same path as earlier, and he pressed his fingers against the lace covering your cunt, now soaked with your arousal. He pulled away to raise a brow at you, daring you to contradict him.

Instead, you palmed him again, finding him harder than before. “I’m not the only one,” you shot back. With your eyes locked on his, you dropped to your knees to loosen his belt and unbutton his trousers. Then you leaned forward to slowly pull the zip down – with your teeth.

“Fuck me” he gasped around a ragged exhale, his hips automatically bucking toward you. He watched you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, before he hauled you to your feet with a hand on either arm. “Fucking dirty girl.”

“Wanna be your dirty girl, Javi,” you sighed, batting your lashes at him. You wanted him unraveled and unrestrained.

“Yeah?” he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice, and you nodded, satisfied with the response you’d gotten from him. Before you realized what he was doing, he spun you around and hiked your skirt up over your ass, letting it bunch around your waist.

“Hey, be careful. This dress is vintage.”

He just laughed against your ear. “You should’ve thought of that before you started this.” With one hand on your hip to hold you up, he kicked each of your ankles to prompt you to spread your legs before hooking a finger under the band of your thong and sliding them to the side. “Damn,” he growled when his fingers met your wet cunt. “I think you’re ready for me.”

“I was ready for you the moment I saw you tonight,” you answered truthfully.  

You felt his grin as he kissed the nape of your neck. He freed his cock and ran the tip through your folds. You knew better than to tell him not to tease you. That was part of it. That was what he enjoyed. He wanted you so strung out by the time he slipped inside you that you were already a mess and he knew just how to get you there. And that was exactly where you wanted to go.

He started to press inside you, slowly stretching you around him with each inch, and you delighted in the slight burn. Usually, he spent more time preparing you, but there was no time for that. Not when you were just hoping to finish fucking each other before someone came to collect their belongings.

You were wet and ready for him, but you were unable to stop the yelp that escaped you as he pushed in a little further.

“Quiet,” he snapped. Then, softly, he asked, “are you okay?”

You nodded. “It just takes a minute sometimes. You’re so big, Javi.” You felt him twitch inside you.

“You take me so well. This cunt was made for me.” Your ego burned bright at his praise and he slid in a bit more as you relaxed around him.

He held you, gently caressing you while you adjusted in what you assumed was a merciful act of patience. When you were ready, you rolled your hips to encourage him.

“Keep – shit – keep doing that. Feels so good on my dick.” You could imagine the debauched look on his face. You reveled in it even though you couldn’t see him. He reached around you to cup your pussy, fingers rubbing against your clit and following your movements as you circled your hips. You moaned in unison.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for you. Not for Javier.

“Hold on to something.”

His warning came just a moment too late. With a gasp, you fell forward clawing at the coats in front of you and fisting an expensive looking black peacoat in hopes of staying upright as he set a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck yes!” you whined.

“Are you even trying to stay quiet?” Javier hissed.

“Yes,” you replied weakly.

“Fucking liar.” You heard the smirk.

The hand playing with your clit moved to your mouth and he slipped two fingers past your lips. It effectively muffled your noises of pleasure as he pulled you down hard on his cock with every thrust. The only sound was the wet noise of him sliding in and out of your slick cunt and the slap of your stocking-covered thighs as they bounced against his. You felt that delicious pressure deep in your belly, right between your thighs, building steadily.

Until you heard a noise just outside the door and the two of you froze.

Without pulling out of you, Javier held you to his chest. As if that would somehow help. You could feel his heart beating against your back just as your own threatened to break through your ribs. Two sets of wide eyes watched the doorknob, waiting for any sign that someone on the other side was about to turn it. You held your breath as you listened carefully to the low voices murmuring, unable to tell who they belonged to or what they were saying. It was like they were hovering just outside the door. Taunting you.

Just as you were about to suggest redressing and making a run for it, Javier started moving in and out of you as a torturously slow pace. Despite the voices nearby, a small whimper escaped you. He shushed you gently. “Quiet, baby,” he whispered.

“But–”

“You wanted this.”

“Javi­–”

“You wouldn’t have worn this” –he fingered the garter belt– “if you didn’t want to end up just like this.”

He was right, of course.

“What if–”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” You had no idea what he thought he was going to do if someone did catch the two of you, but he seemed confident enough for the both of you. Coupled with the easy rock of his hips, you relaxed into his hold. The truth was, as much as you liked the freedom of your home, you missed this. This thrill that you trusted only him to give you.

As soon as the conversation faded away, he resumed his previous pace, punching the air right out of your lungs.

“Yes! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chanted, forgetting the precarious situation you were in only moments ago. The coil in your belly tightened as you neared your crest, and you could tell by his less than precise movements that Javier just as close. And then, right as you were about to fall apart on his cock–

Javier pulled out and spun you back around in one swift movement. Before you even knew what was happening, he yanked down your panties and came all over you. Jaw dropping, you watched him work his length until every last drop was on you. White spurts of cum marked you and pooled in the black lace, already dripping down your thighs to the tops of your stockings. You placed a hand on either of his shoulders to steady yourself as your legs threatened to give out under you and stared down at the mess. Somehow, you were more turned on than before. You felt like you would actually combust from arousal. He held your panties in place for a moment, admiring his work, before letting the elastic snap against your skin and drawing your attention upward.

His breaths were jagged, stuttering and uneven. His head tilted back, and he looked down his nose at you with dark eyes that shone with something feral. Something sacrilegious. He was flushed and panting but a smirk tugged on his lips as he tucked his cock away and belted his pants. “You said you wanted to be my dirty girl.”

You swore you could feel your last brain cell short-circuiting. You were hyperaware of the errant drop sliding down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from him. “Always,” you promised quietly.

You kissed him with everything you had. Javier took it greedily.

“You’re so good for me. Letting me cum all over you,” he said breathlessly, still kissing you. “I want you to keep it all in your panties so that while you’re out there talking to those pretentious professors you can feel my cum between your legs. Okay?” You nodded and he graciously straightened your dress, letting it fall over your messy thighs. “You first.”

“But I didn’t–”

“Only good girls get to cum,” he replied quickly, apparently knowing exactly what you were going to say.

“Javi,” you scolded breathlessly and pointlessly, “I– I am your good girl.”

“Not tonight. You can’t keep quiet. Do you want everyone we work with to know I’m fucking you in this god damn coat closet?” You shook your head. “Don’t worry, honey, this was just foreplay. I’m not done with you yet. Tonight, I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard you’re screaming my name at the top of your lungs. I can’t do that here, but I can get you ready.”

Your head buzzed.

Some filthy part of you liked that he’d cum all over you. That he wanted to do that to you. You didn’t even need to cum because it’d felt that good. And you knew by the look in his eyes that he planned on making up for leaving you wanting, for making a mess of you. You instinctively understood that this was part of it. That even greater pleasure waited for you if you could just be patient and... and trust him. And you did trust him. You knew he would take care of you.  

If this was going to be your last night together for weeks — after hardly spending a night apart the last month and a half — then this was just the start.

“Okay,” you agreed. “But you’re a fucking tease, Javier Peña.”

He laughed with genuine mirth in his eyes. “You started it.”

“I’ll finish it,” you promised.

“I’m looking forward to that.”

You hesitated, teasing your bottom lip with your teeth. “Do we really have to go back out there?”

“It would be rude to leave so early.” You knew he didn’t care about staying. He was just tormenting you, playing a fucked-up game that had your head spinning like crazy. “But don’t worry. Eventually, I’ll take you home and fill you up. Just the way you like it. Now be a good girl” he said with a swat on your ass, “and go out first.”

Feeling defiant, you turned around and planted a kiss on his neck, purposefully leaving a smudge of red lipstick on his crisp white collar.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Maybe I do want everyone to know your mine.”

He wiped away the lipstick he smeared when he stuck his fingers in your mouth with the pad of his thumb. “You know. That’s all I care about.”

… . …

The two of you didn’t make it another hour. Fifty-two minutes to be exact. Javier knew because he kept checking his watch only to decide that time had crept to a halt. He wanted nothing more than to take you home and finish what he’d started. Every time he glanced at you across the room, he found you squirming as you tried to keep a straight face while chatting with some colleague, and he had to look away and recompose himself.

It hadn’t been his intention to leave you wet and wanting and covered in his cum. It’d just happened in the heat of the moment. Some wild idea that he’d decided to act on. But you… you’d liked it. And so did Javier.

In reality, fifty-two minutes wasn’t that long, but it was enough time to suck up to the school’s dean. If Javier was going to be put on display as his prized lecturer for the year, he’d make him listen to him in return. Even if he had to turn up the fake charm to a ten in front of a group of wealthy alumni.

“Here she is now,” Javier said, taking a hold of your elbow as you passed by, physically dragging you into the conversation. You shot him a confused look, but he just smiled at the dean.

“Ah, yes, professor,” Dean Dalton started, “It would seem you’ve made quite the impression on Agent Peña.”

Javier elected to ignore his choice of title.

“Really? I wasn’t aware.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but he could tell you were happy.

“I’ve had the privilege of reading a few chapters of her upcoming book,” Javier explained. “Trust me, you’ll want to see what she’s planning next.”

“As luck would have it, I’ve been talking to a few of our more generous donors tonight. Perhaps we should meet when classes resume to discuss how the school might be able to help your research.” The dean clinked his glass against yours and ambled off.

“What did you just do?” you asked, disbelief lacing your voice.

“I told you I would help you.”

“Oh my God… thank you,” you said softly. You stared at him for a long moment and he just held your gaze. “Will you take you home now?”

“Yes.”

Without wasting another second, you turned on your heel and headed toward the entrance. He followed eagerly. “Wait.” You stopped suddenly and his chest hit your back. You peered at him over your shoulder. “Don’t forget our tradition.”

He quirked a brow in silent question and your eyes flicked to the bar in response. It clicked. “Got it,” he said with a grin. He swiped the first bottle of champagne he could reach. Something so expensive he couldn’t even imagine the price tag. Something neither of you could ever afford on an academic salary.

… . …

Javier drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your knee, drawing circles on your thigh over the sheer material covering your skin. Late on a chilly December night, the streets were empty, and the drive was easy. The city was unusually peaceful.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that off,” you murmured dreamily. He squeezed your knee in response.

A few minutes later, he’d stopped at a light when you quietly said his name. He turned to you and found you staring at him. You looked relaxed and happy. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how handsome you look tonight. All dressed up for me,” you offered sweetly. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

“How much did you have to drink?” he deflected.

“One drink hours ago. Nice try, but I’m sober.” You laughed but your teasing tone gave way to something softer. “You really are the most beautiful man.”

In his periphery, the light changed, bathed the inside of the car in a bright green light. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your beautiful face. Not when such an open, vulnerable sincerity graced your features.

“The light’s green,” you whispered.

“I know.”

A small smile broke out on your face.

… . …

Behind you, Javier trailed soft, lazy kisses along the slope of your neck as he slowly unzipped your dress, letting it hang loose around you. Your eyes fluttered shut as he smoothed his hands down your exposed back, thumbs gently digging into your flesh to massage your tired muscles. Every kiss, every touch, stoked the fire he’d ignited inside you hours ago.

“Let it fall,” he murmured against your skin. You slipped the straps over your shoulders and the fabric pooled at your feet. Then you reached for the clasp of your bra. “Leave it. I’ll take it off when I want to.” You bit back a devilish smile as he continued his ministrations. His lips followed his hands down your spine, and you gasped when he placed a kiss on the small of your back.

“Can’t decide how I want you first,” he mused.

“I want your mouth on me.”

He kneaded the flesh of your ass as he placed the lightest kiss on one cheek. “It is.”

“Not there.”

At your complaint, he snapped the garter belt strap so it stung against your flesh. But a firm hand on your back urged you forward until you were kneeling on the bed and he mouthed your cunt through the lace. “Here?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Yes,” you moaned, desperate for more.

“Maybe I should clean the mess I made on your pussy.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the fabric away and sealed his mouth over your hot, wet core, drawing an inarticulate slew of curses from you.

Hands gripping the backs of your thighs right at the tops of your stockings, he alternated between sucking on your clit, teasing the little bundle of nerves between his lips, and fucking you with his tongue. The constantly changing pressure was as intoxicating as it was frustrating — it was never enough but plenty to keep you hovering right on the cusp.

Until he finally – finally – gave you what you needed most.

Holding a steady pace as he flicked his tongue over your clit, Javier pushed you right over the edge.

Unable to breath, unable to move, unable to even think, you sobbed, cunt still pulsing around nothing, when he unceremoniously flipped you over and entered you. He slid into your dripping heat easily. And somehow, your first orgasm rolled right into the second as his cock struck something magic inside you, sparking a whole new wave of pleasure.

“You can’t stop coming, can you?” he asked, grunting as he pounded into you.

It just kept going. And going. Wave after wave relentlessly rolling through you. Unceasing in the best way imaginable. Javier knew your body so fucking well. He was the only one who knew how to do this to you. “No,” you mewled deliriously, body still shaking under him.

He thumbed away a tear rolling down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. His hand left your face to knead a lace covered breast. “You look so fucking hot.”

“Fuck me harder, Javi.”

He pulled out all the way and your hips lifted, chasing him, but he pushed your knees to your chest and shouldered between your legs. “You’re not going to be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

“Good. I wanna feel you for days.” you said, ignoring the pang in your heart that told you that you were going to miss him.

“Fuck,” he spat. Your cunt drenched his cock as he slipped back inside, and your breath hitched as he hit deeper at the new angle.

“Right there!” you cried, arching up against him, “oh, God, right there!”

“One more. Give me one more,” Javier demanded, lacing your fingers together and pining your hands above your head, “But not until I tell you.”

You nodded eagerly, happy to give him whatever he wanted. “I get to tell you when too. Please, Javi.”

“Whatever you want baby. You fucking earned it.”

He kept slamming into you and every stroke of his cock rubbed against your inner walls perfectly. You swore you could almost feel every ridge and every vein of his thick length as he fucked you. Your third orgasm was tantalizingly within reach. You just needed his blessing, and you’d break.

“Alright, baby,” he panted as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis against your clit, “cum all over my cock.”

Just like that, that tight coil inside you he’d been winding up all night snapped, and you came for a third time with a wanton cry. His name tumbled from your lips repeatedly as your body writhed beneath him, cunt spasming around his cock.

“I need to cum,” he ground out, voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

“Ask me nicely,” you teased when your senses had returned to you just enough that you decided it was your turn to play with Javier. You wanted it to be just as good for him as he made it for you.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Baby, please.” Javier’s broken words trembling around the edges as he begged you. His brown eyes, eclipsed by his dilated pupils and wet around the edges, stared deeply into yours and you almost gave in.

“Don’t stop.”

He made a desperate sound but kept going, snapping his hips against yours harder and harder.

“Almost there, Javi. You’re doing so good for me,” you praised, encouraging him. His jaw clenched and you kissed his neck, sucking hard on the straining muscles. His hands gripped yours so tight it hurt, and his face screwed up as he panted with each thrust. “You can cum for me, Javi. Fill me up.”

His lips crashed against yours in a desperate gratitude, and his hips stuttered as he came hard. He gasped for breath even as your mouths moved messily together. His cock twitched inside you as he painted your cunt like you’d been patiently waiting for all evening, until his body gave out and he collapsed on top of you, still locked in an embrace.

“Was that good for you?” you asked. When you didn’t get an answer, you prodded his side. He startled, eyes suddenly blinking up at you.

“What?”

“I asked if that was good for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was... it’s always good with you but that was...” He trailed off and you thought he might’ve actually fallen asleep on you. “I’ve never cum so hard in my life. I think I fucking blacked out.”

“I didn’t know my pussy was that good.”

“Are you kidding me? I fucking love your pussy.” He was positively beaming at you. He cursed with a sigh as he laid his head back on your chest and you threaded your fingers through his damp locks, holding him close while you could.

… . …

You sat half in Javier’s lap in the middle of your bed, sheets strewn about from your previous activities, both completely naked but freshly showered. He moved his mouth against yours, tasting you, drinking you in until he was as lightheaded from your kisses as from the champagne. His hands roamed your body, touching you for no real reason other than to memorize your gentle curves. One hand cupped a breast and the other squeezed your hip, both moving slowly until they met to cradle your face.

He pulled away to look at you. No fancy dress, no jewelry, no make-up. Just you.

“Still stunning,” he whispered.

You smiled softly and pressed your lips to the bridge of his nose. “Still handsome,” you countered. Chills erupted across his skin, but you mistook his reaction. “Come here.” you pulled the blankets up as you settled back against the headboard. He followed, swiping the bottle of champagne off the nightstand. Without bothering with glasses, surely a disservice to something so expensive, he took a swig and handed it to you. It was bubbly and light and perfect for the evening.

“You never told me what you’re doing for the holidays.”

“Oh, nothing much,” you responded as you took the bottle from him. “Bev’s family celebrates Christmas. They always do gifts with the kids in the morning but then her mom and in-laws and whoever else in the family is around go over for a big dinner. She insists I come to keep her sane. Her mom and mother-in-law don’t exactly get along.”

“What about New Year’s?”

You took a long pull before sighing. “Well, I usually spend the night with Sunny watching old movies and drinking too much wine.” Your face pinched. “That sounds much sadder when I say it out loud.”

“You don’t mind being alone?”

“It’s been this way for years now.” You smiled, a rueful thing. “I’m used to it. I’m usually so tired after the quarter ends that I don’t mind the time alone.” You tried to brush it off, but he could hear the sadness in your voice.

“You could–” Javier stopped himself. “You could call. Anytime. I’ll give you my dad’s home number so you can reach me.”

That time your smile reached your eyes, crinkling the corners as you looked away bashfully. “That’s really sweet of you.” You reached for his hand and added, “I’ll call you at midnight in Laredo.”

“We’ll talk until midnight in Los Angeles.”

You curled up next to him before Javier could decipher your expression.

When he felt your breathing even out, surely sated from the sex and exhausted after the quarter, he pried the bottle from your grasp. He finished the last bit before setting it aside and switching off the lamp, careful not to disturb you.

Javier held you close, not unlike the way you’d held him the night before. He knew he needed to get his shit together. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. He needed to protect you from his past. But he didn’t know how to do that when he couldn’t even protect himself.

He flicked off the light and hoped for a peaceful sleep.

… . …

The first thing you noticed when you woke up the next morning was the dark bruise that you’d sucked onto Javier’s neck the night before. You ran your fingertips over it, outwardly cringing but inwardly, well, preening. This time it had been you who left those little love bites on his neck.

“Did you mark me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a quiet rumble. “Fucking felt that last night.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you answered, looking up at him as innocently as possible.

“Don’t lie to me,” he grumbled as his eyes blinked open. “You were a woman determined last night.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I liked it,” he grinned, but it faded quickly. “I forgot I was going home today. My dad’s picking me up at the airport.”

“Oh shit,” you laughed, burying your face against his chest.

“Don’t laugh. That’s not funny.”

“Maybe you should try buttoning your shirt like a normal person for once.”

In one smooth movement, he flipped you over and caged you beneath him. “You’re pushing your luck,” he tried to warn, but the grin on his face and the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

“What time is your flight?” you asked, soothing a hand across his face.

“One.” He glanced over at the clock. “It’s ten now.”

You wondered, just for a moment, if he would stay with you if you asked him to. If he would pass the holidays with you so you wouldn’t have to be alone. But that was foolish. And more than a little selfish. He had his family to go home to.

“You should probably go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I should.”

He eased his hold on you but made no move to leave. Not until he’d placed a kiss on your lips and one on your forehead in a gentle goodbye.

... . ...

Thank you for reading! 💗

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann @scapricciatello @liadamerondjarin @pedropasscals @paintballkid711 @mistermiraclee @honeyand-roses

Curriculum Vitae Tags: @softpedropascal @roxypeanut @unstoppableforcce @technicallykawaiisoul @mrsparknuts @weirdowithnobeardo @seeking-a-great--perhaps @assultsofthought @arrowswithwifi @larakasser @romewritingshop @none-of-your-bullshit @the-bird-suit @magneticbucky @bbygrgu @luminarahan @buckstaposition @grapemama @emzd34 @itsilvermorny​

Javier: @wander-lustbabe​

Tag lists are always open. 

[planetsano]

sugar rush!

prompt: a very studious s/o relying on a sugar rush to make it through the day after staying up all night to study for an exam.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader, kirishima eijirou x reader if you squint (he's so cute I couldn't help myself)

tag(s): college!au, aged up, domestic, fluff, candy, facetime, energy crashing, weed

warning(s): drug references, cursing

su·gar rush

Noun

A sugar rush is an experience of high energy after eating or drinking a considerable amount of sugar in a short period of time, often associated with hyperactive children.

Bakugou told you to go to bed when you facetimed him last night at 2 am. You woke him fully out of his sleep and asked to keep you company while you studied.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bakugou rubbed at his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden brightness from his phone. His eyes were extra sensitive waking up from his slumber. You were lucky because if it was anyone else he would have let the phone ring and went back to bed.

“Did I wake you? I'm sorry.” You puffed your cheeks out holding your phone closer to your face. The angle wasn't flattering, but Bakugou and you were past that point in your relationship. You were 100% positive he’s screenshotted and taken at least 1,000 ugly pictures of you. You have some of him but they always seem to magically disappear. You should really put a lock on your phone.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Bakugou was in full view now. Head propped against his pillows, hair messy, and muscles exposed from wearing a black tank top. His room was dark but his face was illuminated from the brightness of his phone. His looks never failed to make your tummy do flips. How did you land a hottie like this?

“Yeah.. I know it's late, but I want company! I feel like I'm gonna fall asleep but I have to study more.” You propped your phone against some books giving him a full view of your set up. Papers, notebooks, colorful pens and highlighters seemingly scattered randomly throughout your desk. You sat in your chair with one leg to your chest and the other planted on the ground making your chair spin from side to side. He thought you looked cute like this. Pajamas, messy hair, and glasses falling off the bridge of your nose.

“You need to sleep.” He sighed. You just rolled your eyes and picked up a textbook that was out of frame.

“I'll sleep when I'm dead.” You said nonchalantly as you opened the book and started flipping through the pages.

“I'm serious. You're going to have zero energy for tomorrow. Go to bed.” Bakugou chastised you and you sighed heavily.

“Ugh, fine. You're no fun anyway.”

Knowing you, he should have known you weren't going to listen to him last night. He thought that maybe he should've blown up your door to see if you were okay. It became the morning routine for the both of you when you first started dating. He’d knock on your door to walk you to class and you’d greet him with a sweet smile and a kiss. Everyday it was somewhere different. One day it's his lips, then the next it could be on the cheek, and his personal favorite is when you stand on your tippy toes to try to kiss his forehead. But that didn't happen today because you didn't answer.

So it was safe to say that Bakugou was a little peeved when he got to class without you by his side. He entered the classroom to see some extras idly chatting with their peers and some doing homework at the last minute. Denki and Mina were chatting towards the back of the classroom. Mina noticed the angry blond and waved him over. Bakugou walked up and greeted them both with a low hum.

“Where's (Name)?” Mina asked, tilting her head to the side. It was odd seeing Bakugou by himself.

“Don't know.” Bakugou answered bluntly.

“Aw, don't tell me you've gone and made her mad.” Mina teased. Bakugou rolled his eyes and mumbled a low “shut up.”

“Now that I think of it, where's Kirishima? I didn't see him this morning either.” Denki added.

The three continued to chat but Bakugou wasn't paying attention at all. All their talking was background noise at this point being washed out by his thoughts. He was becoming more and more anxious as the minutes went by. Class was starting soon and most of everyone had already come into the lecture room.

Were you okay?

Are you sick?

Did you need help?

Were just a couple thoughts running through his mind so you could only imagine the relief and annoyance he felt when he saw you bop into the classroom with Kirishima. He had to do a double take because not only was weird hair giving you a piggyback ride, you were pouring three pixy stix in your mouth.

Bakugou watched you hop off Kirishima’s back and happily greet your friends (which was practically the entire classroom) like an energized puppy. You went to Izuku and happily squeezed his cheeks together between your dainty hands. He didn't mind, he thought your high energy was amazing.

“Good morning, Midoriya!” You smiled at him.

“G-ood mornin-g, (Name)!” His voice was somewhat muffled as he spoke but nonetheless he had a smile on his face.

“You’re so squishy just like a mochi!.” You continued to squeeze his chubby cheeks together as the three watched on.

“(Name) is being kind of..” Denki trailed off.

Hyper was the word he was looking for. You were hyper and practically bouncing off the walls like one of those tiny rainbow balls kids got out of the candy machine for 50 cents.

“Annoying? Yeah.” Bakugou said in his usual harsh tone and started to walk over to you. He was sure to give Kirishima a death glare as he walked past him to get to Mina and Denki.

“What'd I do?” A confused Kirishima asked Denki and Mina. He knew he was going to get an earful from his friend later.

All three of them watched the irritated blond tap your shoulder. You looked excited to see him and waved Izuku goodbye while Bakugou took you to another quiet corner of the lecture hall.

“What's with you?” Bakugou asked, looking down at you.

“Whaddya mean?” You looked down at your fingers and started twiddling them together under his stare.

“You're boppin’ around like you just did 80 lines of coke.” He said.

“Am not!” You looked up at him with furrowed brows, crossed your arms then stomped your foot childishly. You weren't scaring him if that's what you thought. He also noticed that your tongue was stained blue.

“You are.” He squeezed your nose gently. “What's got you so wired?”

“I didn't sleep at all last night so Kiri brought me some candy and a slushie this morning.” You answered.

“Candy?”

“Yeah!”

“Ever heard of coffee?”

“I don't like coffee.”

“You're going to crash, you know that right?” Bakugou asked.

“It's okay ‘cause you're going to catch me, right, handsome?” You kissed his cheek and on cue the bell rang.

Throughout the entire exam Bakugou couldn't help but to keep glancing at you in your seat. Your foot was tapping rapidly against the floor as you focused on your test. Every now and again he would see you sneak some form of candy into your mouth. Your eyes never left your test when your hand slid into your bag pulling out a gummy worm. It was such a contracting sight, being incredibly focused on the exam in front of you all while chewing on something as silly as a gummy worm. Eventually class ended and exams were turned in. You were pretty confident.

By the time lunch came around, you were completely drained. In the middle of your third class your energy plummeted and all you wanted to do was sleep. You could barely keep your head lifted without slipping into sleep. You were so happy lunch came around in hopes some food would pull you through the rest of the day.

When you walked into the cafe Mina spotted you and waved you over to the table. Everyone greeted you and soon you sat next to Bakugou who had saved a seat for you.

“Hey guys.” You smiled putting your bag on the table in front of you.

“So, (Name)! We were all thinking we should hang out tonight.” Mina smiled at you with an eager smile.

“Oh, yeah? What’s the plan?” You yawned and rested your head on Bakugou’s shoulder and wrapped your arms around his bicep.

“Game night!” Kiri exclaimed.

“And a hot box.” Denki added and high-fived Kiri.

The table continued to converse about the later plans and that's when Bakugou leaned over to whisper to you.

“You gonna eat?” He asked.

“No, ‘m not hungry..” You said quietly feeling your eyes start to droop. Soon enough you were

“So how does that sound (Name)? (Na-) Oh, she's asleep.” Mina laughed at the sight. You were fully asleep, still holding onto Bakugou’s arm like it was your pillow.

“I told her to go to sleep last night but she's fucking hardheaded.” Bakugou shook his head looking at you as you were fast asleep.

“Man! I thought the candy was working!” Kirishima frowned that his plan didn't work.

“I mean, it was for a little bit.” Denki said.

“I'm gonna take her back to the dorms so she can rest.” Bakugou said and gently shook you awake.

“Wah- Was I asleep?” You asked dazedly.

“Get up dummy, I'm taking you to your room.” He said.

He spent the rest of the afternoon with you, napping the afternoon away.

[justapoet]

Four-letter noun

TK thinks about how three words can summarize so many things. Then, he thinks how Carlos can summarize these words as well.

Or,

TK writes a letter to Carlos, just because three little words are not wuite enough.

(honestly I just wanted to write a letter and then I made TK write one)

“Carlos,

Honestly, this is something I've never done before, writing letters. As a child, I would think that writing down your feelings and thoughts and then addressing them to someone you care about is just so sweet, and I would wish I could do it someday. Then, I learned that no one did this anymore and that people would think it's boring and silly.

That was probably my first heartbreak.

As the years passed by, I even forgot what I used to think about letters and feelings. Everything I felt would fit in a few words or emojis, so complex sentences or long texts were just unnecessary.

Then I met you, and, of course, you had to prove me wrong.

I've heard already that people use "I love you" to summarize all the things they want to say and all the feelings they feel. Thinking about it, it does make sense. If they make you feel love, then you love them ― duh. But it also makes me wonder what composes love in its totality.

Frankly, the conclusion I got to was you.

Cliché, yeah, I know. And I wish I could verbalize everything that made me get to this ― you ― conclusion, but the thing is that every time I try to tell you, you're right in front of me, and you leave me breathless.

And I simultaneously feel like I can breathe.

All my life, I have been searching for one feeling to take over my chest and bones, making me feel warm and safe and happy. I have been craving for this feeling to make my bad days turn into good ones, that feeling people describe in books and stories, that one feeling that would make me feel whole again.

Now I know I will never find this one feeling. Because, and only because, it doesn't exist.

The truth is that "love" is a word used to summarize a myriad of feelings, so you don't have to list them all every time. "Love" is a word to epitomize smiles and tears and laughs ― "love" is a word to synthesize you.

I found out that loving someone is to be scared and ridiculously safe at the same time. Is when your partner calls me, and I don't know if I'll be heading to the hospital or feeling my heart melt because your phone died and you asked her to tell me that you're thinking about me.

I found out that loving someone is to be happy and pathetically sad at once. Is when you call me in the middle of the night because you can't sleep and just wanted to hear me breathing, so you know I'll be back home.

I also found out that loving someone means that people fight, and, sometimes, you're both going to be wrong or right. It's when Michelle and Paul have to put our heads in the right place, because, after all, the color of the wedding invitations is not as important as the names on them.

After all these years, I found out that "love" is just a simple way to talk about happiness, evolving, mistakes, and the future. Loving someone means that you can feel everything all at once, and it's going to be chaotic. Yet, you're going to choose to go back to that chaos.

I have been alone in chaos before, and ours sounds like music.

I'd be pleased to dance to it forever if you lead me ― I'm a disaster on the dance floor, you know.

After all those years, I also figured why people used to write letters instead of just saying they loved each other ― three words don't seem to be enough to fit so many feelings. It sounds deeply unfair to compact so many sentences in a four-letter noun.

It might be hypocritical of me to say that since I will be compacting all of these words here ― and a bunch of others I'm still trying to fit in sentences ― in a wedding band a week from now. But I'm not truly worried about it ― can hypocrisy be put in "love" as well?

Some people say love is hypothetical, while others swear it's metaphorical ― I thought it was paradoxical, but you make perfect sense, so I got lost in my conclusions. Maybe you should think about stopping to ruin my convictions.

Honestly, this is something I have never done before, writing letters. I see now that it's because this is also something I've never done before ― loving someone with all the feelings inside a four-letter noun.

That is probably my first heartbeat.

The four-letter noun,

Ty(ger).”

*

There were soft, warm kisses on his neck and a wet cheek against his jawline.

He was pretty sure the sun didn't come up yet since his skin wasn't warm from the sunlight sneaking through the curtains, and Carlos usually didn't wake him up when he got back from a shift ― he'd curl himself with TK and make sure his fiancé wouldn't steal all the blankets in the middle of the night by letting the paramedic use him as a body pillow ―, so the delicate kisses, although sweet and welcome, made his body become alert.

It changed, though, when he heard the low rustle of paper and opened his eyes to find the letter he had written the day before over his bedside table. One of Carlos' hands delicately touched his waist, his arm slowly wrapping TK's body, and he could feel more kisses over his neck, arm and face when he turned his head a little in the detective's direction.

"I love you, too," the sweet voice whispered against his ear. TK chuckled, turning his body so he could hug his fiancé comfortably. He felt a kiss being placed on his forehead, sighing before hiding his head on the crook of Carlos' neck and lightly kissing the skin he could reach.

Those were the exact moments he couldn't fit in a four-letter noun.

[lenacker]

Lovebirds

Summary: Captain Levi and Petra’s skill in titan-killing was definitely admirable but romance-wise? They’re just idiots. Erd was definitely much smarter than them combined. And he spent about 17 years to realize he’s in love with his childhood bestie.

Word Count: 1336

FFN | AO3

For two of supposedly the best soldiers in Survey Corps, Petra and Captain Levi were unreasonably dumb. Just a couple of idiots. Like, seriously. Assessing the battlefield and taking actions accordingly? Easy-peasy. Piece of cake.

Realizing they consider each other as more than superior officers and subordinates?

Nah.

Petra has been crushing on Captain for as long as Erd remembers. It’s not even a secret. Probably Captain Levi was the only one who didn’t know because, as he said before, he’s very dumb romance-wise. Petra went from a ‘Humanity’s Strongest’ hardcore fan to a disappointed fan (because he’s not as great as she thought-short and irritating), to just fell freely in love. If he got a coin for every time she mentions Captain in her sentences, he would be super-rich. Wait- that could be a fun dare for their next Friday night truth or dare!

She’s a very nice girl (woman, she definitely would scold him if he calls her girl once more. I’m a full-grown woman, Erd! Stop treating me like a teenage girl!) but her nice-ness increased tenfold for their very pleasant captain. She said he’s unapproachable, but she’s always the one who approaches him whenever he’s in one of his ‘you’re all so stupid, a waste of space and I don’t know why I agreed to take you little shits as my squad’ mood.

Every morning, she makes tea for all of the squad members - but with the captain’s preference. Black tea, with all its amazing earthy aroma, with a dash of sugar. She pours it to each cup (With your stupid manly egos, we would run out of the tea stock within a week! Not you, sir.), starting with the Captain’s of course so it’s warm and nice, and fresh.

If Erd doesn’t know them better, he’d say they have a secret-lover-rendezvous almost every night. They talk in his office until late at night, accompanied by another pot of tea and Captain’s stack of paperwork. He’s more of a hit-and-kill person rather than a sit-and-write person, and though he’s not gonna admit it out loud, Petra’s gift in writing and her diligence is about the only reason he can keep up with his paperwork.

There’s no way to know what else happened behind closed doors, but they never show any weird behavior or something like crumpled clothes, hickeys (and honestly it’s really hard to imagine the clean freak captain Levi doing not-so-clean activities).

Anyway, despite her obvious feeling to their superior, she’s surprisingly professional about it. She didn’t suddenly become a flustered-girl-in-love around the Captain, still the same fiery, determined, hard-working Petra.

Due to her smaller stature and different gender than everyone in the squad, when they first train together, Captain Levi tends to give her less or easier job and workout sets. To say Petra was angry was … an understatement. She felt insulted, confronts him and some riot ensues, and honestly, it’s still a mystery to him how the Captain managed to gain Petra’s respect back.

(Gotta investigate it! What a saucy subject, maybe he can ask Hange about it later)

On the contrary, Captain Levi was the one less professional about his feelings. He either sends Petra to the least dangerous condition possible or the closest to him so he could save her anytime. Not that Petra needs it that often anyway.

He talked to her with almost-affectionate (and by almost he means almost non-distinguishable), lower tone. Erd couldn’t even remember the last time he cussed her out, and he hung out with them pretty often. That's a huge thing, considering the intimidating man’s tendency to call people shitty-[noun] and using potty language as daily conversation.

Also, he’s suddenly a bit more chatty to her? Maybe Petra's friendliness started to affect him. Erd was the second-in-command, yet his interaction with his superior mostly consisted of strategies, formations, and a lot of ‘Erd, you’re in command’ with his classic cold, demanding tone. Oluo was often too scared to talk to him and Gunther was naturally silent.

But with Petra, the Captain could say not really necessary, trivial things like “Petra, you should write to your parents more often, they don’t live forever”, or “Do you think Erwin is in a good mood, I’d like to ask him for a new cleaning supplies fund“, or “Petra, brew the tea exactly 4 minutes to get the best taste”

Well, maybe that last two examples were important.

He wondered how much more time they needed to realize their mutual feelings. Erd himself took about 17 years to admit he considered Emily more than a childhood bestie. That’s bad enough. But he definitely was better at romance-field than both Captain Levi and Petra, for he knows their feelings more than they do. God knows how many years it will take before they become more than superior officers and subordinates.

Hmmm. Maybe they just need a little push. Or a lot.

-

Erd walked into the hall, it was the middle of the night and he’s hungry. He still had some food from his latest visit home, but he absolutely hates eating alone. Maybe there’s someone there he could share with. He basically knew everyone in the Survey Corps, so it didn’t really matter who that was.

Oh, actually it does matter.

There they are, the two lovebirds. You know, because they’re small and good at ‘flying’. They’re in that state where Petra gave the Captain his cup of tea and they just stare at each other’s eyes for 4 seconds too long. Erd cleared his throat.

“Good night, fellow insomniac soldier! Captain.”

Captain Levi just nodded his head slightly, Petra smiled.

“Hi, Erd. Why aren’t you sleeping? Missing the missus?”, she took two more cups, setting them side to side to pour the tea in.

“I always miss her, but that’s not why I can’t sleep. I’m starving, but can’t eat these chips alone so I’m looking around for eat-mates!”

Captain put his cup down (Erd still didn’t understand why he held the cup that way. Just training his fingers’ strength?), “Just don’t let the disgusting grease stain my papers”

“Done!” Who wanted to get near the paperwork anyway? Definitely not Erd. “You want some, Petra?”

She just grinned sheepishly, pointing the paper near her with a tilt of her head, “Sorry, don’t wanna stain them”

Ah, that’s a bummer. He really wanted to have at least an eat-mate.

“You sure? It’s divine, you know. Remember the curry you liked last time? These taste similar but better”

She shakes her head once more.

“I could feed you?” He’s really desperate now, he really needed to eat!

Oh. Maybe that’s not a good idea. If looks could kill, he would be dying right here, on the dirty floor by the scary Captain’s look. Alright. No more making that man jealous then.

Petra, oblivious of the shorter man’s reaction because she focused on stirring the two cups without spilling any drop of tea, just pouted, “Erd, I’m not a child! You don’t need to feed me! Just sit here and eat while we chat and do paperwork. Better than eating alone on your bed, right?”

Hmm, maybe. But he didn’t wanna spoil their moments together. So he just acted disappointed, with his best shoulder-slump and kicked puppy look.

“I guess I’ll just go back to bed hungry then, you guys are no fun. Good night Petra, Captain”

His steps towards his bedroom stopped by the Captain’s cold voice,

“Oi”

Erd turned back, “Yes, Captain?”

“Take over the training tomorrow. I need to go take care of something Sina.”

“Oh, okay, sir. You wanna take Petra with you?”

And accidentally get into a scenario where you two realize your feelings or are forced to sleep in one bed?

“Huh? Why would I take Petra? You want some time off, Petra? You should just tell me.”

See? He’s too caring!

“No, sir! I’m completely fine!”

“Okay, I’ll brief you all later. We probably get a new puny member soon”

A/N : This turned out about 3 times longer than I thought it would, writing Erd is a lot of fun!

[terrainofheartfelt]

"It's you, it couldn't be awful"

A Playlist For Dair Appreciation Week, Day 7 - Fave Quotes & Lyrics

I haven’t the faintest idea how to make gifs (seriously I think all of you are witches) so I made this playlist, because there is nothing I love more than scrolling through my spotify library and just projecting all over it.

Track listings and links with opinions & lyrics under the cut, because this thing is long, because I have no restraint.

(Note: I intentionally left off all tswift bc if I didn’t, we’d be here all day)

Section 1: The Bops

Little of Your Love - HAIM

A bop that embodies the energy of the 4b arc, and an energy of “Oh for crying out loud, Humphrey”

You’re just another recovering heart / I wasn’t even gonna try / you wouldn’t even give the time

Stop runnin’ your mouth like that / ‘cause you know I’m gonna give it right back

Hate That You Know Me - Bleachers

It’s “You owe me ten / You owe me twenty!” & “I was hoping it would go away / I was humiliated” & basically all of While You Weren’t Sleeping, tbh

Some days I, I wish that I wasn't myself / No luck! / And I hate that you know me so well

I Like Me Better - Lauv

Heavily featured in all y’all’s gifsets—and rightfully so!!! It’s also like the perfect counter to the previous song.

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me

Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

It’s about Blair roasting Dan for filth and him being completely charmed by it.

when you laugh / I forget that it's about me / But it's alright / Yeah, cause being your punchline / Still is something

No Reason to Run - Cold War Kids

In the perfect version of the show that lives in my head, this is the end credits song that plays as the two of them frolic in Rome.

I have evolved like a fish growing legs / Woke like a lightbulb clicked in my brain

You Make Lovin' Fun - Fleetwood Mac

The song for the couple that fucked in an elevator. Bless the work.

Sweet wonderful you / You make me happy with the things you do

No Matter What You Do - covered by Jakob Dylan and Regina Spektor

The energy is “I have a lot of affection for you but you are so annoying.” And this is the obligatory post-breakup s6 song.

No matter what in the world you do / Hey, I'll always be in love with you

Don't Take the Money - Bleachers

I see so much love for tswift on this website (valid) but I feel like the world as a whole sleeps on her collaborator Jack Antonoff bc he is brilliant and his act Bleachers has some of my favorite songs ever. Like this one. Antonoff has said before that the title phrase is more metaphorical than literal, like an idiom that means don’t take the easy way and give this up, because it’s genuine. Real “I want to have a sleepover with you” vibes.

Somebody broke me once / Love was a currency / A shimmering balance act / I think that I laughed at that

In the Morning - Nina Simone

It’s about the domesticity! And the “Our relationship is our world”! And the “we’re young and still have so much life to live so everything’s gonna be okay.” did i title a smut fic with lyrics from this song maybeso.gif

Please be patient with your life / It's only morning and you're still to live your day

This Must Be the Place - Talking Heads

This is a canon dair song bc @mysteriesofloves titled a fic after this song, them’s the rules. But for real, this is such a good one. The lyrics are intentionally scattered, a little bewildered, like “how did we get here? how did this happen? who found whom?” and finally “who cares? we found a home in each other.”

The less we say about it, the better / We'll make it up as we go along

Cleopatra in Brooklyn - Frank Turner

Chosen for the title obviously, but the lyrics capture the royal/5b arc pretty well, I think. The narrator carries this tongue-and-cheek comparison of the woman he’s singing to to Cleopatra through the whole song, comparing himself to Marc Antony, and ending with this really earnest kind of declaration. I’m obsessed with this songwriter he’s a genius please give him a listen.

These people are adjectives to your proper noun

I'll come find you when your fortunes fail you / I'll die with you when the gods desert you

Morphing into Section 2: Pure Vibes

Walking on a Dream - covered by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

The original is by Empire of the Sun (and omigod I just realized the coincidence), but I first heard it covered by McMahon, and he’s one of my favorite musicians of ever so I just love his rendition. And this song is sort of like...about finally deciding that the reality of love with someone is so much better than the idea of it.

Thought I’d never see / The love you found in me / Now it’s changing all the time

Wake Me - Bleachers

Jack coming for my life yet again. This song is so romantic but also so melancholy? Which is such a Daniel Humphrey Vibe.

And I'd rather be sad with you / Than anywhere away from you

All I Want - Joni Mitchell

I’m a white girl with a mother who grew up in the 60s, so I love Joni. And this song is so bubbly and joyful, but it’s also about a relationship between two imperfect people and wanting it to work anyway. Big “Despicable B” vibes!

All I really want our love to do / Is to bring out the best in me / And in you, too.

Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars

A friend in undergrad got me into the Civil Wars by showing me their live videos, and they have such incredible musical chemistry - like, the synchronicity of their ensemble is so good that it even comes through on their studio recordings and it makes these simple lyrics hit SO HARD.

You're just lonely / You've been lonely too long

NFWMB - Hozier

Ok, this had to be like the first ask I ever sent @bisexualdanhumphrey bc they wrote this fantastic meta post about Hozier and Derena but I said: “consider: NFWMB is a Dair song.” And they said, “You right.” I stand by it, and that’s why this song is on this list.

If I was born as a blackthorn tree / I'd wanna be felled by you / Held by you / Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Friday I'm in Love - covered by Phoebe Bridgers

This song - especially this cover - gives such Secret Friendship Arc vibes a la the end of 4x16...the inherent romance of eating pizza and falling asleep on the couch together

Always take a big bite / It’s such a gorgeous sight / To see you eat in the middle of the night

A Case of You - Joni Mitchell

Queen Joni again. Like! I am a lonely painter / I live in a box of paints. & The “You’re the star of Dan’s book” of it all in these lyrics!

I remember that time you told me / You said “Love is touching souls” / Surely you touched mine / ‘cause part of you pours out of me / In these lines from time to time.

Longing to Belong - Eddie Vedder

This is my thinly veiled attempt to tell more people about this: a song written and performed by Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder on ukulele, that is actually the softest love song in the history of western music.

All my time is spent here / Longing to belong to you

Bones - Josh Record

Okay, so, that Moment on the Couch at the end of 5x02? That’s this song.

And darling, when your feet are cold / Wait up, I'm coming home / And all of you I will hold / My love will clothe your bones

Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey

The song for when you reach the end of plausible deniability - One all consuming paralyzing thought & You need to go back to Brooklyn - and it scares the heck out of you.

There's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live / Like if you hold me without hurting me / You'll be the first who ever did

You and Me - You + Me

You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person

Section 3: Songs for Dancing in the Kitchen with Your Lover at 1 am

Cigarettes and Coffee - Otis Redding

The “Dan and I have a real connection song.” It’s about the romance of commonplace things when they’re with the right person.

But it seemed so natural, darling / That you and I are here

I'd Be Waiting - Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats

It’s “I just want to spend the day with you” but in like, slow-dance, sexy harmonies format.

If you ever get lonely if you never did

Never My Love - covered by Jakob Dylan and Norah Jones

The “Words of Affirmation” love song they deserve, and an underrated love song from Laurel Canyon, imho

What makes you think love will end? / When you know that my whole life depends / On you

Dancing in the Dark - covered by Morgan James

Okay so these lyrics are such Dan lyrics to me, it’s charmingly self-aware and self-deprecating. And this cover by Morgan James turns this staple rock song into something ~sexy~

I'm dying for some action / I'm sick of sittin' round here trying to write this book / I need a love reaction / Come on, gimme just one look

Oh Me Oh My (I'm a Fool for You) - Aretha Franklin

They’re literally always making each other laugh! It’s about feeling safe enough to be uninhibited and unselfconscious in your joy.

To make you laugh / I would be a fool for you

I Fall in Love Too Easily - as done by Chet Baker

No one, but no one sounds as sweet or as smooth as Chet. I know it, you know it, Hozier knows it. And this song and it’s titular thesis is so Them, it’s such a central part of their respective characters, and one of the things that makes them compatible.

My heart should be well schooled / 'Cause I've been fooled in the past

For Me Formidable - Charles Aznavour

Due entirely to this fic (Part II of a god tier s4 au) This is the end credits song for their full feature length Nora Ephron romcom.

NSFW Honorable Mention: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

it’s the definitive “men get pegged” representation, iykyk

[pressedinthepages]

Comestion

Archaic. noun. a devouring by fire.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Geralt x Reader

Word Count: 5006

Rating: E  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434329

Masterlist

a/n: reader request as a second part to “Brontide” - “but imagine them both singing together and then the whole inn just disappears and they are singing to Geralt but he's an idiot who has no idea so one night while Jaskier is taking her apart they hatch a plan on how to bring Geralt into their bed and well it happens out in a camp somewhere in the woods and it starts with her getting a splinter or something stupid and Jaskier sucking her finger into his mouth and then well you can see where this is going...” ... ah yes i can absolutely see where this is going ;)

Warnings: filthy smut, oral sex, penetrative sex, female reader, threesome (m/m/f)

After the events of Brontide, Jaskier and Reader expand their relationship to include one emotionally constipated Witcher.

You’re not sure how exactly, but you managed to find yourself standing atop a rickety table in the middle of the tavern, wildly swinging your empty tankard as you sang (really just yelled out of tune) and dancing along to Jaskier’s song. Your hips were swaying dangerously, your body rolling and weaving through the air as naturally as breathing. You weren’t even drunk, the tankard had been filled with water, but somehow the bard had turned you into a raging ball of fire fueled with something more than any alcohol could provide. The people in the tavern were rowdy, generous with their coin as Jaskier played. He was singing one of his newer songs, and the crowd loved it. It was about a mysterious succubus (even he admitted, it was a bit cheesy) who had drawn him in, only for her to fall into his arms and kiss him like the break of dawn. Jaskier had been working on it for months, having started the morning after your first night together. His little journal had countless pages of scribbles about you, one even being filled with ways to describe the color of your eyes. He was relentless in his quest to fold you into the pages of his music, never fully content, damn perfectionist.

        Ever the entertainer, Jaskier launched into another song, the quiet introduction a chance for you to gather your surroundings. Your eyes flitted and bounced around the room, never settling on any one thing for longer than a heartbeat. But then, a pair of eyes as golden as the sun grips you from the corner of the room, and you can’t help holding your gaze. Geralt looks as though he’s been violently slapped across the face with a fish, mouth agape and eyes wide, a slight flush settling on the crests of his cheeks. But, that only lasts a moment, his expression turning darker, hungrier. His eyes dilate and his hands grip his own cup with enough force to warp the metal. In a moment of shameless confidence, you throw a wink his way and resume your dance, perhaps being a bit more purposeful with your movements. You notice him discreetly shift, crossing his legs, seemingly unable to get comfortable. 

    Your attention shifting back to Jaskier, you noticed him watching you, absolutely having recognized your little interaction with Geralt. You briefly worried that he’d be livid, the woman he’d been pledging his entire life to for months now so blatantly flirting with his best friend, but he only took on a hungry expression of his own, fingers curling around his lute just a little bit tighter. You both shared a singular thought, we HAVE to get Geralt in our bed. Thinking quickly, Jaskier began a song that he’d written years ago. It was...filthy, very blatantly describing a threesome that the young bard had engaged in. Apparently, he had been wandering through what he thought was an empty wing of a court he’d entertained when he almost literally stumbled over a couple that was very passionately fucking in front of the fireplace. Instead of screaming and throwing shoes at him, they generously invited him to join the festivities, which he dutifully accepted. As he sang of this great occasion in his life, you spun and swung and swayed around, still atop the table, almost kicking drinks and Gwent cards around the room.

The final note resonated around the room, bouncing from candle to window to stray glass shards on the floor, your eyes met Jaskier’s and you felt time slow and swirl, your skirts brushing along the surface of the table before coming to a stop. His eyes always left you breathless, but even more so now, the clear blue filled with so much heat and desire that you were worried that you may just melt between the grains of wood before settling on the floor. The room stopped spinning, the cheers and rumbling returning to your ears, but you still found yourself lost in the love for your bard. 

...

    As the night came to a close, you bounded up to the room you three were sharing for the night, Jaskier staying behind briefly to collect his coin from the barkeep. As your hand reached the handle, the door was suddenly yanked open, Geralt on the other side. You startled, almost punching him as your adrenaline spiked. Once you realized that it was not actually a monster lying in wait to sink his teeth into your skin and devour you whole, you relaxed, gently placing a hand on his chest and pushing into the room. You noticed that he still had his boots on, as well as his swords. 

    “Are you going somewhere?” you asked, disappointed. 

“Hmmm…” Geralt rumbled, the grit of his voice going straight to your core. He let out a breath and flexed his hands at his sides, visibly straining against something. “I’m going to find a brothel.”

He swiftly turned, brushing past Jaskier on his way out. Jaskier strode into the room, noting your frustrated expression following Geralt. “What’s going on?” He toed the door shut and shrugged off his doublet, drawing your eyes to the top of his shirt where you could catch a glimpse of skin dusted with hair and his eyes glinting with unclaimed desire. 

All thoughts of Geralt flew out of the window as your earlier flame of wanting was rekindled and you dashed across the room, moaning into his mouth as you moved your hands to the buttons of his trousers.

…

    Your breath hitched, the burn of his cock inside of you crackling through the haze of your pleasure. Jaskier is insatiable, making you reach your peak twice already before he really started fucking into you. You only barely brushed the edges of reality, the drag of his cock like fire against the velvet of your cunt bringing you back to the blissful existence of being his.

    His body pressed against yours, holding you beneath him as he speared you deeply with every thrust. His head rested against your neck, and you could hear every little breathy noise that fell from his lips as he chased his pleasure. Suddenly, he slowed and pulled back to rest on his knees, pulling a shallow whine from you as he ran his hands along the valleys and mountains of your body beneath him.

    Huskily, Jaskier chuckled. “I just had a brilliant idea.”

    “Well, I sure hope it involves getting back to what we were just doing,” you huffed, not pleased with being denied another crest of pleasure. 

    He smirked down at you and slid his hands down your body to settle behind your knees, pulling them up to rest on his shoulders. He resumed his movements, slower but no less enjoyable. Your body relaxed under his touch and he moved his hands to grasp your hips. You reached down, threading your fingers together as you begin to lose yourself once more. 

    “Ah, ah, ah...not yet. Don’t you want to hear my brilliant idea?” Jaskier scolded, forcing you to abandon your quest for the moment. You could still feel his cock inside of you, his hips rolling slightly to keep your attention. 

    “Fine, fine, what is it?” you gasped, wanting him to just spit it out instead of making it a dramatic display. You loved him, but gods he picked the worst times to come up with ideas.

    Jaskier leaned down as far as he could, forcing your hips further apart as you folded with him. You moan, something low and dark with smoke. He suddenly resumes his breathtaking pace, pulling you to the edge of your high once more, your cunt clenching and dripping around him. 

        “I think...we should...extend an...invitation, of sorts...to our dear Witcher...to join us one evening…” He grates out between thrusts, his voice betraying just how close to the edge he is as well and his fingers deftly circling your clit. At his words, you finally fall, plummeting through ecstasy like a shooting star in a clear sky. All of your muscles tighten, one of your hands flying to your core to meet Jaskier’s and keep him there. As the stars began to settle back into the night and your breath returns, you hear Jaskier moan your name as he swells and throbs inside of you with his spend. 

    You both lay still for a moment before Jaskier gingerly removed himself and set your legs back on the bed. He hummed, snaking his finger to your core and swiping along your folds, collecting some of the mixture of his spend and your own slick, the sickly sweet evidence of your arousal. You rise to meet him and take his fingers in your mouth, cleaning them and reveling in the taste. Releasing them with a pop that echoes around the room, you fell back to the pillows, Jaskier settling next to you soon after. 

    He turns, pulling you to snuggle against his side and wrapping his arms around your waist. Your head resting on his chest, you shifted to look at him, the coarse hairs tickling your cheek.

    With as sweet of a smile you could muster, you whisper, “I quite like your idea.”

    Jaskier laughs, the sound shining through your skin like sunshine through the clouds. He pulls you up for a gentle kiss before you both settle back, his heartbeat lulling you to deep, dreamless sleep.

…

    Over the next few weeks, both you and Jaskier had been diligent, attempting to attract Geralt’s attentions. It’s lucky he was good looking, because gods, he was oblivious. You’d tried several different approaches, none of which really worked. You tried wearing lower cut blouses, Jaskier opening even more of his already undone shirts, but Geralt never seemed to give either of you a second glance. Jaskier had been writing a new song about a mystical being with white hair who made him “hot in the loins,” and even you had to agree with Geralt that maybe he should think of another way to phrase that. You’d even stooped so low to dancing around the fire together, swaying and falling over each other and moving just as you were the night at the tavern. As you caught his eyes again, Geralt was watching the both of you with that same intense, hungry look and you knew that you were on the right track, you just needed to keep trying.

    You’d almost lost all hope, settling on a log beside the fire a few nights later. It’d been days since you’d last ridden through a town, and you were exhausted. You relaxed, stretching your arms onto the log as the warmth from the fire embraced you. The forest was quiet, the sky pitch black above, the crackling of the fire the only thing breaking the silence. It only lasted for a moment though, as Jaskier plopped down beside you and you adjusted how you were sitting, pulling your hand from where it had been resting on the wood. Your finger just barely grazed the surface, and a sharp pain shot up through your hand.

    “Ah, fuck!” you exclaimed, startling both Geralt and Jaskier and probably some birds a few miles away. Geralt jumped up and grabbed his sword from where it was concealed behind him. However, as he noticed the faint smell of blood and figured out what had happened, he calmed, sitting back on his own log at the side of the fire.

    “Got a splinter, love?” Jaskier asked, already pulling out the small dagger he kept at his side. 

        You nodded. “Don’t worry about it, it just shocked me a bit.” You shook your head. You’ve faced countless monsters and survived several close encounters with death, and yet a splinter can cause you to yelp like a helpless puppy?

    Jaskier took your hand, holding it up so that the light from the fire danced across your fingertips. He was perfectly focused, the blade in his hand glinting as he held it at your finger. You felt the flat of the blade press on your finger as Jaskier set his thumb at the sharper end and tugged, an instant feeling of relief settling over you. 

    “There, got it!” Jaskier was grinning triumphantly, as if he had defeated a great stone giant rather than a tiny sliver of wood. He set his dagger back behind him, still holding your hand by his face. A tiny drop of blood had formed on your fingertip, and Jaskier’s smile turned into something mischievous, his eyebrow quirking. 

    He gently brought your finger to his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss before sliding his tongue along the whole length of your finger. You let out a shaky breath as he put the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucked, heat spreading through your core and slipping over your skin. You saw where he was going with this, so you took another finger and prodded at his lips, requesting entrance. Jaskier was happy to oblige, eyes fluttering shut and moaning softly as he began working your fingers as you have worked his cock countless times before. 

    As Jaskier continued his “medical aid,” you glanced over to Geralt. He was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped in the space between.  His pupils were shot, just a tiny ring of gold alluding to the rich beauty of them. His eyes were trailing up and down your bodies, and you saw him shift, the movement of the fire betraying every move he made. His gaze moved up to yours and he let out an audible breath full of frustration and wanting. At this, you threw your head back and moaned, unable to contain the sounds pulled from your arousal.

    Suddenly, Geralt stood, and you could see from the sizable bulge in his trousers that he was quite interested in Jaskier’s healing abilities. But he quickly turned and strode to Roach, barking, “I’m going to find a brothel.”

    You rolled your eyes and Jaskier released your fingers with a wet sound, causing your walls to flutter. “Oh, no no no no no…” he stood, and you got an eyeful of just how aroused he was as well, feeling more than a bit flattered. “You wouldn’t make it to the closest town by daybreak, and you know that you wouldn’t leave us out here all alone!” Jaskier practically tripped over his own feet crossing to Geralt, but he was determined. He grabbed Geralt’s shoulder and spun him around so he was facing both you and Jaskier once more. 

    Geralt opened his mouth to argue, but you spoke first, “Besides, you could just join us tonight.” You rose, skirts swirling around your legs and kissing the tops of your bare feet as you approached the two men. Geralt looked like a fish out of water, looking back and forth between you and Jaskier, neither of you saying anything more. 

    “Well, I really do not wish to intrude…” he mumbled, eyes flitting to the ground, and you could tell that he really did wish to intrude. You gently placed a finger under his chin and pulled his gaze back to you, and you saw his chest rise as he breathed in your scent. 

    “You wouldn’t be intruding, dove, we’re inviting you.” You tried to put every bit of honesty and desire in your eyes and were not disappointed when you saw the walls Geralt has built around himself start to crack and crumble. 

    Jaskier stepped behind you, hand snaking around your waist and the hard line of his cock pressing against your ass. He rested his head on your shoulder, and you just knew that he was giving Geralt that look, his big, sad, blue eyes and just the slightest pout on his lips that no one in their right mind could ever refuse.

    “You’re sure?” Geralt whispered, voice grating like rocks tumbling through a stream. Jaskier only nodded, turning his face to place a kiss to your neck. His free hand ghosted up your back and threaded his fingers through your hair. He tugged, exposing more of your neck as he started to suckle a new mark right above your shoulder. 

    You reached out, finding Geralt’s hand. Your fingers found his and squeezed, more of a movement of love than lust. He stepped towards you, closing the distance but still staying far enough away so you could still change your mind. However, you had no intention of doing that, so you brought his hand to your breast, the both of you sighing into the touch. You held him there for a heartbeat before bringing your other hand to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the sharp edge of his jaw before pulling him down to meet your lips. 

    He kissed you as though he were drowning and you were a breath of fresh air, desperate and needy. His one hand stayed on your breast, kneading at the soft skin just beneath the fabric. His other hand fell to your waist where Jaskier’s hand was and settled atop it, pulling a sweet groan from behind you. Your hands wound through his hair, trying to pull him even closer to you. 

    You pulled back, dizzy from the swirling fire up your spine and the lack of air. You slid out of both of the men’s arms, your chest heaving and spilling from the top of your bodice. 

    “Let me get the bedrolls set up.” You smile before turning, laying the three beds out together so they just formed one big one. You hear Jaskier whisper something in Geralt’s ear, causing him to growl, and then Jaskier gasps. You peek over your shoulder to see Jaskier swept up in Geralt’s arms, their mouths tangled in a fiery dance. You watch them for a moment, biting your lip watching the two men you love together like this.

    However, you soon become impatient, clearing your throat as you begin to undo the ties at the back of your bodice. You just barely roll your eyes, why didn’t Jaskier just go ahead and take care of these while he was back there? But the way the two men are looking at you is enough to quiet that line of thought, their faces hungry and their hands itching to touch, and your fingers struggle to loosen the ties. They both rush to your sides, Geralt now behind you with Jaskier in front. You feel Geralt’s fingers at the small of your back, the ties loosening as he moves. You tug Jaskier’s chemise from his trousers and over his head, being careful when you drop it so it doesn’t go flying into the fire. You’ve already had to replace one of them when you literally ripped it off of him, and he is a very picky man when it comes to his clothing. Geralt reaches the top of your shirt and places a gentle kiss to the skin right above it, sending a fresh wave of heat along your body. You let the shirt slide from your shoulders, the warmth from the fire calming the goosebumps along the newly exposed skin. 

    Jaskier’s hands move to the ties at the side of your skirts, undoing the simple knot and pulling them and your smallclothes together, letting them pool on the ground. Geralt’s hands dance along the hem of your chemise, his calloused fingers rough against the softness of your hips. He lifts the shirt over your head, and your nipples peak with the sudden exposure. His hands move back to you, reaching around and carefully pinching the peaks of your breasts. Your head drops back, resting against the solid plane of his chest as you moan, grinding your hips back into the hardness at your spine. 

    You lift your head back to resume your task, letting your hands run down Jaskier’s chest to the waist of his trousers. You undo the ties at the front, pausing for a moment to press your hand against his member and squeeze, granting a tumbling of nonsensical words from his mouth. You feel hands everywhere, and you’re not sure whose hands are doing what. They are running, dancing, squeezing, touching every bit of skin that they can find. You slip Jaskiers’s trousers and underclothes down together, placing a small kiss on his hipbone as you move. His cock is standing proud and flushed, a bead of precome dripping as it throbs under your gaze. 

    “I’m afraid that you are terribly overdressed, my dear.” Jaskier slides around you as you rise, his hands landing on Geralt’s waist to palm him through his trousers before deftly slipping the buttons open. You turn and nestle your lips against Geralt’s jaw, scraping your teeth along his jaw. Your hands reach up to his chest and fumble with the small buttons, pulling and tugging at the fabric worn soft with years of use. He reaches up and pulls the shirt over his head, your mouth moving lick and suck and nip over his chest. Scars adorn the skin, stark brushstrokes of pain and cruelty. You know that he doesn’t like to talk about them, so you don’t bring special attention to them as you run your hands along the muscles that tense under your fingers. 

    You feel Jaskier kneel, and you peek open an eye to look below you. Geralt is bare now, his cock aching and weeping, a thin stream of precome dripping towards the ground. Jaskier darts his tongue, catching it and bringing his mouth to Geralt’s cock, licking from base to tip. Geralt groans, low and dark and smoky, as he moves his hands. One of them threads into Jaskier’s chestnut hair, pushing it from his eyes as he takes Geralt’s cock in his mouth to the hilt. His other hand finds your cunt, warm and slick under his fingers. 

You lean into his touch, the heel of his hand providing a glimmer of relief that fades far too quickly. Geralt moans, thunder rumbling under his skin. You know just how talented Jaskier’s mouth is, so you can’t blame Geralt for losing himself for a moment. But you’re restless, soon rutting against his hand. The brush of your breasts along his arm brings Geralt back to you, his head turning and catching your lips in a bruising kiss, his teeth glancing against yours as he moves with you. His fingers shift, spreading you and slipping one into your core. Your back arches as he swallows your moans, his fingers sliding along your soaked cunt. He adds a second finger and pulls his head back to let you catch your breath. 

His eyes are dark, the fire casting streaks of gold and heat across them. It kisses along the scars on his face, dances up and down the sharp lines of his nose before dipping to his lips, mouth slightly agape in bliss. As Geralt adds a third finger and quickens his thrusts, you settle your hand in Jaskier’s hair, the thick locks silk around your fingers. You scratch lightly, flitting around Geralt’s hand that still clutches desperately to him. Jaskier starts focusing on just the tip of Geralt’s cock, sucking and licking as his hand moves up and down the rest of him.

Suddenly, Geralt pulls back, his cock falling from Jaskier’s lips. “Ah, wait, I..I don’t want this to end yet…” he gasps, his cock falling a bit under its own weight. You lean down, slipping your tongue into Jaskier’s mouth and tasting Geralt on his lips. You savor the taste, licking as much as you can as you pull Jaskier to the bedrolls. He stays kneeling and you settle on your knees, your back to him once more. 

“If you don’t mind, Geralt,” you say, looking up at the man towering over you, his silver hair starting to fall from the tie and flutter around his face. “I’ve gotten a little taste of you from Jaskier, and I would very much like to have some more.” 

You reach your hand to his and draw him down to kneel as well, directing him to sit facing you. Your eyes trail his body, roving up his hands to his broad shoulders, the swells of his chest to the meat of his thighs that you yearn to be buried beneath. His cock twitches under your gaze, another little bead of precome settling at the tip. You set your hands on his thighs, running them up and down, just feeling the strength that sits just under the skin. You dive forward and take him in your mouth, his member slick with saliva and his own arousal. You just barely let your tongue circle the tip, his hips jerking forward slightly. You grin before letting your mouth fall open and taking him as far as you can go, your hand moving to cover the rest at the base. Geralt growls, something ancient and enduring. He is warm and heavy in your mouth, and he gently runs his hands along your arms and down your back as you start to move your mouth along him. 

Jaskier grips your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin. He runs a finger along your slit, making you moan around Geralt’s length. You feel him throb in your mouth as Jaskier moves to press his cock to your core, coating himself in your slick. He shifts, aligning himself at your entrance. He strokes your hip with his thumb, a wash of sparks running in its wake.

“Ready, my love?” Jaskier asks, and you nod, pausing your movements so that he doesn’t push you further into Geralt than you can take. He takes you in one swift movement, all three of your moans a timeless symphony for the empty forest. 

He stills as you resume with Geralt in your mouth, pulling your cheeks in as you are filled from both ends. Every thrust that Jaskier makes sends you sparking along Geralt’s cock, his thighs shuddering beneath your hands as all of your climaxes rapidly approached. Weeks of wanting and waiting have led to this, and Geralt leans forward to catch Jaskier’s lips above you. It pushes both cocks impossibly deep, and as Jaskier’s hips snap against yours relentlessly, the wall of pleasure within your core shatters. Your back arches and you moan around Geralt’s cock and your cunt clenches Jaskier like a vice, squeezing and fluttering and pulling them both to their own climaxes. 

You feel Jaskier spill within you, his cock pressing against a spot that makes you see stars in your pleasure, and you can feel his spend start to drip down your thighs. Geralt makes a choked off noise above you, spending himself down your throat. Through the salty musk, you taste something sweet, it reminds you of blackberries but it’s darker than that. You swallow every bit, licking him through his climax and letting him go as his hands pulled you up to him. You feel Jaskier slip himself out of you, even more of his spend dripping from you in its wake.

You turn your head, allowing Jaskier the same privilege of tasting Geralt on your tongue, and he moans sweetly into your mouth at the taste. As you pull back, your chest heaving with every breath, you notice that Geralt is still hard and is staring at the both of you as if you were gods. You move forward, turning to lay on your back. Jaskier settles beside you, putting his arm underneath your head and placing a gentle kiss above your ear. 

“Geralt, please” you say, sounding much more desperate than you were going for. Geralt moved to kneel between your thighs, placing a burning kiss to the inside of your knee. He lines himself up and slowly inches into you. You hiss at the overstimulation, but you’re loose and wet from your previous climax so the burn is almost nonexistent. He leans over you, his nose brushing against yours and his medallion resting between your breasts as he starts to move.

He starts slow, but you meet his thrusts faster and faster, Jaskier sliding a hand to rub your clit in tight circles. Geralt shifts your hips and hits the bundle of nerves that rests deep within you, cursing as your legs lock around his hips. 

“Ah,” he says as you throw your head back and dig your nails into his shoulder, “there it is.” He sounds all too pleased with himself, but you can’t be bothered to make a witty remark in return. He moves harder and faster, hitting that spot over and over and over, and as you turn your head to meet Jaskier’s lips, you feel Geralt sink his teeth into the side of your neck and growl as he finds his next release inside of you. Each throb pushes further and further inside of you and you plummet into ecstasy once more, both of your climaxes prolonging each others’. You stutter out a stream of meaningless sounds, they could be curses, prayers, random kitchen ingredients, you’re not sure. All that matters are the stars under your eyes and the countless hands roving your skin. 

As you both come back down, Geralt slowly pulls back out of you and flops gracelessly onto the bedroll next to you. Jaskier turns, grabbing the skin of water and taking a sip before passing it around. The fire has burned to embers, the crackling once more the only sound in the darkness. You turn to Geralt, pulling him to lay on his side and rest against your chest. You place a kiss at the crown of his head as he wraps an arm around your waist, humming appreciatively as he feels Jaskier’s hand join his once more as the bard wraps himself around you from behind. Your legs are all tangled together, comfort and warmth and heartbeats and crackling embers lulling you to sleep, the darkness settling over you in her grasp.

[kyberphilosopher]

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with. 

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from. 

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened. 

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you. 

The real prize was Obi-Wan. 

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless. 

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits. 

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life. 

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

 However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare. 

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride. 

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought. 

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens. 

And, of course, you were there in the middle. 

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth. 

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it. 

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged. 

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother. 

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there. 

                                    ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently. 

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable. 

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however. 

“What’re you looking at?” you mused. 

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing. 

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?” 

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself. 

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves. 

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list. 

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped. 

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it. 

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown. 

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times? 

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing. 

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively. 

Then you disappeared again. 

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support. 

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock. 

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most. 

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back. 

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission. 

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission. 

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.” 

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago. 

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war. 

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff. 

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening. 

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him. 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked. 

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you. 

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. 

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called. 

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t. 

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground. 

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement. 

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done. 

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so. 

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything. 

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it. 

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached. 

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank. 

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’. 

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath. 

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left. 

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you. 

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean. 

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way. 

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly. 

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature. 

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed. 

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees. 

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again. 

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety. 

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright. 

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment. 

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka. 

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce. 

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that. 

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward. 

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano. 

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!” 

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her. 

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side. 

And Obi-Wan knew that. 

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward. 

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that. 

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over. 

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it. 

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you. 

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders. 

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear. 

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan. 

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days. 

A choke escapes your throat. 

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real. 

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret. 

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia. 

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin​ @typicalfanlife​

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things. 

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Chapter 25: In the Womb of the Earth.

*waves at all y’all collectively* I CAME BACK LIKE I SAID I WOULD!!!

So, I started this chapter way back in November/December (read: after the previous chapter posted) and then everything fell apart. My health took a nosedive (I’m having surgery day after tomorrow) and I was literally focused on getting thru the day and surviving work and my brain couldn’t function on the level I needed it to to write this chapter. Things have gotten a little better (soon to be a LOT better) and I managed to crank this one out!

Special thanks to @thefraserwitch for the constant stream of texts that inspired a whole heckuva lot and to @diversemediums for being the confirming POST IT voice that I seem to always need in my life. Y’all rock.

BUT ANYWAY HERES THE DEETS

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night to Jamie?

You can find the previous chapter here (Part One / Part Two) if you need to catch up (I wouldn’t blame you). You can also find the master list of the whole fic here on Tumblr or its also current on AO3.

___________________________________________

February 20th, 1744; The Abbey, Scotland.

“I’m fine,” I glared at Jamie and pointed to our chamber’s door for good measure, insisting, “Go.”

He made no move to do so, his auburn brows bunched together in concern instead as he observed, “Ye’re lookin’ a bit green aboot the gills, Sassenach.”

“I’m just tired,” I hedged.

It certainly wasn’t a lie.

We’d sail with the next morning’s tide and the knowledge had everyone on edge. No one had slept well the night before, nor had anyone high hopes of the day passing quickly. Time seemed to stretch on forever now that the end was in sight and my husband’s nervous presence — though well intended — was becoming insufferable.

“Can I help ye back into bed, a’ least?” he offered. “Do ye think you could sleep a wee bit?”

I contemplated this, then turned my gaze to my usual chair by the fire. It was a worn out sort — overstuffed to the point that it made reclining bliss — with a low footstool to accommodate my swollen ankles.

Did I want to lay down completely… or just sit a while?

A wave of bone-aching fatigue washed over me, but my brain rattled off all the things that still needed to be done before we left.

How many more linens would Brother Erastus let me turn into nappies?

Brother Nathaniel said he’d see to the food stores for the journey, but I wanted to inspect them yet today… so I’d have time to repack should I need to.

Come to that, were our things packed?

I winced, knowing I’d think of a dozen more things my weary mind had forgotten once I got started.

Maybe I would just sit a bit.

A decidedly Scottish noise broke into my thoughts as a warm hand slipped around mine, gently leading me towards the edge of the bed.

I opened my mouth to protest but stopped as he eased me onto the soft mattress, swinging my feet up and helping me roll onto my left side. I grabbed for all the available pillows — gleefully seizing Jamie’s — and was soon completely ensconced.

Bloody hell, this feels amazing.

I heard a rumble of laughter from above me and lifted my face for a kiss, Jamie happily obliging.

“Sleep well, my hen,” he crooned, his thumb gently stroking my cheek as his lips hovered just above mine.

I realized that I really must look something like a mother hen tucked up in her nest and a slow smile spread across my face as I kissed him again.

“I willna be gone long,” he assured me a moment later when we came up for air. “Jus’ to see Murtagh about the carriage, aye?”

“Take your time… I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Jerking awake to the sound of the door bouncing off the wall, I caught a rather undignified squeal of alarm just before it left my lips as I was yanked from a deep, numbing sleep and thrust unceremoniously into the land of the living.

I lifted my head from the pillow and discovered I was no longer alone in the room, but now in the middle of a veritable bear pit. Loud, male declarations of Herself’s safe arrival and that there’d been nae trouble aboot the matter at all only muddied the waters as I blinked groggily, hastily looking for my husband amid the array of kilts and breeks.

“Aye, place it there,” came his voice, followed by a muffled thud as they did so, and I dropped my head back down onto the pillow.

He was here. He obviously had things — whatever the hell they may be — well in hand. If I were needed, he certainly knew where to find me.

My hand slid up between the sheets and I lifted it to my face, rubbing my heavy eyes as I tried to place what on earth they could be talking about. Why they couldn’t use proper nouns in this godforsaken country like any other civilized people was beyond me.

The movement accomplished nothing except to wake the rest of my body up, settling a dull, pulsating throb in the depths of my skull and my hip to aching with such a veracity that I could have sworn my fall in the Theive’s Hole had been yesterday, not four months ago.

“Jamie?” I called and the room fell instantly silent as they all quite suddenly remembered my presence.

My voice had sounded pitiful, even to my own ears, but I didn’t care. I needed him to explain what the hell was going on and get the rest of these men out of my room… and he’d better do it quick.

“Och, I’m sorry to be wakin’ ye, lass!” Willie’s voice was the first to profess from somewhere at the back of the crowd, “Tis only tha’ we thought ye’d be wantin’ to ken wha—“

But Jamie immediately pushed through the throng and succinctly cut him off, his face drawn with concern as he nearly threw himself onto the floor at the side of the bed. I reached for him and he bent over me, kissing my brow softly as he apologized profusely, “Christ, I’m sorry, lass!”

My abject confusion over the situation must have been evident, for he continued on without letting me speak.

“Lady Drummohr sends you her good wishes, mo nighean donn… She says she hopes she’ll see you at dinner but understands if you dinna feel up to it… Says she remembers bein’ this far wi’ her own bairns an’ wouldna blame ye if he didna leave yer chamber this evenin’... I’ll give her your thanks, aye?”

I shook my head, dismissing both the notion that I was so feeble that couldn't leave my room and the cancellation of the opportunity to see a real, bonafide mother in the flesh for the first time since arriving at the abbey ten weeks ago.

“What is that?” I scowled vaguely in Murtagh’s direction, where a good sized trunk lay at the man’s feet. He stood beside Jamie with the barest hint of a smile beneath his heavy beard and I knew something was up.

I may have a name to go with the who but I still hadn’t the foggiest idea of the what.

“Aye, tis from the Lady,” Jamie continued, his face brightening with excitement. “She said she didna ken how much you were able to take awa’ with you, so she brought some things you may be needin’ for yourself an’ the bairns.”

“Oh, Jamie…”

All of the air left my lungs in a mighty whoosh as everything came rushing back to me.

We would, indeed, be sailing to France, but first we would have to successfully make it aboard the ship.

There were at least half a dozen of His Majesty’s finest dragoons stationed in the village just outside the abbey and positioned at strategic points between here and the harbor. We would need to fool every single one of them… and Dougal had found a perfect cover for us in one Lady Margaret Grant of Drummohr. Hailing from Dalkeith, a good three days' ride away, she would not be recognized as anything other than a traveling woman of good repute.

I could then take her place with a nom de guerre of my choosing, with Jamie and Murtagh trading places with two of her footmen, and we’d safely ride to the harbor in our luxurious borrowed carriage. Should we be stopped leaving the abbey — and heaven forbid we would — I could explain in my blatantly British accent that I was sailing for Le Havre where I would be meeting my merchant marine husband.

But I hadn’t counted on Lady Margaret being generous above and beyond her arrangement with Dougal.

My free hand lifted to my lips, my fingers trembling as Jamie undid the latch and opened the trunk. He lifted out a small quilt and placed it on the coverlet before me, then froze as he spotted the fragile contents below.

“Oh God, Claire,” Jamie wheezed, immobile at the sight of four tiny baby gowns.

I reached out blindly through sudden tears, needing to touch the garments — to touch him — and was rewarded with both. His arms wrapped around me again, his head dipping into the curve of my neck as the tips of my fingers reverently traced the swirls of thistles and leaves around the neck of one gown.

“I don’t... I didn’t have any clothes for them,” I swallowed hard, trying to tramp down the feeling of complete and utter inadequacy, “Jamie, I barely have nappies for them to shit it, how the hell am I supposed to be a mother to them?!”

His head lifted and his blue eyes — so completely calm, damn him — focused on mine, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile as he assured, “We’ll manage it, mo nighean donn… There’s the both of us, aye? I’ll no’ be lettin’ ye fall.”

I kissed him then, pulling him closer in desperate urgency. His lips met mine and anchored me to him, holding me fast as I tried to make sense of the storm building around me.

“I’ve got you,” he crooned, pressing my head against his chest when we came up for air.

I concentrated on the sound of his pulse, the rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, and slowly felt clarity return to me.

“What else is in there?” I sniffed.

His arms loosened around me and he peered over the edge of the trunk a moment.

“More wee things for the bairns… but I think this one’s for you, Sassenach.”

With this he let go, retrieving a bodice and woolen skirt dyed a deep navy blue from the depths of the wooden chest.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t fit you,” I grinned and took it from him.

He grunted good naturedly at my jest and obediently bent his head for a closer look when I shoved the bodice back into his lap, cheering with delight.

“Oh, aye,” he nodded appreciatively, yet his voice held that hollow tone of disproportionate earnest. “Tha’ll do verra nicely for you, Sassenach.”

I rose one brow at him, “You have no idea why I’m excited about it, do you?”

“Aye, well… tis a new frock, isn’t it? An’ a bonnie one a’ that,” his grin turned sheepish as he confessed.

I lunged for him, meaning to poke him between the ribs, but he caught my hands well in time and I laughed.

“The boning, the lacing of it,” I nodded towards the bodice, “It’s made for mothers!”

“Oh, aye?” his brows shot up at this and he dropped my hands in order to take a second, proper look.

I began to examine the waistband of the matching skirt as he did so and very much liked what I found.

“So’s this,” I continued. “I can wear it now and continue to after they’re here.”

He handed it back with a greater appreciation, his gaze growing wistful, “Did Jenny’s gowns have such things?”

I nodded, fighting back my gut-wrenching yearning for Jamie’s elder sister. It was always there, brooding under the surface as I contemplated our life to come. I didn’t have much of anything in the way of worldly goods, but what I did have, I’d gladly give to have her with us.

“We may be leaving Scotland at dawn,” I whispered hoarsely, then swallowed hard in order to continue, “but I know we’ll be back… I just know it. You children will see their birthright. I promise you.”

He leaned forward and kissed me softly, the promise of his body, of his protection and undying love echoing my own.

Leaning back after a moment with a sigh, his gaze fell on the tiny baby gowns and his eyes took on a light of complete wonder.

“I havena held a bairn in a verra long time,” his voice was deeper than usual, husky with longing to take his own children into his arms. “I ken they’ll be wee… but, a dhia, Sorcha, I forgot just how much so.”

I draped the gowns over the swell of our children and brought his hand to the place where one insisted on causing a disturbance within me.

Nodding, I pressed hard against them, urging them to respond to us, “But they’re strong.”

“Aye,” he brought his lips to mine as his children proved my point emphatically, “Just like their mother.”

…

Later That Evening

Dinner had been delightful, though we’d still excused ourselves as soon as was appropriate, citing our early departure.

But in truth, I had only one destination in mind.

The hot spring.

I shut the door of our chamber behind us with a grin and leaned against it, insisting abruptly, “Take off your clothes.”

Jamie started visibly then burst out laughing as he sat down hard upon the bed.

“Oh, aye?” He rose a brow when he could finally speak, his shoulders still shaking, “Is tha’ how it’s goin’ to be?”

Heat rose to my cheeks as I shook my head in mock derision, reaching over to the nearly empty chest of drawers and withdrawing two homespun robes of a deep chestnut hue. I tossed one to him and his amusement turned to curiosity.

“I want to show you something,” I blurted, not wanting to give away the surprise and yet needing to get him out of the room somehow.

Both brows rose nearly to his hairline as he looked at me skeptically.

“An’ I must wear this?”

I undid the lacing of my new bodice, commenting, “We both are.”

“Ye’re delirious, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Ye canna be tellin’ me ye mean to wander about in nothin’ but that?”

“Well,” my blush rose considerably and I wished he’d just put on the damn thing and be done with it already, “it covers more than you’d think… and I stick to the shadows.”

“Ye’ve done this before?!”

The incredulity of the idea had him back on his feet in an instant, a fire burning bright in his eyes.

“I have,” my chin rose defiantly, “and I plan on doing it one last time before we go.”

A slow grin spread across his face, the indignation in his eyes melting into unfettered requirement.

“With me?”

“Of course with you,” I snorted, shoving his robe against his chest. “Just put the bloody thing on, will you?”

He did so immediately, then helped me in turn, all the while his grin permanently splitting his face in two.

“Good,” I appraised him, adjusting the belt around my waist more securely.

“Shall we go, then?”

Jamie rose a brow at this and opened the door, bowing low over his hand as he gestured into the deep shadows of the hall.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his arm, we made our way wordlessly along the dark passageways. We turned this way and that, the slope of the floor slowly dipping as we got closer. Finally reaching the door to the passageway, I opened it and sighed with relief as I found the sconces already lit.

We continued on for some time and eventually had to walk single file as the tunnel narrowed.

“Are ye sure ye ken where we’re goin’?” Jamie asked skeptically from behind me, his frown evident in the darkness.

I suppressed a laugh and brushed the tips of my fingers along the solid rock wall, “Well, there’s no chance of us taking a wrong turn, now is there?”

The tunnel was dimly lit and full of twists and turns, but held no offshoots or forks of any sort. It simply led to our destination, which was the only reason the brothers let me travel to and fro unattended. There was absolutely no chance of me getting lost underground as I traversed completely naked beneath my borrowed robe.

Brother Jeremiah had introduced me to the abbey’s restorative hot springs during the long weeks of Jamie’s recovery. I could slip away and find relief for a few hours as Murtagh watched over our beloved charge. The warm buoyancy of the water relieved the pressure of the lives within me, rewinding time to give my body back to me. The quiet solitude soothed my frazzled nerves and slowly healed the mental and emotional wounds inflicted by the horrible ordeal we had all just gone through.

The heat of the spring wafted towards us quite suddenly and a shiver of excitement ran up my spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

“We’re almost there,” I assured him unnecessarily.

The light of the cavern was discernible before us — bless the brothers for preparing it for us — and Jamie now could see it for himself. We continued on a few paces more and then we stood in the midst of the gaping cavern. Sconces were positioned here and there between us and the shore, attempting to illuminate the void, but great gaps of darkness stood beyond and it was clear that the space was a good deal larger than either of us could imagine.

I let out a sigh of absolute delight, so relieved to finally be here, and asked, “Do you like it?”

Jamie didn’t answer but looked around with his mouth agape. I knew the feeling fell, but my eagerness to be within the pool had me disrobing before my poor husband knew what was happening. I had one foot in when his voice stopped me.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he burst in delight, “‘tis a hot spring!”

I laughed and continued my descent down the carved stone steps.

“Oh, you do. Good,” I grinned and reached the bottom. “Do come in, then.”

Jamie shed his robe, but kept a firm hold of his skepticism, asking from the top of the stairs, “How hot is it? Should ye be bathin’ in it in yer condition, Sassenach?”

I shook my head, my curls splaying this way and that on the surface of the water, and I rolled my eyes.

If he only knew how bloody amazing it feels in here.

The muscles of my lower back had immediately relaxed upon contact with the water, my hips loosened and my breathing eased. They seemed to like it too, for they tumbled with delight at the first and then settled into a blissful slumber. I could walk slowly about, stretching my long limbs without the strain of gravity. Or I sometimes lay my arms on the stone ledge of the shore, resting my head atop them as I let my legs float out from beneath me… levitating weightless in the water.

“It gets hotter the further out you go,” I assured him, gesturing vaguely into the darkness. “I stay over here in the shallows and I’m just fine… it's like a splendid bath that never grows cold.”

He continued in, the water slowly swallowing him up as he joined me. The awe was back in his eyes, now seeing and feeling for himself what a splendid thing this was. He wiggled his toes in the clean, black sand at the bottom of the pool, sending pulsating currents over my own. The surface looked deceptively still, but there were small currents here and there if you knew where to find them… the pulse of the living, breathing spring.

Jamie turned to grin at me in the darkness, his teeth flashing white in the sconces’ flickering light.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he repeated and shook his head, completely at a loss.

I laughed, “You approve, then?”

“Oh, aye,” he insisted, looking ‘round excitedly. “I do, indeed.”

Jamie bounced on his toes slightly as he squinted out into the darkness.

“How far does it go?”

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “It got too hot for me.”

He nodded with an adorable sense of determination and I knew he was out to explore this oasis I had just introduced him to. He started to move away but I touched his arm, stopping him for a moment.

“Be careful, alright?”

His face melted and he leaned back in for a kiss, nudging my nose with his, “Aye, I’ll keep an eye for any wee beasties.”

“Any big ones too.”

“Mmm,” he kissed me again, “I think we’re quite safe, m ’ionmhas. Though, tis a shame we left our pet selkie behind, hmm?”

I laughed and shoved him away, letting him explore to his heart’s content. I could hear him splash this way and that, muttering to himself, but was surprised when he returned shortly after he left.

“Nothing out there?”

He snorted, “Entirely too much that I canna see… and you’re right, tis a good deal hotter out there.”

His skin was delightfully warm as I slipped my arms around his neck with a sigh. Resting my cheek against his chest, I let my feet float out beneath me. He towed me slowly around the edge of the pool, the water rippling over my legs and abdomen feeling remarkably like his caressing hands. I became warmer and more aroused by the moment, the tips of my sensitive breasts brushed against his chest and set off fireworks deep within me.

He found the man-made niche cut into the wall that I liked to frequent and sat on the wooden bench, pulling me to sit sideways on his lap. I knew there was plenty of room for both of us on it and pushed him backwards as I moved to straddle him. The eager glow in his eyes set me afire as I settled myself more comfortably, treasuring him for a moment before guiding him home. The accompanying inrush of hot water surprised me for a brief moment, but I soon found it incredibly exhilarating and settled myself with a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, I like that one,” he purred.

I blinked at him stupidly and asked, “Like what?”

“That sound you made,” he explained, the delight evident in his eyes, “the wee squeak.”

I didn’t think it was possible to blush — I knew my skin was already flushed to the point of beet red — and I found myself dropping my gaze, hoping my hair would fall in my face and hide my embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

Jamie tipped my chin up, brushing the curls from my brow as he insisted gently, “I said I like it.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what to say to that and found I didn’t have to, for he continued.

“And I do… ‘tis one of the things I like best about bedding you, Sassenach,” he grinned, “the small noises that you make.”

He cradled my head in his hands, kissing me with an urgency that made me forget myself once more, and shifted his hips just so beneath me. I half stifled a gasp and he commented softly, “Aye, like that.”

“That's what I thought most about,” Jamie murmured, his hands slowly caressing my back, curving around to cup my breasts, to frame the swell of our children.

“In prison, at night… chained in a room with dozens of other men, listening to the snoring and farting and groaning. I thought of those small, tender sounds that you make when I love you… and I could feel you there next to me in the dark, breathing soft and then faster, and the little grunt that you give when I first take you, as though you were settling yourself to your job.”

My breathing was certainly coming faster now, my head light. Had it not been for my rather firm hold of him down below the surface, I was sure I would have floated far away into oblivion.

“Even better,” his lips brushed against my neck, sending a shiver of delight up and down my spine, “when I come to you fierce and wanting... and ye wimper under me and struggle as though you’re struggling to get away, and I know ‘tis only that you’re struggling to come closer... and I’m fighting the same fight.”

His hands sank to my hips, slipping between us to caress the stretched and yearning point of our joining. I quivered and my breath went from me in an unwilled gasp.

“Or when I come to you needing… and you take me into you with a sigh and that quiet hum like a hive of bees in the sun,” a sweet smile played at his lips, “and ye carry me into peace with a little moaning sound.”

“Jamie,” I hoarsely whispered, my need nearly strangling me. “Jamie, please.”

He kissed me soundly as his hands settled around my waist, slowing me until I groaned around his lips.

“Not yet. We’ve time, mo chridhe,” he calmly answered. “I mean to hear ye groan like that again… to moan and sob, though ye dinna wish to, for ye canna help it… I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break and scream with the wanting...  and at last to cry out in my arms… and I shall know I’ve served you well.”

With that, my release overtook me, shooting like a dart into the depths of my belly. It loosened my joints so that my arms slipped limp off his shoulders, Jamie’s steadying hands all that kept me from drowning.

Resting my head against his chest, I felt boneless as a jellyfish. I didn’t know — or care — what sort of noises I’d been making, but felt incapable of coherent speech.

That is, until he began to move again... strong as a shark under the water.

“Oh God, no,” I protested. “Jamie, no. I can’t bear it like that again.”

The blood was still pounding in my fingertips and his movement inside me was an exquisite torture.

“You can… for I love you,” his lips brushed against my neck. “And you will, for I want you… but, dinna fash, for this time I go with you.”

Bloody hell, you’re coming with me, I vowed.

I lifted my hands to his chest and splayed my fingers wide, still trembling as I pressed my palms against his slippery skin. Sliding my hands up, I took hold of his shoulders and shoved him the couple inches backwards into the stone wall of the niche with all the strength I could muster.

Jamie’s eyes flew open in surprise and the arousal I found there was the second wind I needed.

His brows rose suggestively and I sat back — settling myself to my business, as he had so eloquently stated before. His hands settled at my waist, curving round to clenching my buttocks tightly as I rode him towards oblivion.

A low groan rumbled within him and I cupped one hand beneath his head, pulling back up to me by the scruff of his neck. I was rewarded with a Christ, Claire and kissed him hard as I sank even deeper. It wouldn’t — couldn’t — be long now for either of us and with that knowledge, I tossed restraint to the wind.

“You are mine,” I repeated, the final vowel twisting into a cry of pure ecstacy.

I heard his own cry and I knew I had served him well.

[rirah1writes]

Chapter two

Patience and Penitence.

A/N: Chapter two. I’m actually loving the plot behind this series and I hope I can stay as true to the comics as possible. I hope everyone reading enjoys. P.s. Don't be afraid to message me with suggestions or requests for the next chapter. Much loveee!

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff (Smut {*Very Soon*} in future chapters) 

Summary: Tony and peter draw some conclusions,  y/n is very clumsy and also very late to class, and Peter decides its time to face up and make an appearance. 

Read Chapter One here

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Penitence; (noun): The action of feeling or showing sorrow and regret for having done wrong; Repentance. 

“Were fucked how...wait why?” Peter breathed in deeply and ran his hands through his curls. He thought back to you when you would ask him questions about your physics assignments and how patient he would try to be to help you understand. 

Be patient.

“These...beings...are using us as hosts. Think about this like...an organ transplant or a blood transfusion.” Peter was stumbling over his words, trying to make sense of it himself when really, he had a feeling they had only just scratched the surface. “If it's not the right type, then it won’t work, yeah?” Tony nodded. “I get it, kid, I’m a mechanic not a dumbass, these aliens aren't compatible with the people they're trying to feed off of, so, therefore...they die.” Peter breathed out. “Exactly.” his eyes began lulling back, exhaustion was just now hitting him, despite the intriguing discovery they were making. 

“So the one that attacked you...Didn’t deem you a suitable host?” Tony looked at peter up and back down. “Not to be weird, but I find that hard to believe.” Peter furrowed his brow and chuckled softly. “Meaning?” he grumbled out as he leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “Think about it, you regenerate and recover thrice the normal rate of any human, I’ve seen you stop a bus with your bare hands, lift an airplane terminal, and hold together a ferry that was split in half. So if I was a symbiote...I’d, ya know...get up in that.” Peter laughed and his head fell in his hands as he tried to ponder what had happened.

San Francisco wouldn't be so bad for a week. y/n was stressed out anyways from finals and Fury had said he needed help with some intel they had gathered about the Life Foundation, harboring foreign lifeforms, and they needed to be confiscated from the “Rather stubborn” CEO, Dr. Carlton Drake. “Nothing some goddamn force can’t fix. Besides, your Ironman and Spider boy, and I'm Nick-fuckin’-Fury what can go wrong?” Peter grumbled under his breath “It’s spider- MAN” and Tony shot him a warning look as they neared the highway gate.  

Getting through to the front entrance was easy enough, (Nick was very convincing) and up to the labs was a treat until push came to shove and Dr. Drake refused, as Peter expected he would, to give up his “Life's work” The next thing he knew, guns were being fired, webs were being shot, one blast from Tony’s suit, and three symbiotes had escaped. 

Peter couldn't remember much of how it happened, only that he felt as if his skin was meshing, bonding with something unnatural. Next came a burning heat and impending hunger, an unfillable void. Tony was quick to get him to their jet a mile away, but as the engines revved up, a searing pain shot through his entire being, and then moments later...a a sweet release, no more pain. 

“Tony, you know, I don't think they like loud noise...You’re right. The symbiote did want to get inside of me.” Stark shifted and gave peter a disapproving look. “No, all jokes aside, I would have made a more than suitable host, but the noise from the engines drove it out, its like...harmful to them.” Tony nodded slowly. “Makes plenty of sense kid, but listen if I don't sleep soon I’m sure ill literally die.” Peter nodded, studying his mentor and longtime friend. His eyes were glassy, his hands looked worn from many years of work and tinkering, and his face was hollow looking from a lack of sleep. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. You look like shit.” Tony’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Ugh... ‘Mr. Stark’? You haven't called me that since you were fifteen. Don't say that ever again.” They both laughed and then slowly fell into silence, both mulling over their thoughts. 

“And will you be crashing here for a couple of hours, or sleeping on the rooftop of the abandoned building across Fifth Avenue?” Peter was yanked back to reality by the shock of his question, he stared blankly at Tony. “I know you sleep there every night, kiddo. But if you would just go and talk to her you wouldn't have to.” Peter thought seriously about these words. “Nah...It’s not safe yet, I don't know if that thing is coming back for me, I don't want to put her in danger. The time will come.” He rocked his head back, thinking of you, safe in your bed, curled up without him. “When exactly is that Pete? After she’s found another man?” Peter mulled over those words. 

When she’s found another man...Maybe she’s safe in her bed in another mans arms...

But why wouldn't she move on? y/n was a beautiful woman, and every day that passed was a day Peter was teaching her to live without him. He closed his eyes because he felt tears begin to well up, the hurt and guilt ate away at him, but he couldn't let Tony see this, he already knew, he didn't need to see it as well. Tony stood up patting a hand on his shoulder. “You should go talk to May. Your strangely fine aunt might have some good advice.” Peter stood up and followed Tony into the foyer. The sun was peeking into the sky now and casting hues of beautiful mandarin, crimson red, and pink. “Oh what you talk to Aunt May now?” Peter joked. “Have been for a while” Tony turned around and winked. “Just kidding, but really go see your aunt. She used to talk to y/n all the time when you first moved to San Fran, now that you’re back she’ll be glad to see you...she’ll have a lot to fill you in on.”

Peter was confused as Tony spoke in riddles but he paid it no mind, he was too tired to care about anything except sleeping. Pulling his suit back on, he heard Tony holler over his shoulders “Night, kid.” This was amusing considering the early hour, but Peter and Tony didn't seem to have a set schedule for sleep these days. He swung out over the terrace and weaved between the buildings until he neared their familiar old apartment, the same one May swore shed never leave, not unless she got married. Peter climbed up the brick, and slipped into his old bedroom, scowling silently about the window being unlocked, but he decided not to fuss, May was expecting him. Slipping out of his suit and into his bed, Peter let himself rest for the first time in months, his thoughts drifting to you. 

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The smell of bacon stirred peter from his sleep. He was sure he had dreamt of you. Soft remnants, a silky kiss you had placed over his lips, whispering something he wasn't able to remember. Sweet nothings. He pushed his eyes open fully now, fingers tracing his lips, they were hot and swollen, as if yours had actually been there. Looking at the clock next to him he realized he had slept an entire day, all the way into the next morning. Slowly stretching out of bed he gazed over at his dresser and saw a framed picture you had got for him one year on his birthday. A keen smile spread across his lips as he studied how wide your grin had been, and how genuine your laugh was, so genuine that your cute nose scrunched up and your eyes were closed tight. 

I want to see you laugh like that again...

“Peter, are you awake?” He was jarred from his memories of you, walking over and pulling the bedroom door, he saw may looming in the kitchen in her oversized tee, and biker shorts, her hair was thrown back into a bun, and she was squelching and giggling as the grease popped at her. “Turn the heat down a little, May.” She whipped around and grinned wildly at him. “Peter, just look at you!” She carried on as she threw her arms around him, bantering about how much she’d missed him and why he didn't call more. Peter took his seat at the table, running his hands through his untamed curls. “I would have been back sooner, but I had to make sure it was safe.” May nodded understandingly, she knew all about what was going on, everything that had happened. “And how is y/n?” her tone became soft, peter knew this was because she already knew the answer: Not good. 

“I don't know may...I haven't actually talked to her yet.” She curled her lip as she shook her head disapprovingly. “I raised you better than that...Sitting out on that damn abandoned building day and night, but you won’t go talk to her, let her know you’re alive and okay...it’s cruel Peter.” Her words were like daggers to him, piercing his heart, even though he knew they were marred with love and care. “How do you know I sit out there every day and night huh?” He questioned her, apparently she and Tony had been talking. “Happy told me.” Her answer was simple and it made Peter raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh did he now?” A childlike grin came over his face, as may shood him off. “Oh, that's none of your business. And in any case, stop changing the subject, you need to go see her Peter, it's not fair.” He shook his head. “Not yet May, it's not safe...” Peter was shocked when she threw the pan down into the sink with a loud thud and whipped around at him.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you’re starting to sound like you dad. If it wasn't safe you wouldn't be here right now.” All that Peter could do was stare in shock. It had been such a long time since she had raised her voice at him. “You left her in the middle of the night, giving her a one-sentenced note. No texts, no calls, nothing to show for four years with that girl. She was over here every night for the longest time crying and wondering where you went, and I had to lie to her for you.” Peter’s heart fell at the image of you sitting at May’s kitchen table, crying as she rubbed your back and poured you tea. May was a true caregiver at heart. “Now its time for you to go tell her the truth. Forget your secret identity, forget the symbiotes. And just tell her the truth, Peter.” He knew she only told him for his own good, but he didn't even know how to begin to tell you the truth. “I don't know how to do it May! I can't just waltz up to her and say ‘Hey I’m Spiderman, yeah I lied to you about that for four years, oh also I ran away for a year because I had an alien lifeform trying to possess me and kill everyone.’ I mean, that just doesn’t work.” 

May shot him a look, but he could tell she was attempting to be understanding. “Alright, Peter do what you think is best.” Peter sighed relief. He did plan on telling you, just in a way he knew you could process it. “But, don't come crying when she finally moves on. Better for her to know the truth than think you just don't give a damn, so she finds another man...MJ tells me a boy from her Criminology class really has the hots for her his name is Justin, James...? Something like that...rumor has it he’s not bad looking either.” Peter knew May was doing this on purpose, but all the same, he felt his face grew hot, he turned to get up and go shower. “Where you going, Pete?” She called out after him as he stormed out of the kitchen. “To take a shower and look presentable, if I’m going to talk to y/n I’m not going looking like this.” May smiled slyly to herself as he continued to grumble and slammed shut the bathroom door. He had always wondered if you had moved on and found another man, but hearing a name made everything real, and Peter would be damned if another man would be cozying up to his princess at night. All he could do is explain everything to you, lay all the truth out on the table, and hope you would forgive him. I need her forgiveness, but even more, I need to express my remorse. 

Peter thought back to all the nights he laid alone in bed, tangled in cold sheets, missing you. Guilt shot from his chest and left a knot in his throat as he pondered how you must have felt in the same condition, not knowing or understanding a thing about why he had vanished. He let the steaming water pour over his skin as his thoughts raced, one lone word recurring in his mind.

Penitence. 

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“Shit” You cursed under your breath as you tripped over absolutely nothing and sloshed coffee onto your white tee. Not that you were surprised because being a tad clumsy came to you naturally. Getting to class this morning had been a struggle. The universe seemed to be working against you, as it normally did when one was double majoring. You kept mulling over in your head your schedule for the day. Criminology at nine, lunch by twelve probably from Delmar's, probably on the go, next class by one-thirty, then ill go home and study, later to the grocery store...Internally planning was one way you kept your mind busy. And with everything you had going on, your thoughts had been able to stay away from Peter for the past week. You suddenly felt someone walking next to you and it caused your head to snap up, breaking your concentration, and causing you to drop the whole cup. “Fuck...” you cursed under your breath, glancing next to you. 

Oh god, here we fucking go...

“Hey y/n. Need a hand?” Justin smiled at you slyly. Always with the sexual undertones, as if he wanted to eat you right there in the sidewalk. Disgusting. Just be nice maybe he’ll go away. “Hi Justin. How are you?” you forced out a greeting, bending down to pick up the paper cup, you could feel his eyes gazing at your backside. Refusing to meet his predatory eyes, you stood back up straight and continued to walk, throwing your hair over your shoulder. “Well, I’m better now.” You hoped you hadn’t visibly cringed. you crossed your arms over your chest defensively and attempted to scoot away from him, but he just closed the gap and wrapped his arm over your shoulder. You squirmed underneath him, internally screaming for him to let you go. “So when are you going to let me show you a good time?” He gazed down and winked at you, his piercing blue eyes were beautiful, but you preferred deep, chocolate brown ones, soft eyes, loving eyes. Not ones that were stripping you naked in their imagination. “Uhh...Ex-excuse me?” You glared up at him, squirming from under his shoulder. “You know, like let me take you to dinner or a movie.” You breathed a sigh of relief, perhaps a little too soon, because he stepped closer, moving a strand of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. 

Boy, would peter had ripped his hand off if he had seen this...

 “Or...you could come over to my place and we could drink some wine...you know watch a film indoors instead...” His voice trailed off and you could feel his breath. “Uh, that's not going to happen, Justin.” you pushed away from him, but low-and-behold he was right after your heels. “Why not, still waiting on Physics boy to move back?” His words stopped you dead in his tracks, you whirled around looking him directly in his handsome features, breathing ragged. “Don’t talk to me anymore.” was all you could choke out, before whipping around and leaving him standing alone, moving quickly towards the Criminal Justice department. 

Your cheeks were brimming red, and his head was hot. He had no idea what you had been through. How dare he be so presumptuous. You pulled out your phone to text M.J. that you were there, just late. There was someone standing right in the doorway, you could tell from a distance, they were peering out the glass at you. Has this guy been watching me..?  No that was absurd. He was probably just peering out at the sky. There had been a lot of rain this fall, and the vastness above you was scattered with dark clouds, threatening to open up and rain for the third time this week. The figure receded back into the hall as you got closer, and you swung the door open, thankful for the warm air on your cold hands. You rubbed them together, then peered around for M.J. She was probably already down the hall in the lecture. Before you could start to head that way, someone stepped in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. 

Brown eyes. Those brown eyes you know so well. Boring into you, halting your whole world. Bringing it to a still. Freckles decoratively speckled a perfectly shaped nose, right above those gentle lips, the same lips you shared so many conversations with, swept with your own, talking in tongues, and groans, and grunts of passion. In less than a second, you took in his whole face, his entire appearance in your eyes. In your soul. The sun had kissed his skin for every one you weren't able to give him. Glowing and royal, strong and beautiful. He’s talking to you, but you can't hear a thing. Nothing. You forgot how to breathe. After all, your breath was his, every breath you drew you’d gladly gave away to him. He had just stolen yours away, like he had the last year of your life. Was he asking you if you were okay? Asking you to sit down and breathe? You were still unable to make sense of a single word out of his mouth. “What the fuck?” was the last phrase you could utter out before your knees gave out and you fell to your ass on the floor. Peter had caught you by the arm, pulling you back up into him, and carrying you into an empty study room off to the side, sitting you on a chair, kneeling in front of you. Still complete silence, all around you. Unable to hear a thing, only to see those beautiful lips moving. 

Then he touched your face, and you started to gain back your focus. “This isn't real...” was all you could manage. “Yes it is, babe I’m right here.” You heard his voice. For the first time in over a year, you could hear him, crystal clear. Not just in dreams, or in voicemails he had left you that you were never able to dispose of. His actual voice, one that belonged to an angel. 

My angel.  

“You left me.” You were shaking violently. So many thoughts were bounding through your mind, but all you could say to peter was ‘you left me.’ And it said everything that needed to be said. Unable to mask all of your emotions, also unable to keep your hands off of his face. Feeling him, his features. You had longed to touch him for so long, wondered if he was still alive and okay, and now as your hands played over his cheeks, his jawline and nose, he was so real to you. So alive. 

“I did...and I can’t fix what I did, but babygirl I can tell you why...I owe you that, well so much more than that princess...Let’s just get you home and I can explain everything, okay?” You shook your head slowly. “Wait but I have class? and M.J...” Peter put his hand to your lips and hushed your banter. “Shh its okay, y/n don't worry about class, MJ will be fine, this is very important. Just come home with me.” He stood up reaching for your hand, which you offered him willingly. Home. Our apartment that we shared together, he still considers me home. “Okay.” You nodded rapidly as Peter helped you stand, and guided you out the door, towards the apartment. The cold air hit you like a wall and thunder began to rumble slowly over the sky. But nothing mattered, because Peter was at your side, holding tightly your hand. Shock still ravaged your mind and body, but you would have all of your answers. Every night you laid and cried and wondered alone, you would finally have closure. 

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[barnesandco]

Nikah: September

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, pain, visiting a graveyard. 

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​ ‘s writing challenge. I’m sorry for the one-day delay. This weekend’s second chapter - October - should be up tomorrow. Please comment and reblog! Thank you for reading!

Time heals many wounds. The scar left by the urge for revenge is not one of them, Bucky learns when he gets the call informing him of the capture of his wife’s kidnapper. He’s in an obscure corner of New York, deep into the maze of fabrics and colors, when Sam’s voice - congratulatory and bone-tired - gives him the news. Bucky was excluded from the investigation due to personal connection to the victim, and placed on an obligatory sick leave after his… incident. The cliff’s edge his wife pulled him back from. 

Yet he has managed to learn certain details. Such as the fact that there was no greater plot, no Hydra involvement, only a psychopathic monster out for blood and pain. The type of men there is no shortage of in this world of grue and terror. He does not want to subject her to any more of it, but she is too intelligent to allow him to take that choice from her. She does not consider this, them, him to be terrible or cruel. 

Now, she turns to him from the silk she’s examining after a minute too long of his mental absence. Cocks her head as she takes note of the phone in his hand, the conversation itself having passed her by amidst her other preoccupations and the lull of Bollywood music in the air.

“Everything okay? It can get kind of stuffy in here, so if you want to get some air-”

“I’m fine, doll,” He insists, letting the cloud of her perfume envelope him like her rare embraces. 

“Okay,” She says dubiously. “Let me know if you want to go.”

Her concern is touching, but Bucky doesn’t know if he should open his heart to it or blockade against it. Thankfully, she changes the subject.

“What do you think?” She asks, gesturing toward the selection of fabrics she seems to have shortlisted. Her cousin’s wedding is in December, which apparently requires preparation months prior, in the form of shopping for a new lehenga. Or the materials to have one made, rather. Bucky looks from the deep purple to the vivid mauve to the sea green and tries hard not to shrug.

“I bet they’ll all look gorgeous on you.”

“I only need one, Buck, and I’m having trouble choosing between the green and mauve,” She says, pointing to the fabric she can’t decide between. 

“They’re both nice,” He says, but upon seeing her frown deepen, he adds: “The green one’s a jaw dropper.” She grins in agreement and seeks out a shopkeeper to cut the required length of cloth.

Sam’s voice echoes in his mind as they exit the shop for the one next door. In this one, he takes in the piles of lace and borders and ornate brooches and buttons while the rage simmers below the surface. He can no longer tell if the flush in his cheeks is from the bridled anger or the warmth caused by his wife’s presence. Her keen eyes are scanning a row of spectacular trimmings, and she sighs at the difficulty of the choice.

Craning her neck, she spots the one she wants but soon realizes she cannot reach. Bucky doesn’t give her the time to ask for his assistance, reaching up over her to grab the reel of golden, glittering trim she’s pointed out. The electricity that crackles when his front meets her back in the process is almost enough to forget the disapproving glares from the two middle-aged shop owners. Almost.

Their kind wrinkles have turned colder but she thaws them with a smile and the familiar, polite title of uncle. Another common term in the desi vernacular, log kya kahenge - what will people say? - replays in his brain like an audio cassette, the expression having been the subject of many a frustrated, late-night rant he has absorbed from his wife. There will surely be a rerun later today, unless he gives her the news of her attackers capture before she has the opportunity to launch her case against South Asian obsession with public reputation. By the time they leave, the elderly gentlemen are at ease while Bucky is not, staying three paces behind until they’re out of sight.

“ ‘M sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have-” His sentence is cut off by her razor sharp glare as she halts on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Bucky Barnes. If I had a problem with you grazing against me while trying to help with something, I’d have made it quite clear,” She declares, taking his hand and steering them towards the subway. Sunday shoppers mill about, enjoying the last of the summer sun before autumn takes its place. They carry bags of their own, but few match the ones Bucky is carrying. Queens’ Asian hub is bustling with activity, and he relishes in its awe until he smells the curry house a street down.

He tells her of his discovery in the entrance to the station, and her eyes light up like fireworks on Steve’s birthday - rest his soul - and they turn back for food. Bucky’s nose takes the lead, and six minutes and a wrong turn later, they’re standing like moths to a flame, the scent of spices embedding itself into their nerves. She inhales joyously as they’re taken to the last empty seats, against a wall covered in pictures of Pakistani and Indian monuments. Bucky doesn’t comment on the political tensions he knows are present between the two nations, knowing that governments are rarely as representative of their people’s beliefs as they ought to be.

There isn’t any music either, just the sound of commentary from the cricket match playing on several TV screens. It’s a rerun of the previous year’s World Cup final between England and New Zealand, and his wife looks sourly at it, knowing the results didn’t go the way she wanted them to. 

“It all came down to luck in the end,” She comments, picking up the menu. Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “It wasn’t even a fair win. The umpire admitted to faulty judgement, and I don’t blame him, but super overs are such a stressful, inconsistent way of completing the game. New Zealand worked so hard and it was all overturned by a stroke of luck. I feel bad for poor Kane Williamson,” She says, and Bucky puts down the menu as the waiter approaches. The conversation pauses as they place their orders - chicken karahi for him and chicken achari for her - before he says anything.

“Sweetheart, if you think that’s bad, imagine cheatin’ death three times over and getting home to learn that your team’s now playing for the opposite coast. LA Dodgers. Pfft,” He says, shaking his head, and she laughs, corner of her eyes crinkling like silk as her laughter chimes. It’s the only song he knows he’ll never tire of hearing, the one that sounds as good as the day he first heard it.

The first time he makes her laugh is, like many other aspects of his life, hysterically ironic. They’re in a graveyard, dawn taking its rightful place on the horizon. A midnight and a half of walking caused by devilish, sleep-stealing nightmares, eventually led them to Steve’s grave. The ground is unthawing slowly, much like the icy shields they have put up against one another, and she’s holding a bouquet of anemones from a miraculous florist.

She tries to give him the flowers but he shakes his head. His hands shake more violently from inside his jacket pocket and he tries to breathe, the night chill seeping into his skin. Hesitantly, she kneels down, brushes some dust off his tombstone, and places the vividly beautiful flowers in front of it. Rises, bones heavy with sympathy, and turns to him.

“I’m just glad he died in his own bed and not on the battlefield like he seemed so damn hell-bent on doin’. Wouldn’t have wanted that for him,” He muses to ease her tortured expression. Deliver a message of having moved on, having accepted this life without his best man. His best bud.

“He would have been just as happy either way, going by what you’ve told me,” She answers, peering sideways at him from under eyelashes that reflect the last of the moonlight. He gives a short, wistful laugh.

“Yeah. You know what he told me once, still that skinny Brooklyn kid after another fight? He said he’d have fought him even if he’d have been ten times bigger instead of two.” She laughs, too, and although it’s a sad, sorrowful thing, overflowing with exhaustion and despair, Bucky hasn’t heard anything as beautiful since the sound of Sam in his ear after the Blip.

“And he proved that with Thanos. Those bullies were just practice. I laughed at him anyway, but he had the bigger picture in mind that I never did.”

He still doesn’t. Not even now, with his wife’s hand in his, standing in the lobby to the apartment he owns. She tells him they haven’t checked the mail since last Wednesday and they head over to the letter boxes instead. The reason for their marriage, the bigger picture she sees in her head, is pulled out in the form of an envelope from the United States Government. She opens it with shaking hands, and the green card is extracted, heart in throat. Bucky sees the disbelieving joy in her eyes, and thinks: his own is now over.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @samingtonwilson​ @alyxkbrl​ @bucky-smiles​

[iggyalfi2319]

Between Borrower and Giant#2

 BBAG: 1/X/? - A/N

Oh wow! I didn’t expect it to take off 0.0

Thanks guys for showing your appreciation ^.^

I’ll try to keep doing my best!

Note: I don’t use the word “human” for any realm because, as I said, it’s a perspective matter. They are technically all humans but with two different scales. Giants and Tinies. Borrowers are Tinies who ventures in the Giant realm, but not all Tinies are Borrowers. - Some backstory in this one, and Virgil being a protective brother. (I really love my OC squad as much as Virge XP)

Warning: mention of dark past, nightmares, discrimination, mild fights, Tinies massacre.

=====BBAG=====

Power: (noun) A specific capacity, faculty, or aptitude.

Different: (adjective) Differing from all others; unusual.

Discriminate: (intransitive verb)  To make distinctions on the basis of class or category without regard to individual merit, especially to show prejudice on the basis of ethnicity, gender, or a similar social factor. - Everything is just a question of perspective. 

Virgil’s eyes fluttered softly when he caught the sound and the smell of Cara cooking breakfast.

He wanted to stretch out from his cramped position, before remembering that his young roommates where sleeping on him once again.

They came from very far before reaching this closeness.

Especially the youngest and smallest one, Björn and Milka, his childhood friend. The two were like brother and sister.

Their first encounter with Virgil wasn’t really the best.

- Flashback -

The two lost their parents because of Giants when they were even younger, during a Big Raid. Some Giants had come down to the other realm just for playing Smash and Grab in some nearby Tiny towns. It was like humans playing with ants.

After the raid, Amos and a few other Borrowers from other towns went to check the ruins, in case there was any survivors.

It was a real disaster.

There was giant footprints, crushed houses....and stomped corpses...

Virgil was accompanying Amos, at that time he was a lot smaller, but still bigger than everyone.

10ft for 15 years old.

In that situation, his size was rather convenient for working through the ruins.

The young Giant looked around.

It reminded him when Amos found him in the forest with no memories of what happened to him nor his family. He was just lying in the middle of a destroyed village, with no one else around but him. He was so scared and confused when the man, clearly older yet smaller than him by a foot or two, came to him -

Virgil’s breath started to get shallow.

The massacre surrounding him was making him anxious and scared.

When he heard a small whimper from a pile of rubble.

He immediately went to it, calling the rescuers.

“Leave the clearing to Virgil and secure the place.” Amos instructed. “Get the medical kit ready if they are severely injured.”

They are counting on me... It’s my first rescuing mission...I can’t mess up...

Virgil’s hands where shaking.

“No pressure. You have to stay calm.” Amos said.

The Giant teen exhaled softly and started to work. He delicately peeled off the big pieces of concrete, making sure to set them in a safe place, away from the ruins who threatened to collapse.

Soon enough, with the help of the other rescuers they cleared a path among the rubble.

“See anything yet?” One asked. “No, it’s still too narrow but it’s too dangerous to try to jostle the building any further.” Another shook their head.

Virgil couldn’t help but think he messed up.

When he saw what they were looking for.

“Move away.” He told the team, before grabbing a great handful off the building.

It revealed a small ginger haired boy, curled up on himself.

Instinctively, the teen went to pick him up.

Immediately, the boy let out a shriek of fear and tried to back away from his hand. He shot Virgil a terrorized look.

The sight of the boy’s icy eyes froze him to the core.

The boy was scared of him.

Of course he would be scared of you. He just got attacked by Giants...

Amos was about to tell the boy there was no need to be scared of Virgil -

“LOOK OUT!”

A big piece of concrete flew out of nowhere, aimed at Virgil.

He would have easily avoided it, if only he wasn’t frozen in place, the boy’s eyes locked into his.

The Giant teen got the full blow and was sent crashing down a few feet away.

“VIRGIL!” Amos yelled and ran to him.

“STAY AWAY FROM US! MONSTER!” Another child shouted.

They were probably a few years older than the first, standing rather tall, with short blond hair, glaring at Virgil with their valid brown eye while the right side of their face was badly injured. The smaller boy went to hide behind his friend.

As soon as the icy eyes were off the emo teen, he suddenly unfroze.

“Are you okay?” Amos asked him.

“I don’t know why but I was completely frozen...” He groaned softly. “But I think I’ll manage...”

“Are you siding with that...thing?!” The blonde snarled, trying to be brave.

But they were as shaking as the other child.

“His name is Virgil. And he’s not a thing.” The bearded man scolded.

“H-He’s a Giant!” They protested vehemently.

“He’s actually a special case.” Amos said. “As special as you two.”

The children’s eyes widened.

“How...” the smallest whimpered.

“When you locked eye with Virgil, you totally froze him. So I guess you have the ability to paralyze anyone who looks into your eyes.” The boy looked down.

“As for you...” Amos looked at the oldest. “The piece of concrete didn’t fly on its own, did it?”

“That’s quite some strength you have in here, lil guy...” Virgil grunted, rubbing the sore spot where he received the blow. Luckily nothing was broken, but that would surely leave some bruises.

“Milka not boy!” The little one huffed cutely.

“Björn!” The blonde hissed.

Virgil blinked.

“Sorry for assuming -”

“Keep your apology!” Milka cut him. “Girls aren’t supposed to be strong... so I can be as strong as I want as a boy!”

Virgil snorted.

“You can be a girl and strong at the same time, you just proved it.”

He poked her, as she growled and shoved off his hand with a surprisingly great ease.

“Where Björn and Milka go now?” Björn sniffled. “B-Bad Giants taken Björn’s and Milka’s parents... no family...”

“Did he always talk like that?” Amos asked, wanting to check if it was from the beginning or a trauma.

“Björn is...well...” Milka tried to choose her words, but the boy already looked down in shame.

“Hey, now, it’s okay.” Amos knelt down to their level. “You see, I have a daughter, and she is slow on her growth too.”

The children slowly eased down, but they were clearly still scared of Virgil.

“I get it...” he stood up and went to help on another site.

The kids exhaled in relief.

“Don’t be too hard with him...” the bearded man mumbled. “After all, he lost his family in similar conditions...”

“Are you sure he’s really not one of them?” Milk asked once again, trying to fight the urge to feel bad for the teen.

“We cannot be sure, but in scale speaking, it’s the same as you with him.” Amos tried to explain. “He’s merely doll sized to the Giants.”

Milka still wasn’t conviced but didn’t press the matter.

While the children were getting a medical check, Virgil helped the rescuers by clearing the rubble or carrying injured people toward the safe zone.

The team noted that thanks to him, they managed to save a lot more people that they ever did during all their previous after raid rescue missions.

Sadly for the teen, as expected, rescued people were scared and some even mad at him. For everything Giants did to them.

“You’re not like them.” A rescuer tried to comfort him. “These people are just scared.”

“B-B-But what if I really become a Giant?” Virgil rubbed his eyes.

“Just the fact you’re worrying about it makes you different from them. Also, you grew up with us. Another reason for us Tinies to trust you because we know you’ll never hurt us. At least not intentionally.”

“Exactly! What if I accidentally hurt you?” Virgil whimpered.

“Hey, it can happen to anyone. Everyone makes mistake. Now stop worrying over things that didn’t happen, a storm cloud is literally growing over your head.” the rescuer chuckled.

Virgil smiled slightly.

The night fell.

Everyone was gathered in the safe camp.

Well...almost everyone.

Virgil was a few feet away from there.

He could feel the people glancing at him warily, sometimes glaring. But the worse were the not-so-quiet whispers.

Either despite being the greatest sized type, he was still a Giant who could attack them any time. Or worse, he caught a disease that caused him to grow and was turning him into a Giant and they were afraid it might be contagious.

Virgil was scared about that one.

What if it was true? What if something was clearly wrong with him? What if he did turn into a Giant? What if -

“You should eat something.”

The teen got startled by Amos touching him. He looked down, seeing his foster father with a plate of food.

“That thing is going to eat all the food... They should give it to the ones who really need it instead...” Someone muttered.

Virgil hugged his knees, trying to make himself smaller.

Amos wasn’t the one to get mad easily, but there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

“His name is Virgil, and he’s not a thing.” He said sternly. “He’s my son.”

“It’s a Giant!” Someone else protested.

“So what?” Amos glared. “If he really wanted to harm us, don’t you think he would have done so a while ago?”

He rested a hand on the teen’s leg.

“This young man here is the one who helped us to rescue you. So instead of throwing stones at him, you should give him some gratitude.”

The rescuers who worked with Amos for a long time and who knew Virgil since he joined the Andersen family went to the teen’s sides. Maybe not all liked him, but they at least showed some respect because he was a good person despite the great bumps on the road at the beginning. If the teen could be a real moody pain in the @$$ sometimes, he still tried to do his best to help people he cared about.

“Everyone is tired and stressed out. I think it’s better for all of us to call it a night and go to sleep.” Amos said.

Virgil stood up, his hair shadowing his face.

Of course, people whimpered and cowered, expecting the Giant teen to be mad at them and attack.

“I’ll take the first turn.” He said, walking away from the camp.

Despite his size, he was pretty swift and quiet.

Björn and Milka watched him go, saying nothing.

The next day, they woke up on the sound of someone scratching the earth and wood snapping.

They went outside, looking for the source of the noises.

The other villagers had the same idea because they joined the children outside.

Their breath got caught in their throat when they found it.

Virgil was digging holes in the ground, bare handed. Then he carefully put down the deceased Tinies, planting a wooden cross next to each holes.

There was at least a hundred of corpses.

Each were ceremoniously placed in the improvised graves, a flower in their hands.

“Virgil.”

Said teen jumped out of his skin when Amos went to him.

“O-oh...good morning Amos...”

As the sun was slowly getting up, Virgil’s state was getting visible to everyone.

He looked really exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all but also got a very rough night. He was all dirty with several injuries that looked like claw and bites marks

“Virgil...what happened?” Amos worried

“Hm? Oh you mean these?” Virgil showed his injuries before shrugging “I had a “little” skirmish with a bear, that’s all, haha...”

Dread fell upon the villagers. Seeing the Giant teen’s injuries, it was certainly not a little skirmish like he said. He had a bad gash on his flank, barely patched up and deep bite marks on his arms.

“You went to fight a bear?! On your own?!”

“Of course on my own, you guys wouldn’t be any helpful...” Virgil huffed.

“Virgil...” Amos muttered.

The worse was to admit that the young Giant wasn’t completely wrong. If Virgil, being almost at the same height/length as the bear, struggled to fight it off, what a bunch of Tinies could have done against such a beast?

“It was sniffing around the corpses.” The emo muttered, starting to work again. “I thought they deserved at least funeral...”

He laughed weakly.

“Too bad I’m not dead, huh-”

A resonating slap echoed through the ruined town.

Virgil was shell shocked.

Amos had grasped is shirt and downright slapped him.

“A-Amos....” Virgil teared up.

“Don’t you ever say something like that again.” The older man’s eyes were really stormy.

Virgil tried not to weep when, Amos hugged him tightly.

The teen broke down, the lack of sleep and stress catching up.

That was the only time Amos raised his hand at him. He was very angry and scared at that moment.

“Let’s get you treated, okay?” Amos spoke softly.

Virgil nodded.

Before collapsing.

“Still think he’s a nuisance?” A rescuer asked the villagers while the others rushed to help Amos with Virgil. 8 persons were needed to move the 10ft Giant.

Though, the teen was worryingly light for his size.

When Virgil woke up, he was surprised to find Björn and Milka seated by his sides.

“What are you guys doing here...” he muttered

“Hey, Björn, look! Mr Giant is awake!” Milka said.

Before deliberately placing the little boy on Virgil’s chest.

“Is Mr Giant okay?” the small Tiny fretted around the teen. His impossibly icy blue eyes locked inton Virgil’s dark violet ones.

“!!!” His entire body froze up, causing him to be unable to move or talk.

“Yeah, Mr Giant ~” Milka said sweetly. “Are you okay?”

“...” Virgil couldn’t even twitch an eyebrow.

While he did believe that Björn wasn’t aware of the use of his ability on him, he was definitely sure that Milka did that on purpose.

Just you wait you sneaky little -

“Björn, my boy, I need you to come with me. Amos wants to discuss about something very important with you.” A rescuer picked up the boy. “Ah! Wait -” Milka reached for him “Don’t worry.” The rescuer said, cradling the small child. “He’s not in trouble.”

Björn cooed softly in their arms.

Closing his eyes.

“Oh and Virgil.” The adult looked back. “Be nice to her, okay?” They walked off.

“Oh no...” Milka whimpered.

She slowly turned around, seeing the Giant form of Virgil towering her.

“Don’t worry.”  he grinned dangerously as he slowly creaked his knuckles. “I’ll be  V-E-R-Y nice to you.” “I’ve discussed with the village’s elders. They agreed to let you two live with us since you don’t have anywhere to go.” Amos told the boy.

“Huh?” Björn blinked, not sure to have heard right.

“Yes Björn.” Amos said, trying to focus on the boy’s flamboyant hair instead of his big teary eyes. “You and Milka will live with Virgil and I.”

Big fat tears flooded out the boy’s face as Amos hugged him tenderly.

“I wanted to tell you first because I think Milka would have done everything to make you refuse...” He ruffled his hair. “I know she just wants to care about you. But if it’s you who wants it, I’m sure she’ll follow you with no hesitation.”

“Björn is so happy!” The boy bawled out, creating a big wet spot on Amos’ shirt.

“Now now. Dry up your tears and let’s tell the news to Milka and Virgil. Okay?”

Björn paused.

“Does it mean Mr G- Virgil will be Björn’s brother?” He whimpered softly.

“Don’t worry.” Amos reassured him. “I’m sure you three will get along just fine.” SLAM

“GOTCHA!” Virgil said triumphantly when he pinned Milka under his hand onto the ground.

“Oh yeah?” Milka glared, before biting into his finger.

“OW!” The teen drew back his hand and glared back. “Oh really is it now!”

“Bring it on!” She challenged.

While Virgil was clearly advantaged by his size, Milka’s terrifying strength wasn’t something to scoff at.

The two bickered and fought over ferociously.

Every time Virgil immobilized her, Milka easily broke free from his grasp. She tripped him off his feet several times, but he was quick to get back up.

“Milka! Milka! Guess what!” Björn ran to them before stopping abruptly.

“AAAAAAH!” He screamed.

“Björn?!” Amos ran to him, when he saw the scene.

Virgil was restraining Milka by her waist as she was pushing his face away.

“ENOUGH!” Amos’ voice thundered.

Virgil froze and Milka used that opportunity to elbow him in the ribs and made him drop her.

“What on earth is going on here!” Amos crossed his arms.

“He/She started it!” They both said before glaring at each other.

The older male pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“So, since you two seems to get along very well, there’s no problem in me saying that Milka and Björn will live with us, starting today?” Amos told them

“WHAT?!” Both screamed.

“I never agreed -” Milka protested. “I already asked Björn and he accepted.” She quieted down

“What about Cara and the twins?” Virgil spoke up.

He already had to deal with Matthias all the time. There was no way he could stand Matthias AND Milka.

Amos scratched the back of his head.

“I’ll face the consequences later.” He said sheepishly.

Virgil groaned and covered his face.

- End of Flashback -

“Hn..Hn...”

Virgil was pulled out of his reminiscing when he heard soft whines.

He looked down, seeing Björn curled up, crying softly. He was probably having a nightmare.

Björn didn’t grow much over the years, both physically and mentally. On cue, Björn still slept with a pacifier and his teddy bear.

Virgil sighed soft and sat up, careful not to wake the others.

He gently scooped up the ginger haired boy and rocked him against his chest like a baby.

“There there, it’s okay. I’m here.” Virgil hummed softly. “Shhhh.”

The boy cooed softly, gripping his shirt.

Virgil smiled lightly.

“He had another nightmare, didn’t he?”

The young man looked over the person who spoke.

Milka.

“He really likes you.” She said, standing before him. “I’m jealous.”

“Don’t say that.” Virgil shuffled, letting her sit on his lap. “You will always be his big sister and best friend.”

She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Do you want me to comb your hair?” He asked her.

“Huh?” She looked up at him.

“Your hair. Do you need help with them?”

“...” She looked away. “Fine.”

She went to retrieve the hairbrush before giving it to the young Giant and carefully sitting on his knee.

Virgil moved lightly his right arm so he could support Björn against his chest before taking the hairbrush and starting to work.

Despite his size, he was very gentle and careful.

“A lot happened since you grew them out, huh.” He said.

Milka just hummed.

Her vanilla blonde hair now reached just below her waist, as long bangs completely covered the right side of her face, hiding the reminder of the scary event.

Amos came over, about to wake the children for the day, When he saw the scene.

Despite everything they went through, it was clear that Virgil cared about each member of his family.

The old man chuckled softly, deciding to let them bound a little longer.

=====BBAG=====

(EDIT 19/05/2020: art of Virgil and Bjorn here )

BBAG: 1/X/?

Leave a comment and a like if possible ^^

(want to be @? let me know)

[mcfanely]

Nightowls

Deception (noun), an act or statement which misguides or hides the truth. 

Chapter 08 - Behind the Mask, 2541 words

The pulse of music was quickly becoming deafening. Or maybe that was the pounding feeling Cole could feel in his chest? He was a deer in headlights, and he must have looked the part too. Eyes wide, face frozen as he went through a range of emotions just to find whichever one fitted with this situation. It was something he hadn't even thought about.

It hadn't even crossed his mind for a sheer second, even with all the times he'd snuck out, all the close calls and half-baked excuses he'd had to come up with on the fly for being up really early in the morning, or sleeping in really late. 

Sure, saying he was tired and needed the sleep was the truth, but there was background. Cole was keeping so much from everyone and the idea of getting caught out and having to actually explain it all… Well, whether he'd avoided thinking about it, or it had just not occurred to him, he was now caught out and floundering. 

"... Lloyd. Hey..?" He spluttered out uselessly, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He was nervous. He didn't know what to do. There was the oppressive feeling of awkwardness in his own skin as he took stock of himself. Lloyd had been there, and he'd seen. "I-- Uh, you know, it's not really what it looks like, you know? I mean, it's late," Cole trailed off after a second, one foot tapping heavily against the floor. Any sound was drowned out by the next song beginning. 

Lloyd was still standing there, right in front of him, his eyes slowly flicking over Cole for a second before they moved to glance over the Earth Master's shoulder, presumably to the new dancer that was now performing. 

He just looked calm, and extremely interested in what was going on. The guy may have looked a bit odd, dancer wasn't anyone first thought when looking at Lloyd, mainly because the left feet that the kid possessed was probably the worst case Cole had ever seen. He was fairly lanky, bobbing slightly off beat to the music, but Cole wasn't going to correct him. He was too busy freaking out. 

"Woah, those guys are good!" Lloyd said after a second, with a wide grin as he moved closer to the open area. There was a pair in the centre, both seamlessly blending a clear ballet style with swing. The song was upbeat too, and the guys were definitely brimming with talent. 

On any other night, Cole could just stand there and watch. 

"Lloyd," He stared, stepping just a bit more in front of him. 

The Green Ninja looked over to him after a second, though Cole knew he didn't really have the kid's attention. 

So he went silent. He stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest tightly, tried to force the tenseness out of his shoulders to no clear avail and waited. Waited the agonising few minutes until the dancing stopped. This was worse than everything he'd been going through before his performance. He'd go through it again, if he had a choice. He wouldn't even think twice, if it meant Lloyd not having been there. 

So as the dancers took their bows and exited the floor, Cole had one hand carding through his hair and the other gripping the fabric of his jumper just for something to do to keep them busy. 

Then Lloyd turned back around, and Cole didn't even know where to begin. 

Or he did. 

"You can't tell anyone." He said quickly. 

Lloyd's reaction was a slight frown, "What?" 

"You can't tell the guys. I know that you saw me dance, and you can't tell them."

"Cole--"

Cole tugged on his hair lightly, then blew a heavy breath out of his nose. He needed to take a moment, to just breathe and think. 

Why didn't Lloyd seem as bothered by this as he was? 

"You were great." He said plainly, 

"I-- what." 

"You were awesome." There was a slight laugh to Lloyd's voice, but it wasn't anything mocking. It was light, brief, as if he was impressed. "Like, I knew you could dance. You dance in the kitchen all the time."

"No, I don't--"

"You do." Lloyd stated. "You really do."

At that, Lloyd started edging from the crowd, pausing for a second to make sure Cole was following before continuing on his way. They ended up standing at the mirrored wall of the studio. 

He spared a glance at himself. At all the neon paint and dishevelled hair, and an expression that looked torn between excitement of getting his routine done, to a physical depiction of the amalgamation of feelings he was experiencing due to Lloyd also being there. 

Lloyd who was awake at what was now probably three in the morning, looking as alert as if it was the middle of the day and not pitch black outside. Lloyd who'd said that what he'd done was awesome and then the conversation had dropped out. 

"You look like the physical embodiment of 'pacing a hole into the floor'." the silence was now broken, deep green eyes floating over the built up crowd before going back to Cole. 

Who just wiped a hand down his face, "What're you doing here?" A solid place to start. 

"I followed you." It was said plainly, so easily. It was obvious, but Cole didn't want to believe he'd been caught out. 

"And here I was thinking I was getting good at sneaking out." Cole sighed, shoving his hands into his pocket. Though a small smile sprung up in the corner of his mouth, blatant sarcasm never failed to lighten the mood. "It's past your bedtime, squirt,"

"Past yours too, old-timer."

There was a brief pause, before the both of them let out a laugh. It wasn't forced, it came out easily, even around the clogging sensation he could feel in his throat. So he was still nervous. 

Cole sighed and leant against the mirror. Lloyd had seen him, so what? It wasn't as if he could take it back or delete it from anyone's memory, what happened had happened, and that was that. 

Lloyd knew, and that was that. 

"So," He started slowly, elbowing the younger ninja's arm just a little harder than necessary, then shot him a grin as compensation. "You thought I was good?" 

Lloyd nodded for a moment, before he seemed to realise he wasn't actually saying anything, just letting his body speak for the thoughts that seemed to be going through his head. "Yeah. Just… Yeah," He grinned, "I have to be honest, I didn't realise it was you at first."

Small victories. 

"I followed you in here and then I sort of, you know," He waves his hands around for a second, as if gesturing to everything, "Got sidetracked. I was watching people dance and I realised I had no idea where you'd gotten to, and I looked a little but I couldn't find you, so I just, you know?" 

"Went back to watching?" Cole finished, tilting his head. "This place draws you in, doesn't it?" 

There was a quiet him of acknowledgement, barely audible over the music. Then, "It drew you in, didn't it?" It sounded like a statement as much as a question. 

Cole just nodded. 

Lloyd took a moment, shifting onto his toes as if he could see the current dancers better from where he was, even though he was clear on the other side of the room and he wasn't the tallest anyway. Though he seemed to find a point where he could see, because he stopped shifting about and held his position for a good minute before actually moving again.

Cole took the break to gather his thoughts. Lloyd knew everything; he was here, he was enjoying himself but that also meant there were currently two vacant beds back at the monastery. Something which greatly increased the chance that their absence would be noticed by a tenfold. That was if someone decided to do a random room inspection in the dead of night. Weirder things had happened. Was it worth risking it, or should he be dragging Lloyd out at that moment so they could start the walk back home? 

He must have been staring, because the next moment Lloyd was just in front of him, holding something in his hands and turning it over slowly.

"I didn't recognise you until around half way into the song. The mask threw me off to be honest, and the paint." He made a loose gesture to the neon glow that he was still emitting. The lines were crisp, bright, though some areas of the paint had cracked with movement. 

Then Cole realised that the thing that Lloyd was holding was his mask. The conniving colour coded nightmare must have snagged it off his belt.

Yet, he just watched, and made no immediate move to take it back. It wasn't like he was worried Lloyd would break it, it wasn't like he'd not dropped it or sat on it himself in the past couple weeks. Lloyd had seen him dance, what was one mask in comparison to that? 

Then he paused, the mask face up. 

"Is this design based on--?" 

"Yeah. It is." Cole confirmed. Now, he reached over and took it into his hands. Lloyd didn't seem put about by it, even with all the negative connotations around the look. Deep orange, sharp grey and white marks framing the eyes, teeth painted abstractly with the same orange neon paint that Cole had marked on his chin to complete the look. It was illuminated, eye catching, and worked as a way to draw attention from the person that was beneath it. 

Apparently, it seemed to do its job. 

"Why'd you pick that? Why not something else, like a dragon, or a serpentine?" The question wasn't accusatory, just full of curiosity. Lloyd was digging for details, reasoning, an explanation even. 

"It's a funny story, actually." Cole turned the mask over in his hands, tugging at the elastic strap on the back. Honestly, the thing was overall impractical. It was tight and always left a ridge on his nose where it rested, the elastic made his hair stick up on end. But it served a purpose, it separated him from the guy that walked into the middle of the floor. It hid his face so the only thing people would know about him was his ability to dance, not that he was the Elemental Master of Earth or one of the ninja that had saved Ninjago multiple times over, or the son of a Royal Blacksmith. 

He was just someone who could dance.

It was also a slight joke. An internal and personal way of handling a traumatic event. 

He'd fallen from the Bounty, somehow survived and avoided being affected by the darkness that had descended, he'd made it back to the monastery in time for the final fight and eventual victory. Then he relieved that fear and horror, the sensation of falling with no one there to catch him but the earth that was racing up towards nearly every night when he closed his eyes. 

The Oni Mask of Deception, created in the visage of an Oni. The same Oni species that hadn't been able to take Cole's life even when he'd been so close to death. The Oni who had been prevented from taking over Ninjago by a combined family that stood against them and didn't give up against all odds. 

He'd suffered from nightmares for so long. But now, he wore the mask and had fun. He wore it because in doing so, it was proof he survived and he was still going. 

"I deceived death." Cole gave a quiet laugh after a second. Lloyd just watched. "When everyone thought I was gone, I came back. And me being here," He gestured to the crowd, to the speakers and the now pulsing music that he had to raise his voice slightly to talk over, even on the quieter side of the room, "It's like a 'screw you'. I'm having fun and here I can just be me. I can stop worrying and stop thinking and just feel." He grinned, probably the widest and most honest one he'd done so in a while. 

It was freeing, dance was freeing. 

"I can dance, and I can do it without caring what anyone thinks of me." Cole concluded slowly, his eyes watching Lloyd, expression relaxed and gentle. "I get to be both myself, and someone entirely new."

"Do you think you can't be yourself and a dancer?" 

He paused, his brow furrowed lightly. "It's not that, it's just, it makes it all easier, hiding behind a mask. You nearly didn't recognise me."

That made the younger ninja duck his head, letting out a slight laugh, "Yeah, I should have recognised the worn shoes and bad fashion sense."

Cole gaped. 

"Bad--? I swear, training tomorrow--" 

"You mean later today?" 

"Whatever. I'm going to kick your ass."

"Cole!" Cole's attention shot up in an instant, away from any murderous intent he had towards Lloyd and shifted over to the walking neon collage heading towards them. 

"Chamille?" Lloyd questioned after a second of staring, his eyes squinted as if it had taken a second for him to place her. 

She simply made her way forwards, shot Lloyd a quick and wide smile, along with a wave. "Hey, look at you! You've grown."

"Uh…"

"Anyway, I'm here to borrow Cole." She took his wrist and started pulling lightly. "You don't mind, right? He'll be gone four minutes tops."

Lloyd took a moment before he leant back against the mirrored wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't mind." It was clear he was enjoying what was happening far too much, and Cole noticed the second he clocked his expression, because a smirk soon settled on Lloyd's mouth. "Dancing?" 

"Yep." Chamille popped the P and pulled harder until Cole finally gave and took a step. 

"Don't I get a say in this?" He questioned. 

The simultaneous "No." from both parties made him do a double take, then just sigh. Lloyd and Chamille shared a look; they were clearly on the same page. One that benefited the both of them and not the earth ninja stuck in the middle of their escapade. Sometimes it was just like babysitting, especially when he seemed to be stuck with the position of 'dad friend' in the group. It didn't help that Lloyd acted serious, but when push came to shove he was as immature as Kai on a good day. 

"Dance competition, Cole." She said, as if that was all the reasoning she needed to get him moving faster, "Tyler says winners get bragging rights and free drinks."

"Free drinks?"

"Lloyd," Cole rolled his eyes, "You're underage."

"Dancing, bragging rights! Come on," Chamille pulled harder, before Cole eventually gave up and followed along behind her towards the centre of the floor. 

He could hear Lloyd's laugh behind him, along with a shouted, "I'll find you afterwards!" 

Cole just rolled his eyes, and followed Chamille through the crowd, pulling his mask on as he went.

-

From the beginning

Ch 07 > Ch 08 > Ch 09

AO3

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

The Definition of Anything-happyaspie [2020-2-27]

The heater in Peter's apartment goes out on the coldest day of the year and the landlord seemed to be overrun with maintenance requests. Calling Tony to help him out seemed like the next logical solution. After all, he had told him many, many times that he should call him if he ever needed anything.  The man had never really specified what 'anything' meant but he figured that by definition, 'I'm cold and you know how to fix things.', fell into that category. Right?

                                    ❄----❄----❄----❄----❄

--Anything--

Pronoun: Any thing whatever; something, no matter what.

Noun: A thing of any kind.

Adverb: In any degree; to any extent; in any way; at all.

Link to AO3-The Definition of Anything-happyaspie

It was the middle of February and the temperature had decided to take a sudden nose dive into the negative numbers.   Not that those kinds of things would stop Peter from patrolling.  Seeing as Tony had helpfully provided him with an in-suit heater, he was sure he would be fine and for a while, he was.  Though once the sun had completely set, the wind started to become so bitter that, eventually, the heater could no longer keep up.

Seeing as the icy negative fifteen-degree weather seemed to be enough to detour any major crime from taking place in the borough, Peter began to swing him towards his warm bed. The first thing he noticed as he stood inside his closet shimmying off the suit was that it wasn't particularly warm in the apartment.  It wasn't cold... it just wasn't as warm and cozy as he'd imagined it would be.  So, once he was in a pair of joggers and t-shirt he walked down the hall towards the thermostat.  He wasn't surprised by the display saying that it was sixty-one degrees in the house.  The entire system was old and a little touchy.   It wasn't unusual to have to knock the desired temperature up a few degrees in order to get the unit to kick in.  Therefore, he hit the up arrow a couple of times, went back to his room to crawl under the covers and fell instantly asleep.

A few short hours later, he woke up to the sound of May getting ready for work.  Though, having not gotten to bed until late he didn't bother to climb out of bed.  He did instantly realize that his room was still cold and looked towards his window to make sure that he'd remembered to close it.  When it was indeed locked shut, he sighed and pulled his comforter up a little more tightly under his chin.  He wasn't worried.  If it was really that cold in the apartment, May would turn up the heater before she left.  

Except, the next time he woke up he could no longer ignore the chills that were dancing up and down his spine.  He lay there for several minutes waiting to hear the hum of the heater begin to blow warmth into his room but it never did.  So, with a huff, he pulled the blankets over his shoulders and sat up.  May was long gone for her first shift of the day and he was going to have to finagle the stupid thermostat himself.  However, once he placed his socked foot onto the laminate flooring, he sucked a hiss in through is teeth.  The floor was so cold that it burned but he powered through and hurried towards the thermostat in the hall that showed the temperature to be a balmy forty-six degrees.  

As he stood there hopping from foot to foot to avoid having any kind of prolonged contact with the floor, he tapped the arrow to send the desired temperature up well past eighty.  Though he knew it wouldn't do any good.  Something had finally given in and it was broken. There wasn't much he could do outside of requesting maintenance and he could do that from his bed.  

After leaving a message with the landlord, Peter tucked himself back down under his covers.  It crossed his mind that maybe putting on his Spider-man suit and swinging across the city with the heater running might warm him up but one look at the outside temperature had him changing his mind.  Even with the sun up, it was still below freezing.  Besides, he was already back to warming up under the blankets and the Spider-suit was all the way on the other side of the room.  

For quite a while, Peter patiently waiting for someone to come to fix the heat but they never arrived.  In fact, between the thin walls and the drafty windows, he could feel it becoming even colder in his room.  His nose was frozen and he could feel it starting to run as a result.  To make matters worse, his stomach was starting to protest his lack of breakfast.  However, rather than get up, he grabbed at his phone with his suddenly uncoordinated fingers and attempted to leave another message with the landlord, only this time it seemed that the message box was full.  Clearly, he wasn't the only one being affected by the cold snap.

Groaning in annoyance, Peter opened and closed his hands a few times to try and warm them up as he tried to decide what to do next.  He considered trying to call May but there was no reason to do that, really.  He'd already called to request the repair and it wasn't like she could do anything else.  Calling her would just make her worry.  Then he thought about going over to Ned's house because surely it was toasty warm in there but then he remembered he wasn't even home.  Unlike him, he was still in the Robotics Club and would be spending the weekend at the school working on all the last-minute programming.  Then, as he was flipping through his contacts list, his thumb landed on Tony's name... and that had him thinking.

The man was a genius.  He knew how to do everything from fixing old car engines to creating an arc reactor and an Iron Man suit out of a box of scraps.  Surely he could fix a broken heating unit.  That and he had told him many, many times that he should call him if he ever needed anything.  He'd never really specified what 'anything' meant but he figured that by definition, 'I'm cold and you know how to fix things.', fell into that category.  So, with only slight hesitation he decided to send him a message.  If nothing else, but to feel out the situation.

'Hey, Mr. Stark.  Are you busy?', he typed out knowing that he probably was and that he'd just asked the stupidest question of all time.  The man was a superhero who owned a gigantic tech business.  Of course, he was busy.  Then, just as he was about to retract the question he received an answer.

Tony, who had been in his workshop all night, literally knee-deep in a new Iron Man suit, smiled down at his phone when the familiar contact popped up on his screen.  Peter rarely texted him before noon and he found himself curious as to what the kid was up to.  'I'm always busy.  Why? What's up?', he typed back in return before his brain filled him on at least three thousand reasons why the kid could be texting him at nine o'clock in the morning.  Especially on a weekend.  Those were the days the teenager spent the majority of his time Spidering all over the city.  'Are you okay?', he added while simultaneously pulling up the information from the Spider-suit.  

Still feeling, slightly apprehensive about asking his mentor to come over to his house, of all things, he decided to once again remain somewhat vague. 'I was sort of hoping that maybe you could come over to my apartment and help me.', he replied not realizing that by leaving out all context he was sending his mentor's heart rate through the roof.  

A glance at the tracking information on the suit verified that it was inside of the Parker's apartment as Peter had indicated.  However, the suit didn't seem to be on and the last activity that had been recorded was from the night prior.  Upon further inspection, he saw that all of the vitals were within a normal range, short of a slight drop in body temperature and that there was no other indication that anything calamitus had happened.  That was all well and good but at the same time, he knew that the teenager had been known to mess with the coding to prevent him from getting certain kinds of notifications.  However, what was most worrying was that he'd straight-up, asked for help.  He never asked for help.  He could be bleeding out in an alley and would still insist that he had it all under control. He wouldn't put it past the kid to lay in his bed overnight, nursing a life-threatening injury, on his own, and then casually text him when he finally decided that maybe he didn't have it all under control, after all.  That was all it took for him to call in a functional suit so that he could take off towards Queens.  'I'll be there soon, kid.  Hang Tight.'

Being utterly relieved that help was on the way, Peter threw the comforter over his head completely and inadvertently drifted back to sleep.  He never once considering how odd it was that his mentor had so quickly agreed to come over help him, despite having no idea what he needed help with.  

While Peter was curled up in a tight ball, sound asleep in the little pocket of warmth he'd created for himself, Tony was flying towards him.  He'd spent the first few minutes of the trip having FRIDAY go over the Spider-suit's video monitoring in an attempt to narrow down what he would be dealing with upon his arrival but the AI found nothing.  He was trying to decide if that was more or less concerning when the familiar building finally came into view.  

Deciding that it would be suspicious for Iron Man to go running through the halls of the Queen's apartment, Tony ditched the suit on the roof and began to climb down the fire escape that led into an alley, cursing himself the whole time for not thinking to put on a coat before he left.  However, between the fridged air and the nagging worry, he managed to make quick work of the ricketty ladders and was soon inside, taking the stairs two at a time all the way up to the Parker's seventh-floor apartment.  

Once he was outside the door he didn't even bother to knock, instead, he took the key that May had entrusted to him for emergencies and walked right in.  He was unsurprised at the lack of activity in the large open room.  Peter hiding an injury from his aunt would be a given.  He wouldn't want her to worry.  The fact that she'd already left for work was to be expected.  Then, rather than announcing his presence, Tony bounded down the hall and threw Peter's bedroom door open steeling himself for the worst, only to end up face to face with a wide-eyed, sleep disheveled teenager looking back at him in surprise.

Having been abruptly pulled from his sleep by his bedroom door squeaking open, Peter rapidly sat up and pulled the light blue comforter off of his head while being careful to keep it tightly wound around his shoulders. "Mr. Stark!", he half croaked in surprise when he saw that it was his mentor and not his aunt standing in his doorway.  He didn't know how long he'd been asleep but apparently it had been long enough for Tony to dive all the way there from Manhattan.

For several seconds Tony stood there and took in the kid's appearance.  Well, what he could see of him anyway.  Which wasn't much.  All that was exposed was his head but his hair was a tangled mess, his nose was red and he could see him shivering where he sat.    Upon further scrutiny, he realized that there were no signs of blood anywhere in the room and that all in all the kid didn't seem to be in any kind of distress.  With that realization, he allowed himself to relax and it was then that he realized how cold it was in the room and involuntarily shivered himself.  "Do you always keep your room this cold?", he asked as he crossed the room, carefully stepping over the various legos and school books that were strewn across the floor.

"N-no.", Peter replied through chattering teeth.  "The heater's broken and the landlord hasn't sent anybody by to fix it yet.", he added before running his hand under his nose with a loud sniff.  "I'm f-freezing."

After standing there for several more seconds the dots slowly began to connect and Tony huffed a laugh. "Is that why you called me?", he asked with amusement.  "You're cold?", added, though he realized it was more than a little chilly in the apartment.  It was near frigid.

"Well...", Peter replied with a small, although it be a bit sheepish smile tugging at his lips.  "You said I could call you for anything, right?"

"I did.", Tony replied seriously.  He'd been trying to drill it into the kid's thick skull for months that he not only could but defiantly should call him whenever he needed help with anything.  Whether it had to do with Spider-man or not.  Though, he'd assumed that whenever that first call for assistance came in, it would be over something a little more... detrimental.  Not that he minded in the least but that wasn't going to stop him from giving the boy a hard time.  "I just wasn't expecting it to be because you needed me to put an extra blanket on your bed and tuck you in."

"Actually I was kind of hoping you could fix the heater, Mr. Stark.", Peter replied as another violent shudder wracked through him.  "...but an extra blanket would be nice too."

Tony then crossed into the room and patted Peter's leg so that he could sit down beside his shivering form.  As he did so, he was more surprised than he probably should have been when the kid immediately leaned over onto him in an attempt to sap up his warmth.  "Are you really that cold?", he asked with a chuckled as he wrapped an arm around the boy's blanketed shoulders. "How long has the heat been out?"

"I've been cold all night.", Peter replied with a contented hum, as the man started to run his hand up and down his back.  "The heater in the suit, which is super awesome by the way, thank you...  wasn't keeping up once it got really, really cold so I came home and I think the heater was already broken then."

"So, you never warmed up?  Geez, kiddo.  Come here.", Tony replied with genuine sympathy as he opened his arms up so that Peter could fall fully up against his body. They sat there for several minutes, Peter trying to absorb as much heat as possible from his mentor's warm embrace and Tony trying to come up with a plan that didn't have him sitting there acting as a human heating pad all day.  "Alright, here's what we're going to do.  We're going to move you out to the couch so that I can make you something warm to drink and then you're going to point me towards your tools so I can take a look at what's going on with the heater, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm.", Peter replied though he made no effort to remove himself from the comfortable position he was now in.  That is until the man stood up and begin to pull him to his feet.

"Come on Linus Van Pelt, get your blanket and start walking.  I'm too old to carry you.", Tony said once he had Peter standing reluctantly beside the bed.  

"You're not that old, Mr. Stark...", Peter said in return, though he'd meant it as a compliment and not as a request.

Tony laughed as he continued out of the room shouting, "Still not carrying you.", over his shoulder as he went.

After a very quick stop in the extremely cold bathroom, Peter was settled on the couch and being handed a mug of hot tea.  He took one small sip and then another, sighing as the warm liquid coated his throat and began to warm him from the inside out.  "This is really good.  Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"You're welcome.  Now, where can I find some tools.", Tony asked and once Peter had pointed him in the right direction he got to work.  First looking over the thermostat and then moving on to the heating unit its self.  He had it apart in no time and was quick to diagnose the problem.  "Looks like the capacitor's blown. That's why the fan won't cut on. Other than that, it looks okay."

"You can fix that, though, right?", Peter asked as he craned his neck around to where Tony was standing at the sink washing his hands.

"I can, but we need to get a new capacitor.",Tony replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders.  "They should have one at the home improvement store around the corner.  You coming with?"

"Sure.", Peter replied because that sounded better than sitting, cold and alone, on the couch while he waited for the man to get back. He was also sure that whatever fancy car the man had driven over would have seat warmers.  Then before anything else could be said, his stomach grumbled so loudly that he was sure they could hear it three apartments over.  "Can we get some food too, please?"

"Of course.", Tony replied with a chuckle. "I already messaged someone to bring me a car.  It should be here any minute.", he then said.  He'd actually done that the second changing the batteries in the thermostat hadn't done the trick and he was sure he would end up needing to go to the hardware store.  Then he glanced over to see the look of confusion on his mentee's face he rolled his eyes.   "What are you looking at me like that for? I didn't drive over this time."

"Then how did you get here?", Peter asked with perplexity.  There were only so many ways one could get to Queens from Manhattan and he couldn't imagine the man taking the bus or subway.

"Before I answer that...", Tony began as he pointed an accusatory finger in his mentee's direction. "...let me make it very clear that you were being oddly cryptic and I thought you were dying...", he said with seriousness but rather than looking any kind of remorseful, he saw a smile spread across the teenager's face.

"Mr. Stark!  You flew here in an Iron Man suit?", peter squawked with delight.  While he felt just a tiny bit bad that he'd scared the man enough to make him think that he needed to rush to his side in an Iron Man suit, he was also extremely amused.  It was sort of nice to know that his mentor cared that much about his well being.

Rather than playing into the kid's obvious enjoyment of the situation, Tony placed his hands indignantly onto his hips. "I repeat... you led me to believe that you were dying.", he stressed but even he could admit that maybe he'd overreacted just a little.  It wasn't like he'd taken any amount of time asking what was wrong.  The kid had said he needed help, his brain had demanded that he jump into action and his body had followed through.

"I'm sorry.", peter said though he continued to practically cackle at the mental image of Iron Man busting through the Tower's ceiling, jetting full speed across the city and landing on his building's rooftop.  

Tony took a moment to wait out the teenager's continuous giggling, before even attempting to reply and when he did it was with playful sarcasm.  "Yeah, you look it."

The trip to the store was quick, the fast-food was warm and soon the two of them were back in the apartment in their previous positions.  However this time, Peter had a small electric heater sitting on the coffee table in front of him, blowing warm air in his direction.  He'd been hesitant to accept the purchase when Tony had picked it up but now that it was there and cutting through the chill in the room, he was happy to have it.  Even if it did take the man no more than twenty minutes to replace the part.

"Thank you for coming and fixing everything, Mr. Stark.", Peter said once, Tony had successfully turned on the heater with a celebratory, 'Yay.', and was sitting down beside him on the couch.

"You're welcome, kiddo.", Tony said before leaning back on the couch and watching whatever nonsense show the kid had turned on while he was doing all the work.  Not that he was upset about that.  He was just glad that the kid, who had buried himself in his side the second he'd sat down, was finally starting to shuck some of the blankets that had ended up piled on the couch and was no longer sniffling every three seconds.  It wasn't until another thirty minutes had passed and he was really starting to feel the rise in temperature that he said anything to the kid who was still pressed tightly up against him.  "You do know that the heater's been running for the last half an hour and it's no longer cold in here, right?", he questioned as he poked the boy's side in an unsuccessful, though admittedly unenthusiastic, attempt to get the boy to get off of him.

"I know.", Peter replied before happily scooting just a touch closer making Tony smile.

"Alright, just so long as you know."