#look I have to vent somewhere that won’t get me committed

[theonethinginlife]

.

[trollprincess]

So I have a friend from high school who is a cop. (Yes, I KNOW.) I shared a photo on Facebook of a packed highway of people attempting to evacuate from Hurricane Milton, all while the lanes going in the opposite direction were open and empty. And my Facebook post was basically me screaming, “Open the other side of the highway and reverse it so that people can GET OUT.”

His response was essentially, “Yeah, that is *really* difficult for us to do.” Not in a condescending way, because he genuinely isn’t a huge asshole. (Yes, I KNOW.)

And then I may have vented in my response, in which I tried not to imply that the police were a problem. Because to be honest, I don’t see this as a police problem. I see this as how we have fucked ourselves as a nation by making ourselves so dependent on cars.

There is that poll on this site – or multiple polls, at this point – asking how long people can tolerate being in their cars. And the thing is, Americans (and Canadians as well, I am imagining) have almost no other options. We have to be used to spending a good 12 hours in a car without breaking a sweat. Everything in this country is built around being in a car. There’s a reason when you ask us how far away a place is from somewhere else, we normally give that distance in hours and not miles.

Air travel sucks. It sucks for a multitude of reasons – cost, the hassle of dealing with security, the time suck, etc. – and in an emergency, only a select few are going to be able to use it to get away from a hurricane. And that’s one of the few disasters where air travel is an optional escape.

Train travel sucks. Amtrak is not something you’re gonna be complaining about if you’re trying to get away from whatever disaster you need to evacuate from. But next to so many other countries, Amtrak looks like we’ve been receiving other countries’s leftover railway systems from the 70s. It also doesn’t go everywhere. I live in northeastern Pennsylvania near Scranton, which prides itself on its history in the train industry. We have a museum and everything. We have multiple things named after that museum, including the Steamtown marathon which is happening tomorrow.

Can you get on a passenger train in Scranton? Nope.

(The main argument against this always seems to be that people will come here from New York City and commit crimes, which is hilarious considering if somebody wanted to come here from New York City and commit crimes it’s only a 2.5-hour drive.)

Anyway, disasters.

If the only option you’re gonna give most people to get out of areas of Florida that are being targeted by hurricanes or areas of California that suffer from wildfires or places in the Midwest that face flooding are cars, then we need a better fucking emergency management system regarding transportation in this country. You can’t just sit there and mock people for not evacuating because they can’t or won’t when getting away from Milton meant sitting on highway for hours with absolutely no gas stations whatsoever nearby having any gas at all. (It just makes me think of those photos of people stranded on the highway in their cars in blizzards where people are like, “Now imagine imagine how bad it would be if all of those cars were electric!“ Well, all of those cars in that photo in that blizzard run on gas and they’re fucking stranded, sooooooo.)

Look, we can change the transportation system in this country. we did it before and we can do it again. We used to have more train options, fewer highways. My small hometown had a fucking trolley in the 40s. Now, if you don’t have a car here, you’re stuck. You can’t even get Uber here. if a wildfire started here and surrounded the town, it would be a clusterfuck.

Regardless of how you feel about the police, if police and fire departments in this country cannot organize an evacuation on a highway in a way that will reduce the backup so that tens of thousands of people aren’t sitting in their cars when a hurricane hits, that’s a problem – not just for those people, but for the police, and the fire department, and emergency management in general.

The people in charge of emergency management are just people, just human. I’m researching the Camp Fire in 2018 right now, and you had a bunch of people calling 911 saying, “I can see a huge fire off to the east. Are we safe? Should we evacuate?” The 911 operators could only work off the information they had. They could have told people to evacuate earlier, but Cal Fire didn’t anticipate the strength of the fire. Which is understandable. Nobody could anticipate the strength of that fire. But the 911 operators were sitting in an office with no windows, and they had no idea what was going on the east. They couldn’t look out and see exactly what was happening. If they could have, they probably would have told people to leave as soon as possible much sooner than they were told to. Instead, they waited for official confirmation, and when they did start telling people to evacuate, traffic managed to back up in a small town of 25,000 people until many of them were trapped in an unimaginable hellscape.

When people need to evacuate from a disaster, and they stay instead, far too many people - including those in positions of power – just kind of wave their hands and say, “Well, we tried.” No, we didn’t. This country made not trying its watchword, and now we’re at a point where unless you own a car, which is a luxury a lot of people cannot afford in this economy, escaping from disaster is impossible. So you can get in your car or somebody else’s car and go sit on a highway and hope your gas doesn’t run out, since none of the gas stations for 100 miles have any gas to give you, or you can stay in your house and hope you don’t die.

Sometimes, I really wish somebody would make me the head of the department of transportation. I would demand an absurd amount of money to build a better train system, to provide better transportation options for smaller towns, to provide extensive training for rescue personnel in managing evacuations like the clusterfuck in Florida this week. I would become an absolute fucking nuisance to Congress. I would be asking for money left and right to make it so that our only options as Americans weren’t to get into cars we can barely afford these days and attempt to organize our own evacuations from the growing number of natural disasters in this country.

Y’all keep posting these polls about how long you can tolerate being in a car at the same time that tens of thousands of Floridians were sitting on highways trying to get away from Tampa so they wouldn’t die in a hurricane.

We can tolerate being in a car all goddamn day. It’s because we don’t have a fucking choice, even when it’s life or death.

[gaybd1]

okay sorry I need one more vent post

my roommate at the old place, I’ve always gotten along great with (our dogs are best friends and she pretty much raised mine when she rescued his as a baby)

is there a bit of a language barrier there? yeah

but also she’s just passive aggressive like I never cleaned the house a lot but tbh neither did she. and anytime I did do anything I think she just assumed it was her boyfriend who’s ALWAYS there? but we would never have a conversation about a single thing house-wise

like okay, if I’m cooking I’m gonna wash all the dishes in the sink, not just my own. But several times I’ll leave like. A cup in there for a day (it’s just one cup!! it needs friends before I can wash!!) but then she uses dishes and washes allll of hers but leaves me the cup? Shit like that. But like overall it’s been fine

We had a two year lease and we just finished one year (we lived together somewhere else for a year before that) and

1. only her name is on the lease. hehehe fine by me

2. she knew the landlord prior to renting (a former student’s parents I think?)

3. this house was tiny okay

So anyway in the last year her boyfriend has been totally living there full time which we never really had a discussion over and somehow I’m still in charge of 14,000 of the 25,000 rent (my room is bigger but ????) and half the utilities

So I got a job out of town and the conversation evolved from

“I got a job out of town but I’ll keep living here bc I know we committed to two years and it would be shitty to leave you”

to

“Actually what if I did move out?” to which she was like “okay sure, I can find someone to move into your room”

Wow, permission, great

I started looking at places but it took about a month to land anything. Work hasn’t started yet anyway.

The first week I start going up for the new job I casually mentioned my move in conversation to which she was like “wtf I thought you weren’t doing that anymore? you just never left so I told the person I had lined up that they can’t have the room??” and I’m like. Okay all of this is brand new information to me, I didn’t know I was on a time crunch??

anyway I did find a place and signed for it and was like “listen I know this is a shitty situation (and I know I make way more money- I didn’t say that part) so I’m offering to keep paying for my room here even though I’m not living here” and she was like “that’s crazy I can’t ask you to do that” and we never even continued/revisited that conversation??

Anyway as soon as she knew I was leaving she just mentally checked out and the interaction between us wasn’t huge. I think she judged me for some reason? like she didn’t think I was putting my dog in the best situation by moving to a bigger city?

She recently quit her job (she’s opening a restaurant now or something?) and randomly MARRIED HER BOYFRIEND who STILL for some reason won’t take over my part of the lease like girl you were so ready for me to be out of there anyway.

Anyway not that I expected it but she didn’t help me with this move at all. Not even for like translation things that we both know would have helped me. I even asked if someone could be down at the old house to help load the movers when I waited for them up here with the dog and she made some excuse, like okay

So this has been HARD to do all alone (she forgets, she’s been in a relationship for years) especially being gone for work 12 hours a day without a day off. So I forgot some small stuff moving (also I’ve never moved out of a place still being lived in- that’s hard to make sure you’re not forgetting anything) and like. I had some extra moving boxes (brand new) that I left for her bc why not and she wasn’t home for me to ask if she wanted them

So anyway she’s been texting me

1. you forgot your pictures on the walls! (“omg no way I will have to make time to come get them”)

2. all these cleaning supplies in the bathroom? im gonna throw them away for you I guess idk why you forgot them (lol I know you’ve never cleaned a bathroom but ??? I left those on purpose bc you’re still living there?????)

3. you left some food in the cabinet I’ll help you throw it away (it was like. rice and vinegar. again, thought those might come in handy)

4. “did you forget your boxes?” “no I thought you might want to use them” “so I think you should take them with you when you come get the pictures” “lol I mean if you don’t want them you can just recycle them?”

and then she went OFF on me like “I’ve been dealing with your mess ever since I got home and I just really hate that dismissive tone you used just now”

like ?????????

yoh I know this is a long ass post but wtf do I do about that like I’d like to continue being friends even though she’s seemed far from interested in that for a while now…

[that-yandere-life]

Peter Parker with a fem s/o who tells him "i just want someone to take me away" because she's tired of being around toxic parents, friends that seems just too far away? (not in a depressed way, but really just tired and wanted to start over somewhere new)

[Warnings: Yandere Themes *Obviously*, Peter is 18+ as always, Mentions of feeling listless with life, and shitty people.]

Peter had met you in one of his college classes, slowly becoming friends with you, although all of his heart longed to be more.

So when you were expressing how tired you were of everything in life, and how it always seemed things got worse instead of better it started to give him an idea.

Slowly pondering it as he continued to listen to your grievances with the world, and the home you lived in.

How your parents were constantly holding you to standards that seemed all too out of reach, and you were wondering why you were even trying anymore.

Able to tell you weren’t depressed, you were just fed up with the constant monotony of life and spending it with people who didn’t fully appreciate you.

Even your so-called friends only seemed to contact you when they wanted something anymore, never calling just to talk or hang out.

Really the only person who didn’t treat you that way was Peter himself, always willing to listen to you vent or just be himself around you.

Honestly it was kind of refreshing how he acted, but it still wasn’t the full on escape you craved with all of your being.

Somehow you still longed for more, a change of pace in more than just the people surrounding you, but in your actual surroundings.

Looking out at the sunset the two of you were watching from a rooftop you got lost in thought somewhere along the lines.

"I just want someone to take me away.”

If Peter hadn’t been superhuman he never would have heard those glorious words come out of your mouth, still unsure for a moment that it was what he really heard.

Butterflies filling his stomach as he watches your silhouette begin to darken around the edges as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Once he left you for the night he couldn’t get those words out of his mind, ideas racing one after the other all reaching the same conclusion.

Which was… you had just given him permission to take you away from the situation you were in, even if you hadn’t known that is what you did with your near silent statement.

Many times you told him that you weren’t sure of what you were studying anyway, thinking it might just be because it was your family's directed career path rather than something you were passionate about.

That meant the world was your oyster, the two of you could go virtually anywhere and start over brand new.

Giving you time to explore what you loved, to figure out who you actually were inside, to become a person you could be happy existing as.

Then the two of you could go back to school when you were ready, sure he would have to temporarily hang his hat up as Spider-Man but he would gladly do so to be by your side forever.

After class the next day he asks you where you would go in the world if you could go anywhere, no questions asked, no money spared.

Seeming like something a friend would ask as an interesting conversation starter, making you think nothing of it telling him all the places you dreamed to visit one day.

Giving little reasons for each place, not knowing that Peter was storing this information, recording the conversation on his phone, despite being unlikely to forget, committing everything about you to memory long before this.

Explaining his idea to his mentor asking for assistance, telling him all about how you seemed fine now but more time going down the same path might not mean the same later on down the line.

Believing that your mental health was starting to suffer, and that he wanted to save you from feelings he knew all too well himself.

Of course Tony won’t need him to give him all that information before he would have helped the kid, seeing way too much of himself in the young man standing in front of him.

Getting every last detail into place he will suit up, ready to make his first appearance in front of you as his alter ego, an encounter you will never ever forget.

[I loved this idea, because I think we can all relate to wanting out of a situation into a new beginning. Starting over with something new, rather than live with something that wasn't fulfilling. I hope that you enjoy it, and that it was what you were searching for lovely! <3]

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

The Best Man

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, a few curse words

Word Count: 2,560

Author’s Note: A fun part about getting older is that all of my friends are married or engaged now, and sometimes weddings bring up some insecurities. A more than a bit of venting going on here. This is my first time writing for the love of my life Marcus Pike and I’m very nervous/excited. 

Summary: When your best friend asks you to be the maid of honor at her wedding, you’re convinced that you’ll never find your own happy ending- until you meet a certain groomsman. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

You weren’t proud of the feelings of dread that washed over you as you sat in the parking lot of the wedding venue. You’d been sitting in your car for just a little longer than socially acceptable, given that the rest of the bridal party had likely already gathered inside. You just needed to make it through the next two days, and then you could go back to your apartment, wrap yourself in a blanket, and wallow in your feelings. 

You thought you’d be better at ignoring the green-eyed monster that was currently threatening to ruin what was supposed to be a happy occasion. 

You’d dutifully sat through dress fittings, gave thoughtful opinions on flower arrangements and centerpieces and invitations, and meticulously planned the bridal shower and bachelorette party. It was your job as the maid of honor to make sure that everything went off without a hitch on your best friend’s special day. 

You were happy for her- so happy for her. You’d never seen her like this, and you knew that she and Greg were going to have the perfect lives together. A fairytale wedding, a beautiful home, a loving family with two-point-five kids and a golden retriever in the backyard. A cliche to be sure, but you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy that Melissa had found her perfect match while you were still decidedly and hopelessly single. You buried those feelings down deep, enduring it all with a smile. 

It would happen for you eventually. 

Probably. 

Well, you could hope, right?

When you finally made your way inside, Melissa had already worked herself into a panic. The best man, Marcus, was nowhere to be found.

Mellissa had told you a little about Greg’s best man. You knew that he worked for the FBI, that he and Greg had been in a band together in his younger days, and that he was flying in from Washington D.C. for the wedding. His flight was supposed to arrive an hour ago, and then he would take a cab from the airport to the venue. 

Clearly, that plan had derailed at some point. 

“Greg, we only have the rehearsal space for another twenty minutes-” Melissa reminded him impatiently. 

“He’ll be here, Mel. I swear, the one time he’s late for anything…” Greg sighed, shaking his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket, presumably dialing the best man’s number again before holding the phone to his ear. The silence seemed to drag on forever as Mellissa glared daggers at her husband-to-be. “Damn it, Marcus, turn your phone on...” 

You tried to deescalate the situation, placing a calming hand on Melissa’s shoulder and quietly reminding her to breathe. With patience wearing thin all around, the last thing you needed was for Bridezilla to make an appearance today. 

“Why don’t we just run through the ceremony without him, and he can follow my lead tomorrow. All he really has to do is stand there and hand you the rings, right? Does that sound okay?” You looked back and forth between the couple hopefully, and they nodded in agreement.

“Good. Happy thoughts, you two. It’s going to be the most magical day of your lives, I promise.” 

You’d woken the next morning with a tension headache from hell, and it had stuck with you all morning. As calm as you’d made yourself out to be earlier, the case of the missing groomsman was still bothering you. 

As you and the other bridesmaids got into your places for the ceremony, you ran through your mental checklist. As long as Greg’s friend was standing up there at the altar when those doors opened, you had everything under control. You’d even managed to wrangle the flower girl, Greg’s rambunctious niece, into a somewhat poised state, promising her an extra piece of cake later if she would just keep it together during the ceremony and pictures.

On the other side of the doors, you heard the music start, and one by one, the bridesmaids shuffled through the doors. When it was finally your turn, you took a deep breath, smoothing your hair to the best of your ability with your bouquet-free hand and hoped for the best as you walked through the doorway. Three thoughts always stuck in your mind during these kinds of things: 

One, you really, really hoped that you wouldn’t trip on the hem of the dress and bust ass in front of all of these people, effectively ruining the ceremony and humiliating yourself in the process. 

Two, Am I taking too long? I’m taking too long. Oh fuck, all of these people are staring at me wondering why I won’t hurry up, aren’t they? This isn’t my wedding, I should just-

Three, you wonder what it might be like if it was. For a split second, your dress is white, your heart is fluttering, and the man of your dreams is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

Your eyes go there without really meaning to. Greg is there, of course, sweating bullets. Idly, you wonder if the photographer can fix that in editing. God, you hope so. Poor Melissa. 

Then your gaze moves slightly to the right, and the fluttering in your chest returns. 

Whatever lingering annoyance you had with the best man and his lack of punctuality was out the window now, his warm brown eyes melting your resolve in an instant. He smiled, showing off the dimples in his cheeks and you felt yourself returning it before your brain had time to interfere. Reaching the altar and planting yourself in your designated space, your nervousness has morphed into something you can’t quite identify, but don’t have much time to linger on. The flower girl is already making her way down the aisle, distributing the petals in the way you hand practiced repeatedly last night, much to your relief, and your heart is still racing long after Melissa walks through the doors. 

Time always passes strangely during these types of things. The ceremony begins after you almost miss your cue to take the bouquet from her, and she shoots you a confused look over when it passes into your hands. As the officiant drones on and on about the bigger meaning of what is taking place here today, you find your arms aching as you try to hold both bouquets still. You wonder if you would be sore later from holding your arms this way for so long, and silently hope that everyone remembers not to lock their knees as you all try to remain frozen in place for the better part of an hour. 

Finally, the officiant arrives at the portion of the ceremony you’d all been waiting for, the vows. The words of love and commitment that made your insides all warm and fuzzy. The best part of any wedding, hands down. A guaranteed tear-jerker, and, more importantly, the signal that all of this would soon be over. 

“I, Greg, take you, Melissa, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do us part.”

Oh, what you would give to have that... The thought brought a lump to your throat, the tears in your eyes somewhere between happy and sad. Longing. That was the word for it. You forced yourself to look away from the scene, giving yourself a moment of reprieve from your own insecurities. 

You didn’t mean to make eye contact with Marcus at that moment, but you found him looking back at you. The space between his eyebrows creased slightly as he noticed the pain in your eyes. 

Receptions always seemed to drag, especially when you were unlucky enough not to check the plus-one box on the invitation. The bridal party had gathered themselves at one long table for dinner, but the cake had been cut well over an hour ago and all that was left was smalltalk and dancing. Or, in your case, people-watching. 

You sighed, your chin resting on your hand as you watched the couple sway to the music. They looked like they were lost in their own little world, their foreheads touching as they spoke in hushed whispers that no one could hear but them. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone had looked at you like that. Actually, you weren’t sure that anyone had ever looked at you like that. 

“They seem happy, huh?” A voice said from beside you. You hadn’t noticed the chair being pulled out or the tall, tuxedo-clad body dropping into it, but you looked over your shoulder to find Marcus beside you. You hadn’t dared to speak a word after the ceremony or during photos, but you had spent a good portion of the evening mesmerized by the soothing sounds of his voice as he gave the speech for his toast. It was low and raspy and warm, like whiskey and honey, and it gave you goosebumps now that it was finally being directed towards you. 

“I would hope so,” You agreed quietly. “They did just get married two hours ago.” 

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, giving you an inviting, hopeful smile and holding his hand out to you. “No pressure, but I wouldn’t really be fulfilling my best man duties if I didn’t ask the maid of honor to dance.” You nodded gratefully, taking his hand and allowing him to help you up and lead you out towards the dance floor.

“Can I ask you something?” He wondered, his voice quiet at the pair of you swayed to the music. Marcus had, it seemed, become your unofficial dance partner for the evening. He danced like a dork during the fast songs, but the slow songs were where he really shined. 

“Go ahead,” You nodded. 

“Earlier you seemed kind of… down. Anything you want to talk about?”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringed. You hoped that Melissa and Greg hadn’t picked up on your moodiness. 

“I’m pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job, you know? Are you not a big fan of weddings?”

“No, I love weddings,” You shook your head. “Sometimes it just feels like… You know that phrase, ‘always the bridesmaid, never the bride’? Well, that’s the unofficial title of my autobiography.” 

A soft snort escaped his nose, and you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. 

“Excuse me, are you laughing at my misfortune?”

He raised his hands in surrender, temporarily pausing your dancing, and you immediately felt the absence of the warmth from your waist and hand. “Not at all. I’m sort of in the same boat, actually.” 

He took your hand once more, raising it above your head and spinning you before the pair of you returned to your swaying.

“The thing is, I’m happy for Melissa, I really am, but she’s never even wanted to get married. Not until she met Greg. But here she is, getting her fairytale wedding, while I couldn’t even find a date for tonight. I’ve always liked the idea of being married. The whole madly in love, growing old together, building a life with someone kind of thing. I know it’s stupid, but I really, really want it, and sometimes it feels like my life is always just going to be… this,” You explained, gesturing arbitrarily small corner of dance floor the two of you had cut out for yourselves. “Standing on the sidelines, watching everyone else find their soulmate and wondering what the hell is wrong with me.” 

“I know the feeling. I once watched Greg give himself a concussion trying to smash a beer can on his head,” Marcus revealed. “Not exactly a catch, but I guess there’s someone out there for everyone.” 

You laughed at that, the tension easing itself out of your shoulders. “A concussion?”

“I drove him to the hospital and everything,” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the sound of your soft giggles. He gave your waist an encouraging squeeze, relieved that the sadness in your eyes had finally disappeared. 

“Alright, so we’ve discussed my deepest, darkest secret. Isn’t it your turn to make an embarrassing confession?” You asked teasingly. You were having more fun than you’d expected to have this evening; Marcus’ presence seemed to eclipse everything around you. 

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Does it have to be embarrassing?”

“Maybe not embarrassing, but it can’t be boring,” You decided, your curiosity piqued. 

“Okay,” He agreed. “I told Greg that I was working a case and that’s why I had to catch a red-eye this morning instead of getting in last night.” 

“Mmm, I’ve gotta say. That is a bit boring,”

“Yeah? Well, it was a lie.”

“Oh? You’ve caught my interest. And what is your excuse for the stress-induced headache your tardiness caused me this morning?”

“I almost decided not to show up at all,” He admitted. “Made it all the way to the airport before I turned around and went home. Turned off my phone, completely unpacked… My fiancé left me for another man about a year ago, and I guess I still have some wedding-related issues of my own to work through. But Greg is one of my best friends, so… here I am.” 

“Oh, I’m…” You fumbled, not quite prepared for the level of honesty that he’d given you in his answer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-” 

“No, no,” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I just meant that… I get it. It’s like you said. A life, a home, a family… That’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I thought I did everything right and that clearly wasn’t enough, so I started thinking that maybe there was something wrong with me. But I think the truth is that she just wasn’t the right person.”

“Wow, Marcus… I know there’s an open bar, but I feel like I should buy you a drink after that. That’s horrible…” 

He chuckled, shrugging. “I was pretty relieved when I saw I wasn’t the only one here counting down the hours until I could leave and go home.” 

“So… do you still think the right person is out there, then?” You asked quietly. 

“Oh, definitely,” Marcus said confidently, squeezing the hand that was still clasped in his. His eyes were molten as they looked into yours with an earnestness that set your heart racing.  “Maybe they’re just running a little late.” 

Melissa glanced over her shoulder to look at the maid of honor and best man, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she turned back to her new husband. 

“You don’t have your wallet on you, do you?” She asked, the I-told-you-so obvious in her tone. 

“You don’t win the bet unless he asks her out,” Greg reminded her. 

“Greg, get real. You see the way they’re looking at each other. I want my twenty bucks, babe.” 

Greg glanced over at his friend, instantly recognizing Marcus’ lovestruck expression. He had to hand it to Melissa, she’s one of a hell of a matchmaker. 

“Double or nothing,” He countered. “I’m guessing…. A wedding within the next… Two years?” 

Melissa scoffed. “Bring it on. I’ll rig the bouquet toss and we’ll have that invitation taped to the fridge within the year.”

General Taglist: 

@theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest @supernaturalcat7 @maythxthirstbxwithyou

Pedro Character Taglist: 

@coldlilheart​

[insomniac-arrest]

I need to vent about this somewhere or else I am going to do something extremely petty or mean. I am so angry.

Look, so I am personally, Bobo the Fool, and make mistakes everyday of my life. However, I forget that maybe I Am Not The Asshole once I interact with the general public since I would never fucking do this to someone.

Anyway, I, Bobo the Fool, was being indecisive and freaking out and not sure about my future since I don’t really want to stay in Boston, but Colorado is also mostly on fire and California is on fire, and I don’t want to go south. I ended up waiting until the end of July to finally commit to another apartment here in Boston.

For some reason I thought I could personally find 3 whole new roommates who would agree with one another within a month. And I was actually so close! I was so excited to find 3 other young professional queer women to live with!

Back up a little bit though, the first person I bring on is Julia who is breaking up with her boyfriend because he sucks and she thinks she’s gay. I had immediate big sister vibes toward her and it was easy to talk. She agreed to move-in.

There were some red flags since she took a while to respond most days and called herself a “trauma kid” often (I’m never interacting with someone who calls themselves this again) and overshared WAY too much.

However, these weren’t reasons to really be concerned. She said she wanted to live at the apartment and started sending me furniture ads and hopping on Zoom calls with other potential roommates. I did have to bother her into filling out the application, but I thought it was just because she was young-20s and intimidated. Not that she was an asshole.

Anyway, we text back and forth, and she says that she wants to help and reassures the landlord. I tell her that I’m meeting with 2 great candidates the next day and they want to meet us both before they sign on. She agrees to stop by and meet everyone. I say thanks because this is important and I’m really stressed (I’m doing all the work, but that parts fine).

The day of, the day she knows I’m getting people together and need her to meet them so they know she’s not evil and won’t eat their socks in the night, and she doesn’t show. I text her. No response. I email her. No response. I call her. No response. I call again and again the next day. This goes on for 2 days.

I try to be patient and kind with people, but I really needed her to at least Zoom with the other 2 roommates or else they wouldn’t sign and we were running out of time. She knows I’m “on the hook” for the apartment and will get in trouble if we don’t fill the place.

I text her that I understand if she’s going through something, that I won’t be mad, that she just needs to communicate. I beg her to please contact me so we can figure things out. And she fucking blocks my number. She spent two weeks telling me she wanted to sign-on and then blocks my number, fucking coward.

I have trauma too! I’m mentally ill too! That’s no excuse to be inconsiderate, it’s no excuse to treat other people like shit, it’s no excuse to hurt people and knowingly make their lives 200% harder.

I just needed one text!! This is serious! This is my life! And she blocks my number. I am so close to physically fighting her.

[kavikaslana]

Can I please request for LoV content though this time the reader isn’t anyone’s s/o per say, just like everyone’s mama in a sense, always being the one who care for them and give them love, big spooning, cuddle, help them with various stuff. And because they are ‘LoV mama’ they are quiet dominant and everyone listens to them and respect them. Can I get headcannons for LoV interactions with her? And if possible for another post a sequel of how they will react when they found out that she has a lover who basically babies her and she likes it too. How will they react? Will they treat her differently? Jealous? Thank you so much!!!!! 💕💕💕💕

Awwwww 🥺 just let me know if you want me to tag you whenever I do the other post ❤️ it got really laggy before I could add more so… :’)

Just some small stuff, I’ll do like one shots and the other thing in another post or two if you want me to tag you or somethin lol

Part 2

Kurogiri

Lemme tell you right now, he is absolutely relieved because now he’s got someone else to “babysit” the league

He finally feels comfortable enough to have a day just to himself

^ He’s just happy he doesn’t have to constantly worry about Dabi burning down their base, or Shigaraki turning Toga to dust

He’s kind of like a kid in a way

^ Like he’s looking for praise in a way, but not really

Encourage him when he’s doing a good job

Let him vent when a certain brat pisses him off

And PLEASE help him discipline said brat

^ He will literally beg you, just do it please

He definitely appreciates you the most out of everyone

He likes getting a pat on the back when he’s doing a good job, or even just having a drink with you when “handjob” is finally asleep I had to I’m sorry I love that nickname so much

You’ve got either really insulting nicknames or really sweet ones for everyone in the league, but you guys only use them when it’s just you two

You guys randomly get Magne pride stuff, like the transgender flag or those pins you find everywhere during pride month

^ Sometimes Toga too

^ And you if you’re part of it, but he goes without you if it’s for you, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise

He likes head pats but that’s all he’s comfortable with

Shigaraki

Ok, he’s definitely a bitch to you too

^ at first at least

In general, he didn’t really like people and his tolerance for everyone was pretty low for a long time

The only people he interacted with were the same few people, and they basically spoiled and groomed him, so it takes him the longest to warm up to you

He doesn’t like being told no, so expect him to act like a toddler when you tell him he can’t do something

He does kind of like having another decent parental figure even though in his head afo’s a good dad

He might invite you to go with him to GameStop or something like that

^ Or maybe just to grab a quick snack from a ramen shop or something along the lines of that

He’s somewhere between a moody teenager and a four year old, just remember that

Please don’t get mad at him, he feels bad after an hour or two

^ Kurogiri has to make him apologize for whatever he did though because he’s too stubborn to do it himself

He lets you pick out one of his good controllers and headsets so you can play with him in your own room, or with him, he doesn’t mind

Once he’s fully comfortable with you, he’s clingy as hell

Always asks for hugs or head scratches, most likely both

He tries his best not to snap at you like he does with everyone else, and he probably has the most patience with you

He doesn’t really cuddle with you since it’d be a little weird if you guys aren’t dating, but he does hug you from behind every once in a while

Likes to be close to you in general

He likes when you take care of his scars and wounds for him, or when you get him to stop scratching his neck

^ Cause it shows you care, and he doesn’t really think anyone really does except for Kurogiri and AFO

Probably the touchiest one

Expect to be giving him some form of attention every second, whether it’s talking to him or just holding his wrist

Probably the one that enforces your rules honestly (if you have any)

Basically he’s a simp, but like the platonic kind of simp

Dabi

Dabi’s a bit like Shigaraki

It does take him a bit to open up, but only about half the amount of time it takes Shigaraki to

He does feel bad when you get mad, and it takes him about the same amount of time to feel guilty

He definitely invites you to go places with him, but it’s usually a bar or a good spot to commit arson

He’s basically a moody teenager, that’s it, so he’s at least manageable

Sometimes he goes with you to get snacks or drinks (soft drinks basically), but if he does, expect to be the one paying

Might give you a cigarette every once in a while if you smoke, and he always offers to light it for you

He definitely likes to vent to you about his day, or how Shigaraki’s been bugging him more than usual

^ It’s mainly because you’re the only one that listens though mainly

^ He still appreciates it though, don’t get it wrong

One of his favorite pastimes is to walk around the city at night with you and maybe Kurogiri

He’s not very touchy in general, so don’t expect anything more than a pat on the back

Sometimes though, if you want a hug or something he’ll let you get one from him

He’s still not touchy at all, so don’t ask for very much

^ Lemme put it this way, expect more from pretty much everyone else except him

Spinner

He always runs to you about Dabi picking on him for his quirk when Kurogiri’s not around

Sometimes he asks you to play a game with him, but not very often

^ Even Shigaraki probably asks more than Spinner does

He’s pretty quiet with you most of the time, and he won’t usually talk to you unless you start a conversation

^ Basically he only talks to you when he needs to

He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’ll go out for food with you since his quirk makes him pretty easy to spot, but he does offer to help cook every once in a while

He likes to show you his collection of knockoff stain clothing

He has made efforts to try to get to know you more, but he’s a little shy

Get him Stain merch and you’ll automatically be his favorite out of everyone in the league

^ Shigaraki might kill you though, just a heads up

Don’t touch him unless you’re treating his wounds, he’s worse than Dabi is

Magne

She loves going out with you and Toga

^ Could be for food, or maybe clothes shopping, hell, even just a walk

^ She just likes spending time with you, but yes, it is preferred if Toga and Twice could come along

She’s gotta be the sweetest person out of the whole league

She’s probably called you her sibling a few times just so you know her opinion on you

You’ve got at least a few matching shirts and jackets with her and Toga

She probably offers to help you around the base more than anyone (except kurogiri)

You’re definitely in the top 3 favorites

She likes to do skincare routines with Toga, Twice, and you

Definitely paints her nails and asks you how it looks first

She’s totally onboard with you sitting in her lap, but it’s just for hugs, don’t get it mixed up

She’s probably one of the touchiest people out of the league

^ Not nearly as much as Shig, but she’s probably third

Toga

You’re a sibling too, 100%

She asks you to sharpen and clean her knives daily, but she always repays the favor by helping you cook or by cleaning 2-3 rooms

She’s given you one of her favorite knives to keep for your birthday, or just any special event of yours

She always asks you to put her hair up for her, and if your hair is long enough, she asks if she can do your hair

She’s really picky about anything she gets you, and she always pays attention to the smallest details in everything she gives you

She’s given you quite a lot of jewelry she stole from corpses, whether you wear it or not

^ You can sell it too, and she’s fine with it, just tell her thank you first though

She always wants to watch you cook and she’s even tried to make your favorite food once or twice with Kurogiri and Magne

She asks you to paint her nails for her, even if you’re not good at it, since one hand always turns out better than the other

Face masks and cleansers are a must, she prefers if you do more skincare stuff with her, but that’s the bare minimum

Definitely has a picture of you, Magne, her, and Twice as the wallpaper on her phone

She’s somewhat touchy, she’s all for hugs and maybe hand holding every once in a while

^ That’s it though

Twice

He likes to smoke with you (if you do)

^ If you don’t, he still likes to talk to you when he does

He’s really interested in your hobbies and what you like to do

He’s comfortable with taking off his mask fully when it’s just you two and no one else

He thinks your laugh is cute in the same way a puppy’s cute

He likes being cared for by you, and you’re always going to be in his top 3

His all-time favorite thing about you is just the simple fact that you accept him for who he is, flaws and all

He comes to you for head pats at least four times a day, and he likes holding your hand because it makes him feel safe and secure

He loves how gentle you are with him, and how you try your best to understand him

^ He does feel extremely bad when he involuntarily insults you

^ Tell him you know he didn’t mean it and that you still like him please

He loves cuddles, but only when he’s tired

^ It’s usually just him laying his head on your shoulder though

Again, having you around in general makes him feel safe

So after a long day of fighting heroes, he just wants to sit with you until he falls asleep

Compress

He basically the only other person besides Kurogiri that doesn’t have the mindset of a 15 year old or younger

It’s nice that he’s got someone other than Kurogiri to talk to now

He offers to help with chores the most

Likes to entertain you with magic tricks, and he always shows you his newest tricks first

^ Please tell him he did a good job and that it was convincing

He knows a good deal about you, like your favorite food and your favorite spot in the city

Sometimes he goes on walks with you when the tension after a mission dies down

He takes you out for food once or twice a week, and for a snack run every other week

^ He always gets a lot of stuff though, so it’s ok

He’s always the first to notice anything about you, like a new haircut or a new shirt

^ He’s always the first to compliment you on it too

On a scale of 1-10, he’s probably a 3 as far as being touchy goes

He appreciates praise and maybe pats on the back, but he doesn’t really care much about themselves

He doesn’t really actively seek your attention like Shigaraki does, but he doesn’t complain when he gets it

[rreyie]

Porco for fluff alphabet?

porco galliard fluff alphabet

warnings- very very mildly suggestive themes

a/n- i think we all need a bf like porco, he’s so sweet i stg

A is for Activites- what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time with them?

porco will do anything you want him to do. but a favorite of his is to just go out and explore downtown marley. there’s no specific goal you’re both trying to achieve, just going where the day takes you. downtown marley is crowded, so he’s got a hand holding yours the entire time to ensure you don’t get lost. you’ll both stop in a few different stores, his favorite is whatever the aot equivalent to bath and body works is and the lingerie shop. he wants to buy stuff for you to show he cares, and you’ll probably leave with a bag or two full of different clothes, and just random things you two thought were cool. the one place he insists on stopping at is the deli. he always gets something with at least two kinds of meat, and will pay for yours as well. the day ends with getting back home and doing some cuddling on the couch while he falls asleep on your lap.

B is for Beauty- what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?

porcos favorite feature about you is the way you smile and laugh, also your hands. each time you laugh at one of his jokes, he turns a deep red at the fact that someone finds him entertaining. his world seems to light up when you’re happy and smile at him, and he will cherish each time you do so. he also loves your hands, they’re just perfect for holding and he loves to intertwine your fingers.

C is for Comfort- how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

porco would do anything in his power to make sure you’re smiling by the end of the day. when his s/o feels down, he picks up on it very quickly and immediately asks what’s wrong, and who is causing you this pain. he would want you to take things slow for the day, he’ll be doing all the work for the next 24 hours. if you want affection, he will hold you while you cry into his shoulder. there’s a good chance he will cry with you, since he is upset seeing you like this. when you’re having a panic attack, he drops everything to get to you. if you’re immobilized by the emotion, he will carry you to a secluded room if there’s one nearby to give you some quiet with him. he will embrace you like he never has before, stroking your hair and whispering “you’ll be alright, i’m here honey. take your time.” he will be more understanding if you’re not okay by the end of the day since he knows these things are serious and he wants to make sure you’re completely okay before resuming back to normal.

D is for Dreams- how do they picture their future with their s/o?

porco dreams of having a family with you. once the war is over, he will make it a priority to get the two of you married and move out to a house in marley. porco absolutely adores children, so he would probably two with you. he wants two boys that can have the same kind of bond that he and marcel had. he would probably have enough money at this point that he could retire because of his service in the war, so he will become a stay home dad and watch his two boys. and he will probably name one of his sons marcel jr.

E is for Equal- are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

porco wants both of you to have the same level of commitment and dominance in the relationship.

F is for Fight- would they be easy to forgive their s/o? how are they fighting?

porco has a temper. he’s quick to snap. the fighting was likely initiated by him, possibly because he saw you hanging around reiner for too long today. it never gets violent, but porco can’t control what comes out of his mouth sometimes. he might throw an insult here and there. if you leave the room in tears, he will beat himself up over it and once he’s given you some space, he will apologize while trying to hold back tears because he feels like a shitty boyfriend for doing this to you. if you’re the one who apologizes first, he will pretend to act mad but really he’s not deep down inside because he loves you that much.

G is for Gratitude- how grateful are they in general? are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

porco might not say it, but he appreciates what you’re doing for him. instead, he will do things in return to show he’s grateful, i’ll get into that later down the list. he is overall pretty aware of how dedicated his s/o is to him.

H is for Honesty- do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? or do they share everything?

the only reason that you know everything that’s up with porco is because he vents to you very often. he does keep his fair share of secrets though, but they are very minor- except one. most of his secrets are about the war, one of his best kept and worst secrets about him was that he killed a child while at war with the mid east allied forces. he still feels terrible about it to this day, and wouldn’t want you finding out about what he did during the war.

I is for Inspirational- did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

you likely changed porco more than he changed you. porco has a tough guy exterior and was pretty self absorbed before meeting you, but he learned that it was okay to cry and let his guard down around you. he also became a little more selfless, since he would do anything to protect you. 

J is for Jealousy- do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

porco is one to get jealous very easily. he’s possessive too. if he sees you hanging around reiner for a minute too long, he holds a grudge on you. he doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the day, and when you meet up with him to head back to your bedrooms, he just says “so reiner is gonna replace me, huh?” and walks off without another word. you’re gonna have to smother him in kisses to let him know you still love him more than anyone else, and stay the night while he clings to you in his sleep.

K is for Kissing- are they a good kisser? what was the first kiss like?

porco loves to kiss. he’s amazing at it too. his kisses are sloppy, lazy, slow, and teasing, with a lot of tongue and spit. his favorite place to kiss is on your bed just to get some privacy to do whatever you want. he especially loves when you’re both half naked and kissing so he can feel your skin on his. the first kiss was in town next to a fountain, where he confessed his feelings to you. you told him to close his eyes and you went in for it, and he kissed you back instantly. the blush on his cheeks was insane once you pulled away.

L is for Love Confession- how would they confess to their s/o?

after the festival in liberio, he stood with you and watched the fountain in town square. you made a comment on how pretty his eyes looked in the moonlight, and he made a bad attempt at complimenting your face, which made you giggle. hearing you laugh made the butterflies errupt in his stomach, and he knew he couldn’t hide it anymore. he said, “look y/n, i have no clue if you’re gonna hate me after what i’m about to say, if you think i’m weird just say something, but i like you. i have since i met you, and i think i want to be with you- oh god, i don’t even like you, i love you-“ you had to shut him up and kiss him on the lips before he started to ramble about how much he loves you.

M is for Marriage- do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the marriage be like?

of course porco would want to get married, he’s a family man. he would probably propose somewhere very informally, like you two were talking about it one day and he’s like “well i mean there’s no better person than you that i would want to marry, you would make a wonderful wife-“ and that’s how it all started. you two got married in a church in liberio, with pieck as the maid of honor and zeke as the best man. he cried when he saw you in that white gown, he thought you looked like a princess. the marriage would be fun and laid back, you two would travel a lot before settling down about a year later.

N is for Nicknames- what do they call their s/o?

he calls you “babe” and “baby” a lot. occasionally he will call you “honey” or a variation of your name.

O is for On Cloud Nine- what are they like when they are in love? is it obvious for others? how do they express their feelings?

he’s a flustered, bashful baby. if you even look his way he will turn red. he tries to show off his skills, and wants to make himself stand out above the rest. he does his hair with extra care in the morning and starts to wash his face to make his skin look better. pieck picks up on it first, and she will occasionally say something about it, but all porco will do is grumble something and brush it off. zeke will notice and say something as well. porco expresses his feelings by occasionally complimenting you on your outfit, and sneaking a touch here and there like if he’s brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. if you do the same to him, his brain will stop working for a moment.

P is for PDA- are they upfront about their relationship? do they brag with their s/o in front of others? or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

porco is a big fan of pda and bragging. especially if you’re within 10 feet of reiner. he makes it very known that he’s taken, the first time he walked into the meeting room in front of the other warriors he literally announced, “oh yeah, y/n is my girlfriend now. just thought you guys should know.” he loves to talk about you with the other guys, not in a bad way but like sharing stories about time you two spent together, how wonderful you are, and quite frankly the other guys are kind of tired of hearing a new story about you every hour. porco won’t hesitate to kiss or show affection in public, not full out making out but like a medium length kiss on the lips is acceptable. he’s always got his hands on you in public too, like an arm slung around your shoulder or just holding your hand. he wants everyone to know you’re his.

Q is for Quirk- some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

not quite sure if this is beneficial in the relationship but he gives the best piggyback rides. he has a really strong back that’s able to lift you up and he loves hearing your little giggles as he hoists you up into the air and onto his back. then he will run all around the place with you on his back in a fruitful attempt to make you laugh and smile.

R is for Romance- how romantic are they? what would they do to make their s/o happy? cliché or rather creative?

porco is in general a very romantic person. he will always treat you and try to make you happy just like to do to him. one of his favorite things to do for you is to take you out to some expensive restaurant in the rich part of marley and treat you to dinner. he wears his best suit and thinks you look absolutely stunning in that outfit of yours, which makes a little blush bloom on his face. he is vocal when it comes to telling you “i love you” and will say it to you at least 3 times a day. when you come back from an expedition in the mid east, he will be waiting for you in the train station with a big sign that says “welcome home y/n” and a bouquet of roses.

S is for Support- are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? do they believe in them?

porco thinks you should go for whatever makes you happy. he doesn’t exactly know how to help, but he will give you words of encouragement- like “you’re doing so well babe!” or “i love how you’re so determined, keep it up!” he truly does believe you can achieve whatever goal you’re working towards, he has a lot of faith in you.

T is for Thrill- do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? or do they prefer a certain routine?

porco loves change, and he would like a new way of doing things. it can be anything from going to a different place for dinner or waking up at a different time, he just wants things to always be different. he values thrill and spice to your relationship, it’s a key element to dating him.

U is for Understanding- how good do they know their partner? are they empathetic?

he will slowly learn more about you throughout your relationship, but empathy is something he needs to work on. every new bit of information he learns about his parter surprises him, and he makes a mental note of it to use for later. empathy is different though, because of his tough guy exterior he didn’t find empathy easy in the beginning. in fact, the first time you vented to him he said something along the lines of “well? get over it. it’s not worth dwelling on it.” when you ran off crying, from then on he made sure to never say that again.

V is for Value- how important is the relationship to them? what is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

your relationship is one of the reasons why he keeps fighting with the war going on. he wants to have that future with you and live a peaceful life after, so in a way it’s a priority.

W is for Wild Card- a random fluff headcanon.

porco is a blanket hog when you go to sleep together. he doesn’t realize it but after he starts to sleep, he will grab the blanket and roll himself in it so that he’s in a blanket burrito and your shivering on the other side. he also snores very loudly. if you wake him up to tell him he will begrudgingly give you some of the blanket, but then he gets cold. he will cling to you the entire night in an effort to keep warm.

X is for XOXO- are they very affectionate? do they love to kiss and cuddle?

porco is a cuddle bug once you get to know him. he especially loves to cuddle in bed or on the couch. he loves it when you fall asleep on him so he can see how pretty your face is when you sleep. porco kisses you many times per day. on the neck, lips, cheek, collarbone, hand, anywhere he can have access to. he loves it when you kiss him back and leave a hickey or love bite.

Y is for Yearning- how will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

he will try to keep in contact with their partner and keep something of theirs by his side always until they come back. if the time is okay, he will write you letters and expect you to write one back saying that you’re alright. he will grab a t shirt you wore out of the hamper and sleep with it for the night because it smells like you. he also might cry a little because he misses you, and he will shed a tear once you come back home with the biggest hug and kiss.

Z is for Zeal- are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? if so, what kind of?

porco would go lengths for the relationship, especially if your life was on the line. he would do everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and comfortable. this is lowkey funny but if you two were in immediate danger, he would let you ride on the back of his titan while he runs to safety. he would sacrifice his life for you as well.

[5uptic]

crewfu: fanfic spotlight!

We work together by Anonymous (5up & DK, unrated, gen | 248 words)

Summary: One likes plants and baking, the other loves to create and design video games. They stay up and create monstrosities together, it's their fun, it's their favourite game. Aka a 5up and Dk roommate au!

No matter how life tangles, I’m still here with you. by hungryandsleepy (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 279 words)

Summary: 5up has been working so hard on his new map, and of course, he needs someone to give him a motivation to go to sleep.

objectively pretty by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 462 words)

Summary: steve is drunk. he's pretty sure 5up is too. that doesn't mean being called pretty is any less momentuous.

you plus me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 489 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve meet.

he said to me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 656 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve share a moment.

by the snowmen by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 670 words)

Summary: Steve has a moment when it's all over.

today you got to know me (a little bit too slowly) by runninohhoney (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 675 words)

Summary: Steve lights up a cigarette. 5up doesn't smoke.

what would it take by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 787 words)

Summary: It's Steve's first mission. He hecks up. Or does he?

sorta cute by floweruru (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 822 words)

Summary: ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘That’s just disrespectful,’ he said. Yet there was 5up, crushed like a can in Steve’s embrace, feebly kicking at nothing as his feet leave the pavement.

i was gonna kill u, but ur kinda cute?? by Cthulhuer (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve is a mess and 5up is worse.

I hear a Symphony by AwkwardAce (5up/Fundy, unrated, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: He exhaled until his lungs ached for air, fingers twitching as he opted to remove the sleek white gloves he wore in a feeble effort to soothe himself. It didn’t work. He wrung his trembling hands together as his eyes raked down the worn leather case taking in the doodles- some etched some drawn- across the faded surface. He snapped the buckles open and his breath hitched, catching in his already tight throat. For a moment the world span, his head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. 5up breathed out slowly, shakily.

staring by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: steve asks 5up out. 5up doesn’t know how to respond.

and it's four am, and yet, you're here by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: in which steve shows up at 5up's house, in the middle of the night, completely spontaneously

more than this by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve catches 5up venting.

3:15 by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve tries to guess Five's name. It's much more difficult than he anticipated.

things were different by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: His eyes circled around to his friends, Kimi and Janet engaging in pleasant comversation, sleepy and becoming increasingly more sober. He looked, finally, across him, and caught Dumbdog staring at him. What now bro, what did this guy want. small talk, turns into not small talk, then there's no talk

Once Upon A Dream by SmearedWords (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: 5up looks ethereal, while Steve is struggling to breathe. "You're not real either." Or: Steve has a crush and a nightmare in three parts, 5up is tired, the crew life is hard and Polus sucks.

the ones you love will call you back by homeward_bound (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.8k words)

Summary: stevesuptic: dude, is it weird that i miss vegas   DumbDog: No? I do too.   stevesuptic: okay [steve misses vegas and apollo. they talk about it]

cough it out by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: Apollo thinks that Steve must be well and truly gone, at this point, because he giggles, like Apollo’s just told a particularly funny joke. He looks Apollo right in the eye and asks, “Do you trust me?” “Absolutely not.”

ivy by Secular_Czar (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: It might be a sad day, in general, but Steve isn't about to let it get to him. His friends won't ever let him wallow either.

The Colosseum by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: Five squinted, looking at the colosseum intensely. He thinks Apollo was latched onto the sphinx’s shoulder, fur matted with blood. Janet was slumped against a column, probably out, with Kimi whose bow was snapped in two, her leg twisted at an odd angle. DK was in the corner trying to cast various supporting hexes and charms with a broken arm, whilst Hafu was dragging a heavily bandaged Steve away. or 5up slaughters a cat

Oneshots :) by woofles1990 (5up/Fundy, 5up/Steve, teen rating, multi | 2.5k words, oneshot collection)

Summary: Just a bunch of MCYT/Among Us oneshots, mainly featuring 5up's crew because yes :)

the adventures of 5up and steve staying up late because they're under 30 by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: “The night is young!” Steve yells at the ceiling, throwing his hands up in the air. “Take advantage of it! Commit crimes! Fuck hoes!” Five catches his hands in the air and laughs. “You wish you had hoes.”

unreasonably in love by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.6k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "It was like pieces of a puzzle, everything coming together. And now, here they are, standing in their apartment, which looks more like a hollow shell than a home, filled solely with scattered boxes and the minuscule amount of furniture that they brought with them to Vegas." Or: what happens after Apollo and Steve move in together.

cant be love by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.5 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: He had chuckled to himself, he felt so stupid. Who in their fucking minds names a playlist 'sugr?', he thought, internally cringing. A story where a Steve meets an Apollo, and some things happen.

Somewhere in the darkness, us together for a while by tumtummeke (Apollo & Kimi & Steve, teen rating, gen | 3.6k words)

Summary: Apollo worries about Steve. Steve breaks his vape pen. Kimi plays power washer. Self-indulgent angst, with a generous helping of friendship and cuddles.

odyssey by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 23k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens...they warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. Therefore pass these Sirens by and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear." -Homer, The Odyssey

Also: SilverSprinklez10‘s yupwaves collection.

Summary: This is a Harry Potter AU based on the characters/personas of the youtubers/streamers.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s), if there is one/multiple], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k] ([added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not)])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji... you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed (but this is the first one! lol).

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part Two

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Some manhandling, allusions to nudity.

A/N: Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years. So this is more from Sherlock’s point of view and I had fun with this, because despite how intelligent he is, I think that he would still be lost to a woman’s way of thinking or reacting. Also there will be a part three. A culmination if you will of all my teasing : )

Reckless Intent: Part Two

It had taken more time than he would have liked to get the bestial efflux that had swarmed his blood to calm.  

Sherlock pulled a long-drawn breath through his nose as he silently counted the seconds until a certain menace in the shape of woman appeared by his side. Never had he met someone who could stir his anger so easily. She made him want to rage, to shake her until sense fell into that cob she called a mind. How she could incite him with just a few well-placed words was boggling.  

Yet, images of Delia on that stage danced before his eyes as he waited outside the club. The hint of cleavage through the feathers of her fan, the shapely curve of her thigh... Lust had seared his veins at the unexpected display of her womanly assets. His palms had itched with the need to cup her silky flesh, to leave his mark on her unblemished hide, and pull the most melodic notes of pleasure from her dainty throat. His manhood had hardened with a demand that only her tempting hole could satisfy.

And had they been alone?  

Had the ravenous stares and drunken jeering of the swine inside not been present... he would have taken her there on that staged. He would have answered her teasing seduction, shown her what happened when such a flag was waved before a bull.  

But they hadn’t been alone. He wasn’t the only one to gaze upon her bare flesh and that was unforgivable. Fury still spurned his veins, only the remembrance of their kiss tempered his lingering ire.

Sherlock bit back a groan as he tried to ignore the memory of the delightful contrast of her wired nest against her smooth skin and her heat... his fingers had been brushed by her desirous warmth, had felt the hint of her promising dewy depths. He marveled that he hadn’t sunk into her depths there and then. Her protest to his advances had been meek at best. There was no doubt in his mind that his Delia was a wanton... but she was his wanton. It was high time that he made his claim known.

He would not tolerate another incident such as this.

His fingers flexed and tightened over the head of his cane, releasing the frustrated bur that Delia so expertly pricked in him. It wouldn’t do to walk the streets with an erection like an adolescent boy. As if she knew his struggle, Delia appeared at his elbow only to add oil to his smoldering flame. Her frock covered little more of her chest than her stage attire.  

His nostrils flared with annoyance. Even her hair was still unrestrained, her curls falling loose about her shoulders, “That was longer than ten minutes.”

Delia arched a brow at him, unimpressed by his dour reproach, “Yet, you didn’t come back for me. You should be pleased.”

His glare was glacial, but she refused to simper –stubborn mule of a woman.  

Sherlock snatched her elbow before she had a chance to send another volley. The firm grip teetered on the edge of impropriety, but it was hardly the most improper act that either one of them had committed so far. He nudged her forward, refusing to speak further until they were away from this infernal club.

Luckily, Delia took the hint as she adjusted her arm in his grip and fell into step. It wasn’t lost on him that she had quickly masked the aggressive undertones of their current meeting. It no longer looked as if he were dragging an unruly woman through the street but had taken to escorting a potential paramour. Strangely, they fell somewhere in between the two paradigms.

They swept down the dimly lit streets with marked silence. He, still simmering, unwilling to vent his anger where it could be heard by the restless populace of London and she – he darted a glance to his companion – she was remarkably stoic. Her features serene as if nothing was amiss, but the darkened hue to her cheeks and the tense set to her jaw belied her discomfort... or perhaps her anticipation.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure which beset her and ignored the little voice in his ear that whispered it was the later. He had decided long before he had exited the club that his baser urges would be denied that night. Far more pressing concerns needed to be addressed before he conducted any further intimate explorations of her body.

As if she knew where his thoughts had led, Delia smirked dimly as he prodded her up the steps to his apartments. He wanted nothing more than to steal that smile from her face and it wasn’t until the door clicked firmly shut that he began his attack, “Have you lost your damn mind? Did you even for one minute think about what would happen to you in that place?”

“Sherlock -”

“No.” He continued as if he hadn't heard her, “You didn’t. You’re lucky I was there – that I even had an inkling to show up. Else wise you would’ve ended up like your friend or worse on your back -”

SMACK.

Fire laced up the side of his face as he felt the imprint of her palm reverberate through the bone of his cheek. Glowering he turned back to her and found Delia torn between shock at her actions and indignant.

Her breath came fast as she spat, “You are not my keeper, Sherlock Holmes. If you’re not going to discuss this case, say so now and I will take my leave.”

Sherlock smiled grimly, “Oh, I am taking the case, Delia. I’ve said as much already. And you’re right, I’m not your keeper. I’m far more than that and you will acknowledge it before the night is over.”

“How dare you!” Indignation seemed to have won out in his little menace as she hissed, “To make such assumptions based on one measly kiss... I would think such acts beneath you. Impervious king that you are.”

Volatile.  

Rash.  

Words that could be used to describe both of them in that moment, Sherlock noted distantly. He fought to keep a hold of his temper. He had pushed her tonight and she had already been walking a tightrope by going undercover in that club. He shouldn’t be surprised that the bewilderment and anger she had carefully kept under lock and key had been released now.  

However, he was sure that he had made his intentions clear long before his stolen kiss, in fact he was sure of it. A resounding crack echoed through the foyer, stunning both occupants as the head of Sherlock’s cane fell from its body. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been gripping the implement or even that he was still holding it.  

He cast the ruin staff aside with a barely contained growl, “One measly kiss?”

He prowled forward like a stalking jaguar, “Is that what you think I based my assumptions on?”

Delia, to her credit, did not cower from him as she lifted her chin defiantly, “I think you saw naked flesh and responded as all men do.”

Again, Sherlock wondered if she could read minds. Hadn’t his thoughts dwelled upon her wicked display before she had arrived at his side? But she was very mistaken if she thought that his reaction was merely a result of her dance... No, his interest in Delia Woodson had started long before this night.

“Blue myosotis.”  

Delia blinked, her confusion apparent by his pointed delineation, “Pardon?”

“Blue myosotis.” Sherlock repeated definitively, “Or more commonly – forget-me-nots. You pinned them to my lapel three months, one week, and two days ago. After that murdered child was found by the docks. I was upset, but you...you were the only one to notice. You saw through the impassivity that I had carefully cultivated to keep myself detached.”  

He refused to use the word impervious.

His voice grew soft, “You pinned the flower to my lapel and said, ‘It’s a small token, Mr. Holmes, but colorful – bright. You need a little of that I think.’ I knew I loved you then.... and the flower you chose? More than appropriate for that realization. I doubt you knew but forgot-me-not's represent true love.”  

Stricken with shock, Delia could only gape at the unexpected confession, “I - Sherlock.”

“So, yes, Delia. I am far more than your keeper.” He continued stoutly, daring her to interrupt, to protest his words, “And not yet your lover, but that state will be rectified soon enough I’d wager. And no, our kiss had little to do with your irreverent show, though I do wish it had been under different circumstances, I don’t regret it.”

He could see her floundering. By not hiding from the truth, nor ignoring his earlier actions he had stripped bare any defensive armor she had managed to cobble together in their brief time apart. And he had finally acknowledge the elephant that he had been alluding to all night. He didn’t need to hear the words reciprocated – he knew she felt the same, though she hadn’t realized it until he had accosted her in that club. He had seen the moment she comprehended where her affections laid.

His hand came up to grasp her chin as he made sure that he fully held her attention, “And such antics will not occur ever again. I won’t stand for it and your bottom won’t sit for it, should you attempt such an act.”

Her eyes widened at his pointed threat, knowing he was serious her defiance flickered at him. Sherlock nearly grumbled. Why did he have to fall in love with the most obtuse woman on the bloody planet?

“This...” She drew a calming breath and laced her delicate fingers over the top his that still grasped her chin, “This is not talk of the case.”

Dull amusement laced through him at her poor deflection, but he took his cue and drew back a step, “I garnered several leads while you were performing. I’ll be able to more thoroughly investigate tomorrow. I haven’t forgotten about your Margaret.”  

“What leads?”

Sherlock shook his head in the face of her hungry interest. She had taken far too many risks as it were for this case, “No. You want me to take this case and investigate? Then my price is that you stay out of it.”

“But -”

“You were reckless tonight.” Sherlock vented, his anger rising back to the top. She hadn’t seen the men that had watched her – followed her, but he had. Not all of her audience had been lustful brigands. His little menace had made no secret of her inquiry into her friend’s death, “Purposefully, I’m certain.”

Her lip jutted out temptingly and he nearly cracked a smile in the face of her pout, “She’s my friend, Sherlock. Surely, I deserve to know – to help.”    

“You will stay out of it. That’s my price – take it or leave it, Delia.” He stated resoundingly, unwilling to budge on this point. He would fill her in once he had solved the crime and the murderer was being carted off by Scotland Yard, but not a second before that occurred.

Delia huffed as she dared ask, “And if I refuse and continue to investigate on my own?”

Sherlock stiffened at her challenge as he raised an unimpressed brow and smiled thinly, “Oh, I dare you to try. You won’t make it out that door, I can promise you that.”

“I have to leave some time; I don’t live here.” She muttered lowly, after all he only had just started his investigation.

“Yet.” Sherlock returned arrogantly as he stepped towards the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson!”

The shadow of his housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs within seconds. He had no doubt that she had heard every word passed between himself and Delia, but ever discreet the matronly woman had waited until he beckoned. Draped in her robe and bonnet, he felt a stirring of guilt for having disturbed her slumber with his return, but even still as she blandly met his stare – he couldn’t help the mischievous spark that entered his mien.

“Please ready the guestroom. Miss. Woodson will be staying here tonight.” Loathe as he was to have her out of his sight, Sherlock knew they needed space. Too much had occurred in a sort time span and to be perfectly frank he needed a moment away from the weight of her presence. He needed to recoup.  

“That’s not necessary.” Delia started softly.

Sherlock barely contained a weary sigh, “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to escort you back to Hoxton.”

She blinked, bemusement once again piercing her features, “How did you know - ?”

Sherlock didn’t deign to answer. To say he wasn’t thrilled that she lived in such a horrid area was a vast understatement, but he had to admit that it was a step above White Chapel and far better than Old Nichol. Another situation he would soon need to rectify.

“I’ll have warm water brought to your room.” He said instead, “Rest. We’ll speak more in the morning when calmer heads prevail.”

Delia stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher but found that the calm he had just manage to reclaim was rapidly deteriorating. His heart lurched and the familiar itch to his palms returned as she stepped back into his sphere.

“Delia...”

“You followed me. You accosted me. Kissed me. Protected me. Took a case that is boring just to make me happy -”

“Keep you out of trouble -”

“Told me that you love me.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken and soundly shut him up. 

Delia smiled then. A small smile, but so bright before she leant up on her toes and claimed a kiss so gentle that it stole his breath.

Unconsciously, his fingers latched into the folds of her gown as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. The supple swell of her lips felt like silk under the brush of his tongue. She tasted sweet, like honey and tea. She moaned lowly and a pleased growl rumbled through his chest at the sound.

They must have stood like that for only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  

Delia, as tenderly as she had approached him, broke away again and started up the stairs. Sherlock could only watch after her dazed. 

She paused halfway up and glanced at him over her shoulder, “And you send me to the guestroom? You’re an odd man, Sherlock Holmes.”

She disappeared over the landing and Sherlock was left in stunned amusement. He had half a mind to go after her. Her teasing knew no bounds it seemed... but despite her words, he knew she was virginal, and he planned to take his time divesting her of that chaste state.

However, he should have known that Delia had no such patience...

Damn her.

Previous Chapter

[fatbitchhblog]

Big vent but I need to get it off my shoulders so like my parents have never really gotten along and they’ve been in fights both big and small, some just arguing and some involving guns lol. So you can imagine how I felt when I got a text from my sister saying “mommy and daddy got in a fight” while I was at a friends house. I honestly laughed a little because it happens all of the time they’re always in fights yk? But then I get home and my moms nowhere to be found. I ask my sister and she says our mom left hours ago and hasn’t come back. Now to some people that sounds terrifying but to me I didn’t care, our mom is always doing that where she runs off after a fight/argument and leaves us without warning. But then more than 24 hours pass and it was like 30° so my dad files a police report and everything and I’m freaking out. Yes she has left before but never more than 6 ish hours. The scary part is that she didn’t have her car. So she either found somewhere to spend the night or spent the night in below freezing temps with no heating.. so at this point I’m freaking out ofc. Like wtf mom, where the hell are you?? And I honestly thought she had committed suicide because she suffers from many mental disorders but then my sisters and I get added to a gc with our aunt and she says “your mom just called from an unidentified number and says she’s in a women’s safe home and she’s okay but she won’t tell anyone where she is exactly” and when I tell you I was PISSED. And your probably thinking; Zoey, why are you pissed, your moms alive!! I’m pissed because my mother- a 45 year old woman (fully fucking grown) decided to leave her 5 children out of nowhere WITHOUT SAYING BYE to a woman’s safe home- if you don’t know what that is, it’s where women go to seek safety/shelter specifically from domestic abuse, not small arguments with their husbands, I mean like full blown abuse like they have nowhere to go and are in a crisis type situations- and the problem is, why did she go there after just a small argument and decide to call her sister who literally never talks to us?? Why didn’t she call any of her children? I get not calling me cuz I’m only 13 but she could have called my 17 year old sister, or my 18- almost 19 year old one??? And on top of that, why didn’t that bitch even say bye? And why did she go to a woman’s safe home acting like she’s being physically abused when in reality SHES JUST LOOKING TO RUN AWAY FROM HER FUCKING PROBLEMS. And I can’t blame her for wanting to run away from her problems because I get that as well and she was never taught that running away from them is bad, but at the same time, she decided to run away from them in this way RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS and leave all of her children alone?? WE GOT HER CHRISTMAS PRESENTS AND I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO IT MY SISTER GOT HER A PERFUME AND SHE FUCKING LEFT US WHAT THE FUCK??? WHY CANT SHE JUST GET A GOD DAMN DIVORCE AND MOVE ON???? I’ve never felt this way towards my mom, I’ve been mad at her before and I’ve said I hate her before, but right now I feel a sense of rage and resentment that I’ve never felt towards her before. I want her to come back of course but at the same time I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to see her the same way you know? I don’t know maybe I’m over exaggerating but no matter how many runs I go on to clear my head, I can’t stop thinking about how she didn’t even say goodbye and about how she let me puke myself to sleep because I thought she was dead and in reality she was just taking a “mental break” in a little home with people taking care of her. What the fuck mom?

[megabadbunny]

Aural Fixation

He can’t say he’s imagined such things (because he hasn’t, would never; big dumb sexless space oaf, that’s him) but if he were to start, he might imagine that’s a sound Rose makes during arousal.

Not that he’d know. Or imagine. Because he doesn’t and he hasn’t.

(Warning: here there be smuts.)

***

CLANK.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!”

Halfway down the hall, the Doctor chuckles. “Need any help in there?”

Another clank, and he can just make out the sound of Rose swearing under her breath. “No,” she calls back.

“Really? Cos it sounds like you picked a fight with the wardrobe,” the Doctor teases, “and you’re losing.”

A loud Ka-CHUNK sounds in response. “I’m fine!” Rose insists stubbornly.

Shaking his head, the Doctor laughs. “What could you possibly be doing to cause that racket?” he asks, doubling back toward the wardrobe room.

“It’s not me, it’s this stupid busted thing,” says Rose’s voice, and the Doctor steps inside the room to see the outline of her body, silhouetted against the back of a folding-screen; from the looks of it, this stupid busted thing refers to the automatic lace-puller, attached to Rose’s silhouette by two shadow-strings. Normally cheerfully upright, the outline of the lace-puller is now slumped, wheezing a little, and yep, that’s the faintest hint of smoke rising from its vents.

The Doctor tsks. Only got a couple of centuries out of the thing. Typical rubbish Grishtal workmanship.

“Sure you don’t need help?” the Doctor asks.

“Not unless you know how to lace up a corset.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” he replies confidently, striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

Rose laughs. “I dunno, you might be—”

Without warning, the Doctor pushes the folding-screen aside to find Rose standing between a mirror and the auto-lacer, hair coiffed, corset half-laced and strings pulled taut, wearing nothing else but a pair of extremely anachronistic (not to mention extremely tiny) knickers. She’s staring at him over her shoulder, wide eyes growing wider, pink cheeks blooming pinker.

“—surprised,” she finishes breathlessly, and neither of them are laughing now.

Fortunately, the Doctor’s mind is a far more impressive machine than the auto-lacer, and its many many gears and cogs only falter for the briefest of moments. It’s nothing to be shocked by, after all. Rose or not, there’s nothing unusual about the display in front of him. It’s just a body. A human body. They’re all more or less the same. Skin, hair, curves. Undergarments. Surprisingly small undergarments that hide very little. Nothing to be startled about. Certainly nothing to bluster over.

“What are you wearing those for?” he blurts out, staring at the pants, and internally kicks himself.

Rose’s eyebrow piques incredulously. “You want to know why I’m wearing knickers?”

The Doctor rolls his eyes. “No, I’m saying that if you’re gonna go through the effort to put on something historically accurate like that—” he says, gesturing to the corset, “—you might as well commit to the whole kit. You know. Bloomers and such.”

“What do you know about bloomers?” Rose laughs.

“I know modern-day pants are an anachronism.”

“And I know no one’s gonna be seeing them anyway. Well, except you now, I guess. Not totally sure you count, though,” she teases, looking the Doctor up and down.

“Gee, thanks,” the Doctor says wryly, watching as Rose struggles to pull her laces free of the auto-lacer’s vicelike grip. “I was gonna offer to help you with that, but now I’m thinking maybe I’ll just leave you to it.”

“No you won’t.”

“Oh no?” asks the Doctor, leaning lazily against a coral strut.

“Nope.” Rose shoots another look at him over her shoulder when he doesn’t move. “You’re too impatient for that.”

“Nah. See, patience is a skill, a discipline, acquired over trials and tribulations over the course of time. And me? I’ve been around for a bit. In fact,” the Doctor says smugly, crossing his arms, “I’d say I’ve had bouts of patience that lasted longer than you’ve been alive.”

Rose smiles at him, her gaze soft and warm, and really, it’s almost maddening, the instant effect that look has on him, the way it makes something go all honeyed in his chest. “Do you really want to stall your adventure just because your companion got trapped by the dressing-machine?” she asks sweetly. “Cos the whole stuck-in-the-car, waiting-cos-the-missus-ain’t-ready-yet bit sounds awfully domestic.”

The Doctor glares at her. Rose smiles at him beatifically, tongue trapped in her teeth. His eyes narrow. Her smile brightens.

Dammit.

“Next time,” he says, even as he grudgingly pushes off away from the strut, “we’re going somewhere and somewhen that does not require complicated underthings.”

“Fine by me,” replies Rose, watching in the mirror as the Doctor approaches the auto-lacer, scanning it with the sonic. Official diagnosis: it is, indeed, busted. “Wouldn’t have gone for the whole historical look anyway, ‘cept I remembered that run-in with the what-d’you-call-‘ems, Henry VIII’s fashion police,” Rose continues.

Chuckling, the Doctor adjusts the setting on the sonic, loosening the auto-lacer’s joints. “Those were just constables, I’m afraid. No fashion police, just coppers getting a little carried away enforcing local sumptuary laws, drunk on an ounce of power. Typical lower-level law enforcement.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t give you or Jack any trouble.”

“All right, sexist typical lower-level law enforcement.” Pulling the laces free from the machine, he turns to Rose. “Now, if you want to talk about literal fashion police—”

He tugs on the corset-laces and Rose stumbles back into him, gasping in surprise.

“Still earning those sea legs?” teases the Doctor.

“Git,” Rose laughs, pushing away. “Give a girl some warning, first!”

“Sort of thought this would give it away,” the Doctor says brightly, giving the laces another little tug.

Rose shoots a dirty look over his shoulder.

His responding grin is perfectly innocent. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Speaking of drunk on power,” Rose mutters, but she’s smiling when she says it, so the Doctor pays it no mind. This time, when the Doctor pulls on the laces, she doesn’t stumble, just rocks back a little. Inwardly, the Doctor grins at that. Her time aboard the TARDIS has earned her some decent sea-legs, after all.

Crossing the laces over each other, the Doctor threads them through the grommets, pulling them taut again, after. He repeats the pattern, pulling the laces snug each time, until he cinches a little tighter and Rose lets out a sharp breath in response.

“All right there?” he asks.

“S’fine,” she says, but in the mirror, she looks a little winded.

“I can loosen up.”

“It’s fine,” Rose repeats, straightening up a little. “Just��sometimes it sort of pushes the air out of your lungs, is all.”

The Doctor shrugs and sets back to work. Cross, weave, thread, pull.

Rose gasps.

Glancing up again, the Doctor frowns. “There’s no use in you getting all dolled-up if you can’t breathe.”

“I can breathe just fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t want you fainting in the middle of the opera.”

“Oh, god forbid I should miss the opera,” Rose teases.

“I mean it,” he says, and he starts lacing again. “You faint, I’m not lugging your dead weight around. Not with whatever massive frock you’re undoubtedly planning to wear over this.”

“Oh whatever, just take the dress off.”

Something goes funny in the Doctor’s stomach and he yanks the laces hard. Rose’s footing slips a little and she gasps, the sound just the littlest bit strangled this time. Before the Doctor has a chance to apologize, Rose shakes her head.

“Don’t stop,” she says, and is it him, or has her voice gone just a little bit breathy?

“Might as well get it over and done with,” she adds quickly.

Fair enough. He goes back to it, cross, weave, thread, pull, cross, weave, thread, pull, and the little sound that escapes Rose doesn’t sound like a gasp, so much as a—

Well. No. It sounds exactly like a gasp. Just not the sort of gasp one typically makes while one is getting dressed. He risks another look up at the mirror and oh no, no, that’s a mistake, because Rose isn’t looking him in the eye anymore, instead she’s staring into nothing, biting her lower lip so hard it’s gone white as her chest gently heaves, soft pink blooming over her décolletage. And if the Doctor didn’t know any better, he’d think he caught just the lightest whiff of pheromones dusting the air.

It suddenly occurs to the Doctor that his offer of help might have gotten him more than he bargained for.

He should stop, he thinks, before Rose cottons on that he’s cottoned on and things get awkward. Or, would that make it worse, if he stopped, and then Rose would know for certain that he knew? They’ve already established that he doesn’t really. Know, that is. About this sort of thing. Well, no, she knows he knows, but she doesn’t know how much he knows, and she still seems fairly convinced he doesn’t know anything at all. So.

So the surest way to maintain decorum is to play dumb, right? Play dumb, spare Rose’s blushes, preserve plausible deniability. Just be an idiot. Capital plan.

He crosses and weaves and threads and pulls again and Rose lets out another strangled noise and he can’t say he’s imagined such things (because he hasn’t, would never; big dumb sexless space oaf, that’s him) but if he were to start, he might imagine that’s a sound Rose makes during arousal.

Not that he’d know. Or imagine. Because he doesn’t and he hasn’t.

And he crosses and weaves, threads and pulls and crosses and weaves, threads and pulls again and she swallows back a pant and he accidentally looks up to see her in the mirror again, eyelashes fluttering, still biting that lower lip, biting so hard he’s surprised she hasn’t drawn blood, and her cheeks and ears have gone pink to match the blush of her chest, which, coincidentally, is getting more and more difficult for the Doctor to ignore, either due to its color or its motion or the fact that her breasts bloody damn well look like they’re about to escape this godsforsaken corset any second now—

Cross, weave, thread, yank and Rose stumbles backward again with the force of it, smacking into the Doctor with a bodily thud.

“Leverage!” he announces before either of them have a chance to react, because her face in the mirror and her body pulled against his are decidedly not helping things. “Need leverage to wrap up a task like this,” he adds, dropping the laces so he can grab Rose by the arms and walk her over to the nearest coral strut, blessedly out of the mirror’s view. “It’s all about the physics, see,” he continues, placing Rose’s hands on the strut. “Right amount of leverage, right amount of force; hang on and you’ll be sorted in a tic.”

He picks up the laces and pulls them again, pulls them tight and crosses and weaves and oh, oh no, oh this is even worse somehow than before, because now instead of Rose’s whole body rocking toward him, it’s just her hips and bum, inching back and forth with every tug of the strings, offering a graphic preview of what it would look like if—

Nope. Nope. Can’t think like that won’t think like that mustn’t think like that but it’s too late to change tactics now, just got to ignore the scent and the heat and the view and the sounds and her and move as quickly as possible, wrap this up before his stupid overactive senses pick up on anything else. Rose clings to the strut as he works, biting back her gasps from the sound of it, but the Doctor can still hear her breath trying to escape, can’t help but notice the trembling in her legs. He focuses intently on the work in front of him, fingers and hands working rapidly to finish, and if the laces miss a grommet or two—well, that’s not a flustered mistake. It’s a stylistic flourish. Yeah. He can work with that.

“Done,” he announces, and he’s very pleased with how even and calm his voice sounds despite everything rioting in his head, very pleased indeed. “The chore is complete; you have been properly cinched, tucked, and flattened in all the right places. The inability to properly breathe or move is now totally yours.”

“Thanks,” Rose laughs, and the Doctor pointedly ignores how shaky the sound is, the way she gulps for air.

“Need any help with anything else?” he asks, stepping back, hands firmly lodged in pockets. “Socks? Shoes? Hat?”

“Bloomers?” she jokes, turning to face him.

“What, and undo all my hard work? Should have thought about that before you put the corset on.”

“I’ll just pull ‘em on over top.”

“Rose,” replies the Doctor, all faux-scandalized mock-sternness. “Bloomers go on before the corset. Every time traveler knows that.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose crosses back to the mirror. “Well then, next time I’ll be sure to get your input before I get dressed,” she laughs shakily.

The Doctor watches her as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup. His eyes do not wander down the line of her shoulderblades or the exaggerated curve of her waist or the slope of her hips or the completely bare stretches of her legs, but stay firmly fixed on the reflection of her face in the mirror; the idea of a pre-clothing Rose is more intriguing than it has any right to be, but the Doctor pushes that to the side. It’s easy enough, now that the risk of imminent danger has passed.

She’s fine, now. He’s fine, always. Nothing happened, not really. Anyway they’re back in safe territory, where they belong. Even if it is secretly just a little bit satisfying to realize exactly what kind of effect he can have on her, if he so chooses.

He hides a grin. Luckily he, the Doctor thinks smugly, is not so easily affected.

“Unless you’ve got any other chores for me, I’ll leave you to it,” says the Doctor, stepping back. “But don’t take it easy just cos I’m not in here anymore. We’re still sticking to a strict schedule. Chop-chop.”

“You got it,” says Rose, lining her lips with lipstick. “Oh, and Doctor?” she calls, after he’s made it a few steps away.

He stops and turns. “What’s that?”

“Would you send Jack in here?”

His brow furrows in confusion, and once again, he resolutely ignores the view laid out in front of him. “Why?” he asks.

Finishing her lipstick, Rose meets his gaze in the mirror. “In case I need help with any other chores,” she says simply.

Shocked, the Doctor grasps for any kind of witty rejoinder, or any sense of anything really, any at all. But all he can do is turn and leave, before Rose sees him gaping like some kind of slack-jawed idiot.

Nope, he thinks furiously. Not affected at all.

 ***

 The incident is all but forgotten by the time Rose has finished getting ready (having taken her time about it, too, and demonstrating absolutely no remorse whatsoever), and by the time Jack is finished getting ready (how in all the hells did he manage to take even longer than Rose, the Doctor wonders?), the incident has left his brain entirely. Now he’s just tapping his foot impatiently, glancing down at his wristwatch every so often as Rose and Jack gush at each other about oh, how very splendid they both look.

Literally all of time and space at their disposal, and the two of them are making googly-eyes at each other instead. How did the Doctor ever allow himself to become party to this?

“You hens done clucking?” he asks when fifteen minutes have gone by, with no end in sight.

“Oh, hush,” Jack tuts. “You’re just jealous no one’s mooning over you right now.”

“I’m plenty happy outside the moonlight, thanks.”

“You’d be even happier in it,” drawls Jack, swaggering his way. “C’mon Doc, when’s the last time you got gussied-up for anything?”

The Doctor gestures to his shirt. “Changed my jumper. What more do you want?”

“A suit every once in a while couldn’t hurt,” Rose calls out.

“A long walk on the beach, dinner for three and drinks to match wouldn’t hurt my feelings, either,” says Jack with a wink.

The Doctor glares at the two of them. “Good grief. There’s just no pleasing you two, is there?”

“Nope,” replies Rose, and she and Jack both laugh. The Doctor has every intention of continuing to glower at both of them, reducing them both to duly chastened quietude, but then Rose sidles up to him, threading her arm through his.

“Ready to go?” she asks, with that stupid pretty tongue-touched grin of hers.

Suddenly it’s difficult to pretend to be irritated anymore.

Later, of course, he doesn’t have to pretend at all.

“Sure, let’s go to the opera, says Jack,” the Doctor grumbles under his breath, sonic screwdriver whirring in one hand as he cards through coat after cloak after coat after cloak with the other. “I love the nineteenth century, says Jack. No one’s gonna try to abduct me there, says Jack!”

“S’pose that’s what we get for traveling with a Time Agent,” muses Rose, who does not seem even remotely bothered that they’ve spent an hour in the cloakroom instead of watching the opera. In fact, the Doctor has a sneaking suspicion she prefers it.

“S’pose that’s what we get for traveling with Jack,” he mutters darkly.

Busy digging in the pocket of a grand overcoat (which does not have bottomless pockets as far as the Doctor is aware, but has large enough pockets anyway), Rose spares him a knowing smile. “I think that was code for Actually, I quite like the fellow, he livens up the place.”

“Wasn’t aware the place needed livening-up.”

“Oh, come off it,” Rose teases gently. “You like him. It’s okay to admit it.”

The Doctor sniffs before moving onto the next cloak. Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find the reservation in there; maybe the thirty-eighth time’s the charm. “He’s a scoundrel,” he insists.

“And let me guess: you happen to like nice men.”

Distracted, it takes the Doctor half a second to recognize the exchange. “Quoting Star Wars will get you nowhere, you know,” he says drily.

“Wasn’t quoting Star Wars.” Rose flashes a grin his way as she pats down another coat. “That was The Empire Strikes Back.”

“Close enough.”

“Close enough? Not by a long shot!” she laughs. “It’s easily the best of the three. The best by miles.”

“And it just happens to be the one with a surplus of Harrison Ford.”

“Well yeah, that’s definitely not a drawback, but that’s not all.” Rose pulls a small card out from the coat, holds it up, and frowns. “What’s the name of the hotel again?”

“The Grosvenor.”

Rose sighs and puts the card back where she found it before moving on. “Anyway,” she says, “it’s not just Harrison Ford. The Empire Strikes Back has the best story of the lot, by far. Daring chase scenes, massive clashes between good and evil, swelling music, epic romance—”

“Ahhh,” says the Doctor knowingly, rifling through a lady’s-purse. “Of course.”

“Of course, what?”

“Of course, romance.”

Rose doesn’t look up, too busy feeling her way through a cloak’s silk lining. “What about it?”

“Just not surprising, is all. Lots of humans like romance. In fact, I’d venture to say most of you do.”

“That a bad thing?”

He shakes his head, abandoning the purse in favor of a cloak. “No, not at all. Just means you lot are entirely predictable.”

“What, and you’re not?”

“…definitely heard something,” another voice is saying, drifting into the Doctor’s field of hearing along with the sounds of bootsteps advancing ever-closer, and he recognizes both sounds as those belonging to a pair of Time Pirates—Jack’s captors. Before either he or Rose have a chance to finish their thoughts, the Doctor grabs her about the waist, yanking her deep into the cloaks and coats with him and pulling them both to the floor. Rose’s lips part for a small yelp of surprise but the Doctor clamps his hand over her mouth before it has a chance to escape, holding her firm against him. Probably she thinks he’s gone a little batty—her hearing’s not as good as his, after all, so his actions must seem completely out of the blue—but she stills once the bootsteps reach earshot, once she understands.

The Doctor has scarcely half a second to whisk Rose’s skirts safely out of view behind the heavy cloaks before the two sets of boots reach the cloakroom entrance, footfalls thudding heavy and ominous over the floor.

“You sure?” asks the other Pirate. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Rose starts to slip against the Doctor (curse her silky-satin dress, the thing’s got no bloody sense of friction) but the Doctor anchors her to him before she has a chance to slide, to make any noise. A torch-beam shines into the cloakroom, traveling over the coats and cloaks and furs; one of the intruders steps inside and the Doctor can feel Rose holding her breath, her exhales no longer hitting his hand, her ribcage no longer expanding and contracting beneath his palm. Neither of them dares to move.

The Pirate stops. Between two of the coats, the Doctor can just barely make out that the bloke is glancing around, but not really taking anything in.

With a grunt, the Pirate switches off the torch, stowing it on his belt. “Must’ve imagined it.”

“Or it was rats,” the other Pirate supplies. “This period’s full of ‘em.”

“Everything isn’t always rats, Vigge,” sighs his partner, as if this is a particular sticking-point between them. “C’mon, let’s go find the others.”

The Doctor lets out a silent sigh of relief at the sound of departing boots. It’s bloody awkward hiding like this, his arms cinched around Rose while she’s sat in his lap, neither of them able to shift to anything more comfortable. The sooner they can get up, the better. Fortunately, fading footfalls let him know the guards are leaving, and he moves to shift Rose off his lap.

A third pair of boots approaches. Rose and the Doctor both freeze.

“Seen anything?” asks the third voice.

“Nothing yet. You’re sure they’re not still in the theatre?”

“Positive,” the third voice confirms. “The box seat’s empty; that Doctor-bloke and his bird are both gone.”

One of the Pirates swears beneath his breath. “We’ll have to scour every inch of the place, then.”

Peering between the coats, the Doctor can make out the three Pirates talking, discussing how best to search the opera house. Hopefully it’ll be a brief bit of chatter, the Doctor thinks, but as the conversation wears on, it quickly becomes apparent that it’s not destined to end any time soon.

Of course, thinks the Doctor exasperatedly. Why wouldn’t they pick this exact place and moment for a nice long chat? He’s only trapped behind a couple dozen fur-and-woolen cloaks with Rose plastered up against him, Rose getting increasingly warm and undoubtedly uncomfortable in his arms, neither of them able to move to improve the situation for fear of alerting the three very-much-armed Time Pirates. Of course, why wouldn’t the universe conspire against him like this?

Granted, in terms of Rose’s rising body temperature, it probably doesn’t help that the Doctor’s wrapped so snugly around her. But at this point, he’s honestly not sure what he can do. He can’t move his hand from her waist; he’s got her skirts pinned there, pressed between her bodice and his palm, and if he moves, he risks the skirts spilling into view. At least he had the presence of mind to shift his other hand away from her mouth, give her a little more space to breathe. But he did not, it appears, have the presence of mind to pay any attention to where that hand might settle afterward, and only now does he realize that his forearm has fallen to rest very gently against her chest, fingertips ghosting against her throat.

Alarm bells start ringing faintly in his head. He can’t shift that arm too much more; they’re surrounded by cloaks and any such movement would surely draw attention either through motion or sound. The only thing he can really do is perhaps lift away from her a little bit, let his hand float awkwardly in the liminal no-man’s-land where her breath lives. No longer touching, but still ridiculously close. Of course, once again, that brings up the issue of acknowledging that something is happening, and something is awkward, and you’ve officially Drawn Attention To It, and now there it is, stewing in the mortification of being recognized. Whereas if he pretends everything is normal—which it is, he tells himself stubbornly, because skin is just skin, doesn’t matter whether parts of it are bare and soft and hers—then no awkwardness need be experienced by either party involved.  

Not that he’d know about any of that. Because he doesn’t, and even if he does, he certainly doesn’t think about it, or notice it, much like he’s definitely not noticing how Rose’s breathing has gone shallow, and her heartrate has sped up, and one of her hands is clenching in her skirt. Doubtful the Pirates can hear it—like Rose and any other human, their hearing can’t rival his—but the Doctor sure as hell can. He hears her swallow, too, and, close to her as he is, he smells it again, that unmistakable tinge of pheromones, soft and musky and faintly sweet. And he can’t help but notice (can’t help it, really) that despite her shallow breaths, her chest is still rising and falling, bringing her breasts into whispering contact with the inside of his arm and the corner of his palm. If she breathed any deeper, he’d surely get a handful.

The Doctor scolds himself for thinking such things, trying fiercely to rein himself back in, but the glance of her skin against his is near-electric, the feel of her pressed against him is overwhelming, the scent of her, intoxicating. Suddenly he’s forgetting why it’s a bad thing for the two of them to be trapped in here like this, pressed tightly together like the pages of a fresh book. His eyes fall to half-mast as they trace the elegant slope of her shoulder and neck, impossibly close to his mouth, begging to be kissed. And she’d love that, wouldn’t she? Love for him to press his lips to her skin, worshipping her, marking her, claiming her. He’s so close now his lips can feel the warmth of her flesh, burning the scant air between them, or maybe that’s just the oxygen molecules buzzing with excitement, like atmosphere before a lightning strike, and her pulse beneath his fingertips is thunderous—

The heavy thud of departing footsteps abruptly informs him that the conversation outside the cloakroom has ended, and the coast will soon be clear again. The Doctor draws a deep breath, catching himself.

He almost fell. He very much wanted to. It’s been such a long time. And with Rose—

The Doctor shuts down that line of thought before it can develop any further, giving himself the mental equivalent of a sharp slap to the face. He hasn’t got any idea what to do with Rose, not really. Yes, her body is giving off a multitude of signs that seem rather obvious, but that’s just what bodies do, sometimes. Mix the close proximity, a dash of friction, a whole heaping load of chemistry, and that’s what you get. Bodies reacting the way bodies do. Not his, of course, not without his express wishes, but that’s what human bodies do. Human reactions for human people. And Rose is nothing if not human.

That’s right. He put up that barrier for a reason, that wall between him and the world, that line drawn in the sand between him and Rose. They’ve skirted that line enough today, flirted with it more than enough. It’s time for him to take responsibility, get his head out of the clouds and stop playing games. Nothing good can come of them nudging the line any further, no matter how brightly Rose smiles at him, no matter how sweet her kisses may be. Not that he’ll ever find out about that last one.

He collects his wits and draws his barriers close. “Rose,” he says quietly. “We should really—”

“Yeah,” says Rose, voice clipped as she shifts off his lap to stand upright, and the Doctor resolutely does not think about how cold he is now, without her body clasped to his. After smoothing out her skirts, Rose reaches down to help him off the floor. Grinning, the Doctor accepts.

“All right?” he asks despite himself, but Rose doesn’t answer; instead she watches him as he stands, eyes searching his. The Doctor gets the instinct impression that he’s being evaluated, somehow. Appraised.

“Rose?” he prompts, and she shakes herself.

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine,” she says, and maybe he just imagined it all, because now she sounds perfectly normal.

“Yeah?” he asks anyway.

“Yeah. You know,” she says, turning to continue her search. “Just thinking about Jack.”

“Right,” says the Doctor, feeling, strangely, as if he was just kicked in the shins. “Of course.”

It only makes sense that Rose would be thinking of Jack right now. He was just kidnapped, after all. It’s only natural he’d be on her mind. For the kidnapping, and no other reason. Certainly nothing to do with flushed skin and pumping adrenaline and soft little noises and the buzzing potential energy of bodies pressed close in tight spaces. Those things wouldn’t make Rose think of Jack at all. Not even a little bit.

Not that such a thing would bother the Doctor. Because it wouldn’t.

 ***

 The good news is, there’s plenty of good news: they’re able to locate a reservation for the proper hotel, thereby raising no eyebrows when the Doctor and Rose show up at the front desk requesting their room key, and like so many other sentient beings in the universe (really, he’s in good company), the desk clerk is fully taken in by the psychic paper, firmly believing that the Doctor and Rose are, in fact, Mr. and Mrs. Henri Flugenstaff; additionally, locating and breaking into the Pirates’ room is easy as rewiring a quantum rotor, and the rest of the hotel floor is blessedly empty when they do so, meaning no awkward encounters with nosy guests or suspicious staff.

The bad news is, once they enter the room, Jack’s captors (and more significantly, Jack) are nowhere to be found.

“Any idea where they went?” Rose asks.

“Not yet,” murmurs the Doctor, kneeling down to better inspect the faint traces of silvery powder on the carpet, almost invisible even to his keen eye. A reading from the sonic confirms his suspicions: the powder contains traces of Retro-Oganesson and Nihonium-3. Unmistakable evidence that the Time Pirates were here; no clues regarding where they went next.

“Might as well search the room for clues, right?” asks Rose.

“Right.” The Doctor sets the sonic against the carpet, following the path of silvery powder illuminated by the screwdriver’s ghostly blue glow. It guides him across the rug, around the bed, to the fireplace poking out from the wall opposite Rose. For her part, Rose is rifling through the items left behind on the writing-desk; given the general state of disarray of the desk, and the room, it’s clear that the Pirates left in a hurry, so there’s every chance they left something important behind. The Doctor takes just a second to appreciate the view, allowing himself a soft grin at Rose poking around for clues like a blonde little Sherlock Holmes.

“I hope he’s okay,” says Rose, peering beneath the inkwell.

The Doctor blinks. “Who?”

“Jack,” Rose replies, as if the answer is obvious.

The Doctor huffs. “He’s fine. Probably sliding out of their clutches as we speak.”

Laughing at that, Rose pulls open a desk-drawer. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably seducing his captors right about now.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“You say that like it’s not,” Rose laughs.

The Doctor grunts noncommittally, inspecting the inside of the fireplace.

“What was that?” asks Rose.

“Oh, nothing,” the Doctor hmphs. “Just, there it is again. Humans and romance.”

At that, Rose turns to face him, her eyebrow piqued. “And just what have you got against romance, anyway? Did romance offend you somehow, today?”

“It didn’t,” the Doctor lies cheerfully.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking any of that stuff, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Really? Cos it feels like you’re gonna launch into a lecture on silly apes and their silly feelings any minute now.”

“I never said feelings were silly.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The Doctor stops his search inside the fireplace so he can look at her. “Something on your mind, Rose?”

“No,” she replies stubbornly.

“Good,” says the Doctor, and he resumes his search.

“Just makes me glad Jack’ll be back soon.”

The Doctor’s nostrils flare and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end as something hot slithers into the pit of his belly, smoldering there. “Don’t worry, we’ll find your boyfriend soon enough,” he replies, his voice tight.

“It’s just nice to have another human on the TARDIS, is all I mean,” Rose says, and the Doctor absolutely does not notice how she didn’t correct him on the boyfriend bit. “Cos you seem to think so much human stuff is stupid, and Jack doesn’t.”

“Oh, is Jack the gold standard now?”

“When it comes to feelings? Compared to you, yeah, he is.”

“Look, do you want to find him or not?” he asks, glaring at her. “Cos if you do, I’d advise more searching, less yammering.”

If the force of his glare affects Rose, she doesn’t show it. “Someone’s moody today,” she mutters before turning back to the desk.

“Not moody, just demonstrating a wide range of all those feelings you’re so fond of.”

“All the grumpy ones, maybe. And I’m not so fond of those.”

“And I suppose Jack’s never grumpy, then,” the Doctor says conversationally. “That it? No, not perfect Jack, of course not, never. Just the perfect blend of gentleman, boyfriend, and scoundrel, him. The ideal human mate!”

Rose shakes her head. “I’m sorry, the what-now?”

“It’s fine, Rose,” the Doctor says, forcing on a grin that’s surely strained. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. We’ll just find Jack, and then you two can run off and have your fun and your romance. All right?”

“Have my—what are you even talking about?” asks Rose, stalking up to him. “Where is all of this coming from?”

“Observation, mostly,” the Doctor says pleasantly.

“Right. I don’t know what you think you’ve observed, but—”

And suddenly both of them snap to attention at the sound of a key in the lock, the door-handle jiggling loudly in the quiet.

In the split-second that follows, the Doctor tries to think—run? Nowhere to run, they’re in a tiny hotel room; hide? But surely they’ve already been heard—but Rose’s brain must be working a little faster than his somehow, because before he’s even had a chance to react, she’s shoved him flat on the bed and she’s straddling him by the waist, ducking down to press a bruising kiss to his mouth.

The Doctor’s brain grinds to a halt.

She—they—she just—he—

He’s never had an experience where both of his hearts stopped for a good reason, before.

“Cleaning servi—oh, oh my!” gasps a voice by the door.

Rose sits back at the sound and through the fog currently short-circuiting his brain the Doctor manages to look over at the door, to see a middle-aged cleaning maid standing there, clutching her cleaning-cart and blushing furiously.

“Blimey!” she squeaks, shielding her eyes. “Begging your pardon, sir, ma’am, I thought you were out for the evening!”

“Not anymore, I’m afraid,” Rose laughs, which is just as well, because the Doctor is too busy reeling to find his voice (or even his thoughts) at the moment. At least his hands had enough sense to plant themselves on Rose’s waist so they’re not flailing about like a pair of nerve-addled bats.

“Still on the honeymoon,” Rose continues, flashing the maid a shy but winning grin. Her voice is just the littlest breathy and shaky and very convincing, so much so that even the Doctor could almost believe the two of them had just been—well.

“You know how it is,” Rose adds, coyly biting her lip.

“Aye, once upon a time I did, ma’am,” the maid chuckles. “I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed the rest of the evening.”

“Thanks,” Rose laughs breathily before pushing the Doctor back down on the bed, kissing him passionately as the maid closes the door behind her. Her lips part against his, warm and sweet and betraying just the slightest hint of moisture as—

As a loud click lets them know the door is locked once again, and then Rose immediately stops, breaking the kiss. Pulling back, she locks eyes with the Doctor, her cheeks almost as bright as the housekeeper’s. Several long seconds tick agonizingly by, marked only by the fluttering of Rose’s lashes, the gentle heaving of her chest.

Rose’s lips part, like she might say something (or like she might bend down and kiss him again, the Doctor almost hopes) but he must be looking at her with the universe’s most daft expression, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers, because the next thing he knows, she’s lifting herself off of him, smoothing back her hair and resituating her dress.

The Doctor sits up after her, forcing himself to stop staring. What is he, some kind of idiot?

“Sorry,” Rose laughs, all traces of breathlessness gone.

“S’all right,” the Doctor’s mouth says for him; his brain is still catching up.

“Although you’ve got to admit,” Rose adds, resuming her investigation of the room as if absolutely nothing just happened, “as a diversion it was fairly effective.”

The Doctor scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve had worse.”

“And I’ve had better,” Rose teases, her tongue trapped between her teeth. “You’re a little rusty, Doctor.”

“Excuse me,” the Doctor huffs indignantly, “maybe I just need a little more advance notice than your average boy-toy.”

“Well, as an above-average boy-toy, I’m sure Jack would be happy to give you some pointers.”

And there it is again, that feeling of something hot sizzling in his chest. “And I’m sure he can go sod right off,” says the Doctor, surprising himself.

Rose shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder. “What’s gotten into you? What’s with this mood today, why are you so cross with Jack?”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’ve been saying nasty little things about him all day.”

“I haven’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” says Rose, righting the frame of a crooked painting on the wall. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were acting jealous again.”

The hot feeling grows hotter. “I’ve got nothing to be jealous about,” insists the Doctor.

“’Course not,” mocks Rose. “Cos you’ve never gotten jealous about sharing me with another man, before.”

“Shouldn’t have to,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“I said I shouldn’t have to,” the Doctor says loudly.

“What? Get jealous, or share me?”

The Doctor’s fists ball at his side. Either one, he doesn’t say.

“Whatever,” scoffs Rose, as if he’d gone ahead and spoken the words aloud. “Not like it makes any difference anyway.”

The hot feeling pulses in his chest and pounds in his ears and maybe it’s because of the kiss or maybe it’s because Rose already seems to have forgotten it or maybe it’s just because of this bloody damn day but that line in the sand is growing dangerously thin, all of a sudden, and before he gives himself the chance to think better of it, the Doctor is pushing off the bed and striding towards the door, grabbing a chair so he can wedge it beneath the door-handle before he stalks over to Rose.

“What?” she mocks. “Don’t want the maid to see us having a row? That too domestic for—”

The Doctor pins her to the wall, grasping her by the chin to pull her up for a punishing kiss. She gasps against his mouth and fuck, he wants to take advantage of that opening, he really does, wants to force her mouth open so his tongue can dart inside and really properly tease her, taste her, but he settles for prolonging the kiss, offering no quarter and no mercy until Rose has to pull back, panting for breath. She looks up at him with eyes wide from shock and—and gods, he hopes that’s not fear he sees, because that would kill him, it really would.

He doesn’t want to frighten her. He just wants her to see. Wants her to know.

But there’s still that goddamn line to preserve.

Drawing back a little, the Doctor braces himself with both hands against the wall, one on either side of Rose. “Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, even as he cages her in, even as every atom in his being is screaming for her.

Jaw set, defiant once again, Rose shakes her head No.

Oh. That’s not fear in her eyes. That’s not fear at all.

Relief washes the line away like the ocean at high tide and the Doctor lets himself fall.

He leans in and kisses her again, claiming her mouth with a fierceness that leaves no room for doubt. He might worry that he’s being too rough, too soon but Rose is giving as good as she gets, yanking him in by the lapels as she deepens the kiss. Her hands slip beneath his jacket to clutch him by the shoulders, her fingernails sharp even through the fabric of his jumper. His tongue brushes her plump lower lip and it’s a heady realization, that he can taste how much she wants this, how much she wants him. It’s enough to make him dizzy but he doesn’t stop, he wants more, his tongue plunging into her mouth, and the breathy little whimper that escapes her lets the Doctor know he was right—those delightful sounds Rose made earlier in the day were definitely due to arousal. And the sweet scent lingering in the air lets him know she’s wonderfully aroused right now, almost certainly wet with it.

Because of him. No one else. Just him.

Good.

Lips still on hers, the Doctor pulls up her skirts so both hands can sneak beneath, grabbing Rose by the hips and pulling her roughly into him. He has every intention of tearing off those ridiculous little knickers of hers but then she arches into him, her hands slipping beneath his jumper and nails dragging across his stomach and her chest pressed against his, and it’s all too much and it’s not nearly enough and his hips are grinding against hers as he hardens between them.

Dimly it occurs to the Doctor that Rose does not seem nearly as shocked by all of this as he might have imagined—indeed, he’s shocked himself with this pure impetuous driving animal need—and he wonders if, on some level, Rose maneuvered things to this conclusion.

Well. He smiles against her lips. Two can play that game.

He hitches one of her legs over his waist and thrusts into her, the friction and the heat almost unbearably delicious even despite all the layers in the way, and Rose must think so, too, because she’s panting against the Doctor’s mouth, her nails scratching lines of fire down his back. She lets out another strained whimper and fuck, he’s not going to last, not even with his trousers on, not if she keeps making those needy little noises while rutting against his cock like that.

So he repositions, wedging a thigh between hers to maintain the friction she needs while one hand travels up to palm one of the breasts that’s been positively fucking begging for his touch all day long. He can just feel the peak of her nipple through her corset and dress, stiffening sharply as he circles it with his thumb, and Rose bites down on his lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure straight down to his cock. Rose reaches for his belt buckle but the Doctor stops her, grabbing her by the wrist and pinning it back to the wall.

“Not yet,” he growls softly. “Not until I say so.”

She’s glassy-eyed with surprise but he doesn’t give her an opportunity to respond, rips down the neckline of her dress instead so he can cup and tease her bare breasts with his free hand while his other holds her wrist tight against the wall. Rose breaks their kiss, eyes pinched tight in concentration as she rides his thigh, sweat beading and glistening on her breasts and her brow, and the Doctor realizes she’s about to climax, right here, right now, just like this.

Positively brimming with pride (and isn’t that a first, in this incarnation) the Doctor presses a kiss to her jaw, tracing a line up to her ear, lips ghosting the shell of it. “Come for me, Rose,” he murmurs, his voice as husky and deep as he’s ever heard it, and she shudders. He lifts his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb teasing her swollen lower lip. “Come for me, love.”

Her teeth graze his thumb as she bites down on the cry that tries to escape her, her arms shaking and hips stuttering, her legs clenching tight against his thigh. The Doctor can feel the aftershocks ripping through her and he holds her tight, relishing the movement and heat of her body against his, the knowledge that he’s the one doing this to her, that all of this is because of him. Not Jack, not Ricky, not Adam or Jimmy or any other stupid pretty boy who might be sharp enough to fall in love with Rose but could never be good enough to deserve her. Of course, neither is he, but he’s at least clever enough to recognize that, and to do everything he can to make up for it; he may not always have the right words but his mouth can still say what his voice can’t, offering praise along with his hands and his tongue and all of him, really.

Those little men will never see Rose the way he does. The Doctor almost pities them for it.

(Only almost.)

Panting, Rose pushes a strand of sweat-slicked hair out of her face. “You, erm,” she says between breaths, flashing the Doctor a lazy blissful smile. “You gonna let me touch you, now?”

He’s still got her wrist pinned to the wall. He lets go.

“Take off your clothes, please,” he tells her.

Biting her lip, Rose obeys, pushing her torn dress down over her hips, her eyes fixed on his. She wriggles the dress past her thighs to reveal those tiny knickers of hers, completely soaked through and now thoroughly ruined. The sight and smell of those ruined knickers ignites a small flame of male satisfaction the Doctor wasn’t even aware he possessed, something he might have wrinkled his nose at once upon a time, but now, watching Rose pop open the front of her corset, peeling off the knickers after—now he rather likes the feeling, knowing that he can make Rose feel like this, that she trusts him like this. That he’s earned her trust, and this privilege.

There’s only the faintest hint of shyness from Rose once she’s naked beneath the Doctor’s gaze, but it’s enough to make his hearts swell almost uncomfortably behind his ribs, so the Doctor dips down to press his mouth to hers, softly, to kiss any lingering doubt away.

“Good girl,” he murmurs afterward, and smiles as Rose’s cheeks and ears flush pink. “Now get on the bed.”

The moment she does, the Doctor grasps her by the hips and slides her bum to the edge, pinning her down against the mattress as he presses a hungry kiss to her mouth. Impatient, Rose pushes at his jacket and he shrugs out of it, but he doesn’t make any effort to remove the rest of his clothing, his hands gliding up the insides of her thighs instead. His fingers tease her until she’s wet again, gloriously wet and gasping and clinging to him as she fucks his hand. He dips down to kiss the expanse of neck and shoulder that were tormenting him earlier and stops beneath her ear, lips caressing the soft skin there.

For a brief moment, the Doctor just breathes her in, inebriating himself on the smell of her. Then he latches on, giving her skin a good hard suck. Rose cries out, thighs clenching around his hand. Drawing back, the Doctor can see the mark he left behind, petal-pink blossoming in the shape of his mouth, and it shocks him how much he likes to see that, the visual evidence that he’s claimed her, that she’s his. He wants to taste more of her, he thinks, let his mouth explore and lick and nip and tug until she’s begging for mercy—

“Doctor,” Rose pants, but with a start he realizes she isn’t begging, she’s demanding, hooking her legs around his waist and pulling him down, into her. She rolls her hips against his aching cock and all other thoughts and plans fly right out the window as he realizes he’s bound to spontaneously combust if he doesn’t give her exactly what she wants and fuck her right now. In a second his belt is unlatched and trousers and pants shoved out of the way and he’s pushing into her with one smooth slick thrust, groaning at the hot wet clench of her muscles around him. He draws back and pushes in again, and again, and again, brow knit tight and mouth falling open because it’s good, it’s too good, it’s too much, he’s losing himself, drowning in her, and dying never felt so sublime.

“You’re mine,” he gasps, surprising himself, but Rose doesn’t look surprised at all, she just nods, glassy-eyed and breathless as he fucks her. “You’re mine,” he says again, kissing her fiercely as his hands pull her hips into his, harder, faster, more.

She nods again.

“Say it.”

“I am, I’m yours,” she chokes out, clenching around him, and his grip on her tightens. He’s hurtling toward the edge, spurred on by her words and her heat and her everything else but now there’s guilt chiming in too, because what the fuck is wrong with him, why would he say that, why would he make her say that, why would he make her do any of this, why the fuck would he allow her to give herself to him when he’s nothing but a broken wretched old man, and she deserves so much more—

“Hey,” says Rose, and his thoughts must be written across his face because suddenly her hands are cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t do that,” she says between gasps. “Don’t wander off. Stay with me. Be here with me.”

His lips part but Rose doesn’t let any words out, stoppers his mouth with hers. “Just let us have this,” she pants against his lips. “Please. Please. My Doctor.”

Something in him snaps and he buries his face in her neck, muffling his cries as he empties into her. His head floods pleasantly with bliss but he’s just coherent enough to slide a hand between them, urging Rose along. Rose follows soon after, muscles convulsing around him, nipples sharp even through his jumper, and the Doctor feels a twinge of regret that he didn’t finish undressing, that he isn’t feeling her skin properly sliding against his. Rose must be feeling the same way; even as her hips stutter and slow, she’s sliding her hands back beneath his jumper, exploring every expanse of skin she can reach.

The Doctor sighs with something that feels suspiciously like contentment.

“I am, you know,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t reply; he half-wonders if she’s already fallen asleep, somehow.

“Yours,” he adds, voice soft.

Rose’s arms tighten around him in a hug, her heart fluttering against both of his.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

He knows.

 ***

 Apparently Jack knows it, too.

“That dress didn’t tear itself,” the Doctor overhears him whispering to Rose after they sneak out of the Pirates’ ship. “Not to mention you smell like all the sex.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Rose replies, laughing.

“I will not! Tell me everything!”

“If you don’t behave, I will hurt you.”

“Ooh, promise?”

“I will put you in time-out,” Rose amends, mouth twitching with the effort to hold back a smile, “and I will hide the sonic so that those,” she adds, pointing to the shackles clamped over both of his wrists, “never come off again.”

Jack shoots her a sly grin. “But then how would you two ever get to use them?”

The Doctor feels a flush creeping up the back of his neck as Rose’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open. “Pervert!” she shrieks, and Jack crows in laughter as he takes off running down the road, Rose chasing after him. It’s a good thing they’re out in the country now—they’d wake up the neighborhood, shouting and laughing and carrying on like that in the city. But eventually they settle for huddling together, arm-in-arm, as they whisper and snicker all the way back to the TARDIS.

The Doctor maintains some space, trailing a little ways after, so the humans can have their fun and their—he smiles a little—their feelings. It’s actually nice, he thinks, seeing Rose so giddy and full of joy, seeing her laugh and smile like that, even with someone else. She’s far too bright and loving and big-hearted to be kept to one person, he realizes. She deserves to share herself with whomever she wishes, not to be hoarded like gold in the fist of a grumpy old miser. Rose deserves to love freely, and to be loved freely, in return.

(They’re definitely going to make use of those shackles, though.)

***

dedicated to @galiifreyrose​ @yellowsuedeshoes​ @saecookie​ @aintfraidanoghosts​ for being such wonderful terrible influences <3 <3 <3

[zelenacat]

Chapter 2- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

The Duchess was careful the first four months of her first pregnancy, she wore flowing outfits with ruffles and loose-fitting sashes to draw eyes away from her stomach. Satine would appear at state events and cut ribbons, and make speeches on holidays or days of historical importance, and of course, she opened parliament. By now, she had made her political views very clear, she was a pacifist, and she supported the New Mandalorians. Those who were critical of the new Duchess' views claimed she was a shame to her clan, to her War Lord father, and that her sister should be more involved in government. That hurt Satine, but she decided that people had to let their anger out somehow. At least, none of the courtiers had claimed their dissent in her face, though Satine wasn’t sure how long that would last.

In her fifth month of pregnancy, that’s when things got harder.

“Satine?”

Sighing, the Duchess looked up, Khaami had a worried expression on her face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The Mandalorian Society for Peace would like you to give a speech at their banquet next week.”

Fesma frowned.

Satine rested her hands on her stomach, “That will be tricky.”

“You can’t deny them,” Fesma stated, “you’ve shown yourself to be an advocate for peace.”

“A staunch one at that.” agreed the Duchess.

Khaami huffed, “We need a way to get around this.”

The room got quiet.

“Perhaps,” Satine began, “I could claim I have a former engagement but record a speech?”

Khaami brightened, “That might work.”

“But if you give too many televised speeches,” Fesma fidgeted, “won’t people get suspicious?”

Satine grinned, “Not if we implement my new idea.”

Raising an eyebrow, Fesma asked, “And what would that be?”

“Corsets.”

Khaami gasped.

“Satine,” Fesma sighed, “no.”

“We could work them into my outfits,” the Duchess suggested, “like we did with my coronation outfit.”

“The seamstresses did that.” Fesma corrected.

“And isn’t it dangerous for the baby?” Khaami added.

“I have to take some risks,” Satine swallowed, “I want this baby, but it’s going to be difficult.”

A silence once again descended over the room, Satine’s thoughts riveted through her skull.

“I’ll tell your writers to start drafting a speech then,” Khaami stood, “and I’ll stop at the tailor’s room on the way back.”

“Thank you, Khaami.”

Fesma sighed heavily as soon as Khaami closed the door.

“What is it?” Satine asked.

“This would be much easier if you,” Fesma paused, “if you-”

“I can’t,” Satine’s hands began to shake, “I don’t have the courage.”

“But this will be so much harder.” Fesma urged.

“I know,” tears sprung into the Duchess’ eyes, “but I love the baby’s father too much to get rid of it.”

“Satine-”

“Stop, I won’t have this conversation again!”

Fesma nodded, “Yes, Your Grace.”

In two days time Khaami and Fesma outfitted Satine’s newest dress. It was blue with silver embellishments and a purple sash.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, Satine.” Khaami grimaced.

“Tighter.” the Duchess ordered through ground teeth.

“Satine,” Fesma brought a mirror over to Satine, “are you sure?”

The Duchess turned sideways and stared at herself in the mirror, it looked like she had gained some weight, but it didn’t look like she was pregnant.

“You know what,” Satine gasped, “this will do.”

After recording her speech for the Mandalorian Society for Peace, Satine attended a council meeting with her newly selected advisors. They drew up a list of societies for the Duchess to give speeches at or attend, and advised her on when to hold court.

Looking around the table, Satine committed her advisors’ names to memory and thanked them for their support.

“Of course, Your Grace.” bowed the Prime Minister, Jaru Djarin.

The Duchess waited before all her advisors had left before hoisting herself upward, leaning heavily on the table. Her back hurt terribly these days, and sometimes she had trouble sleeping.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully, Satine sighed, some of these days were starting to blur together and she felt lonely. Hopefully that would change soon.

“How did it go, Satine?” Khaami asked, unbuttoning the Duchess’ dress.

“Eh, same as usual.”

Fesma frowned, “Satine, I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

The Duchess’ dress fell to the floor.

Fesma sighed, “You’re not yourself anymore.”

Khaami met Satine’s eyes in the mirror as she undid her corset.

“Do you agree, Khaami?”

The lady’s eyes saddened, “You are a little down sometimes.”

Satine sighed as her corset came loose, standing in just her underwear, she turned and stared at herself in the mirror.

“It’s definitely noticeable now.” the Duchess observed.

“Would you,” Khaami began, “would you like to tell us about him?”

Satine blushed.

Fesma picked up the Duchess’ dress, “Satine, we know you wouldn’t do something like this without reason, tell us about him.”

Letting loose a giggle, the Duchess bit her lip and shook her head.

“Satine?” Khaami asked, shock in her tone.

“He was so kind to me,” Satiine said at last, “gentle and trustworthy, and he even had a snarky sense of humor.”

Satine watched as Khaami and Fesma glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

“At first we only argued,” Satine admitted, “but then we agreed for Master Qui-Gon’s benefit that we should try to be civil.”

Khaami snorted, “Civil?”

“Our first kiss happened on a ledge overlooking a valley,” Satine smiled, “the sun was setting.”

“Satine,” Fesma sighed, “don’t tell me you’re a romantic.”

The Duchess laughed.

“What was his name?” Khaami asked.

Satine let her eyes fall to the floor, “I called him Ben.”

“Ben?”

“Meaning: mine.” Satine explained.

“Here, Your Grace,” Fesma said after a long silence, “let’s get you changed.”

Once Satine was in her nightgown, Fesma went for tea and Khaami clamored onto the Duchess’ bed.

“So,” Khaami grinned, “have you picked out any names yet?”

“Names?”

“You know,” Khaami crossed her arms, “for the baby.”

Satine opened her mouth to speak, the air recycler went on.

“Well I,” the Duchess paused, “I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Khaami was about to answer, when a vent popped out of the wall. Satine turned.

“Don’t move.” came a growl.

On shaky legs, Satine stood.

“I said not to move!”

It was a man, clearly, and he was dressed from head to toe in rusty Mandalorian armor. The man’s eyes fell onto Satine’s stomach.

“Well, Your Grace,” the bounty hunter sneered gleefully, “you certainly have something to answer for, don’t you?”

“Who are you and what do you want?” Khaami managed to stutter.

 “I’m just here for the Duchess, little lady,” the bounty hunter pointed his gun at Satine, “and if she comes with me I won’t have to kill you.”

“Her Grace is going nowhere.” said Fesma, appearing at the door, tea tray in hand.

Satine yelped as the intruder grabbed her arm and yanked her in a hold against his chest.

“Move and she dies, they’ll take her dead or alive.”

Satine could not let this happen, she decided to try a trick she’d seen Obi-Wan do before, ram your head into that of your attacker. So, she did.

“Ah!”

Satine held up the bounty hunter’s shooting hand and wrestled the gun from him.

“It’s treason to attack a monarch.” The intruder pulled a knife, “They said you were a pacifist.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t protect myself.” Satine spat.

“You sure it isn’t the momma bear instinct?”

Satine pulled the trigger, she was lucky, the bullet lodged in the bounty hunter’s neck. Shaking, the Duchess dropped the gun.

“Your Grace?” a voice called.

Thinking quickly Satine hid behind her dressing partition, a few seconds later a guard entered.

“Where were you,” Fesma shouted, “he tried to kill the Duchess!”

“Forgive me, my lady,” the guard said entering the room, “we were in the middle of a shift change.”

The guard spoke quietly into his communication device before calmly stalking towards the intruder.

“What happened here?”

Satine peaked around her partition, she saw Harryn, the captain of her personal guard.

“This assassin tried to kill the Duchess.” answered the first guard.

“And you killed him?”

“No, sir,” the guard shook his head, “he was dead when I arrived, I heard the shot.”

“Then who-”

“I did,” Satine’s words were rushed, “but in the report I would like it said that I waited for professional assistance.”

Harryn bowed, “Yes, Your Grace.”

The Duchess’ personal guards were so focused over the next few weeks, that when a palace nurse came to them with the news of a missing medical droid, they didn’t look into it, even though they said they would deal with it.

“What are you going to do, Satine?” Fesma asked.

The Duchess and her ladies were sitting in her personal parlor, a receiving room connected to her bedchamber. This and her bedroom were the only rooms where there were no microphones, only cameras.

“I hate to do my father this dishonor,” Satine began, “but I have to do this for the baby.”

Fesma tilted her head, “What dishonor?” 

“I want to claim this child is my niece or nephew,” Satine lowered her eyes, “that they’re the child of my bastard brother.”

Khaami gasped.

“I know people who can fake the documents-”

Khaami’s mouth fell open, horrified, “You know people?”

Satine hesitated, “I’ve heard of people.”

“I agree with Her Grace,” said Fesma after a short silence, “this seems to be the best course of action.” “We’d have to pay them in kind,” Satine stated, “they can’t accept credits.”

“What could we use,” Khaami asked, “jewelry?” “I was thinking of physical monetary value.” Satine confessed.

“So,” Khaami paused, “bills?”

“Yes.”

The Duchess looked to Fesma, who was mulling over the prospect.

“I think jewelry might be best, Satine,” said the lady, “it’s easily exchangeable and has good value.”

“Alright,” Satine agreed, “we’ll pay them in jewelry, but where am I going to, you know-”

“Give birth?” Khaami whispered.

Satine flinched, “Yes, birth.”

Fesma frowned, “It has to be somewhere no one frequents, and it has to be soundproof.”

“The bombing basement?” Khaami ventured.

Satine grinned, “Unconventional, but it might work.”

By the time her third trimester began, the entire plan was in place. Under Satine’s bed lay a stolen medical droid and a bag of missing pain relievers, on her toilette in a mahogany box sat a cheap set of jewels, authentic, but not the grandest thing Satine owned. Finally, if one went into the bombing basement, they would find an old mattress covered in stained sheets and newspapers surrounded by tapestries on the walls and candles on the floor.

“Things seem to be looking up, Satine.” Khaami commented when the Duchess returned from a council meeting.

“We might actually be able to do this.” agreed Fesma.

Satine swallowed, “My advisors think I should marry as soon as possible, make a political alliance and sire heirs.”

Fesma groaned.

“Just when we thought things were looking up.” added Khaami.

“I told them I would consider it,” Satine sat down, hands on her stomach, “but I’m not sure how long I can hold them off.”

“Just until the baby is born,” Fesma assured, “then, once it’s safe, you can marry.”

The Duchess began to sob.

Khaami ran to her lady, “Oh, Satine-”

“I’m still in love with him, after all these months,” Satine choked on the air in her throat, “and he hasn’t contacted me once!”

“Satine-”

“I kriffing hate the Jedi!”

Fesma heaved a long sigh, “How very Mandalorian of you.”

Satine planted her face into her pillow and screamed.

Khaami tried again, “Satine-”

The Duchess screamed again. Then she groaned, sat up, and wiped her eyes.

“You know,” Satine swallowed, “sometimes I question my life choices.”

The Duchess was met with silence.

“Like why, for instance,” Satine continued, “did I have to fall in love with a Jedi?”

Fesma and Khaami shared a glance.

“It’s alright, you know,” the Duchess crossed her arms, “you can answer.”

Khaami opened her mouth to speak, but it was Fesma who spoke. 

“You know, Satine,” the lady placed her hands on the Duchess’, “it’s okay to be upset.”

All at once, Satine’s anger level began to lower.

“I don’t have a heart anymore,” the Duchess began to tear up again, “I’ve given it all to him.”

“That’s alright,” Khaami wrapped her arm around Satine’s shoulders, “it will come back to you eventually.”

“I’ll never stop loving him.” Satine said matter of factly.

“Then the baby,” Fesma assured, “your heart will grow again when the baby arrives.”

Satine nodded, “Thank you, ladies.”

“Of course,” Khaami kissed the Duchess’ cheek, “and now, we must think of names.”

It didn’t take much deliberation for Satine to decide that if she had a boy, she would name him Korkyrach.

“After the warrior king,” the Duchess said, “but we’ll call him Korkie for short.”

“And if it’s a girl?” Khaami asked excitedly.

Satine faltered, “I want to give her a regal sounding name, a hyphenated name.”

“Ooh.”

The Duchess blushed, “I think I like Tyra Satine.”

“Tyra Satine,” Fesma grinned, “it certainly has a ring to it.”

A month later, Satine sent Fesma and Khaami, disguised under heavy cloaks, to a seedy bar in lower Sundari with a chest full of jewels. The Duchess listened in from her room, carefully following the criminal’s instructions on how to spread the news. Then the items were exchanged, three USBs for a chest of jewels. Fesma and Khaami nodded, so did the criminal conspirator, before going their separate ways. Still, Satine was nervous until they arrived back at the palace.

“Oh, thank you,” the Duchess embraced her ladies, “thank you!”

“Of course, Satine,” Khaami smiled, “things are going to be better from now on.”

The next morning, a story broke about the Former Duke of Mandalore, Adonai Kryze, the rumor going around was that he’d had a bastard son who had died in the civil war, and that he’d left a wife and child behind. After a week, the rumors grew so big that Satine was asked about them at a press conference.

“I do not know whether or not what people are saying is true,” The Duchess said solemnly, “I learned of this possibility from the media myself.”

At the end of the press conference, Satine traveled back to her room, claiming she had a slight headache. Khaami and Fesma were waiting for her.

“How did it go?” Fesma questioned.

“Good,” the Duchess paused, “they ate it up.”

Grabbing onto the back of her chair, Satine groaned.

“Satine?”

“I think-”

A burst of water splashed onto the floor and the Duchess swayed.

“Satine!”

Fesma ran to the Duchess and pulled her arm around her shoulder, supporting her just below the arms.

“Khaami, the droid and the pain relievers!”

As quickly as they could, the trio made their way through the less populated halls of the serving corridors down into the basement. The first wave of pain hit Satine two landings from the basement door, it was as if her lower half was burning and decaying at the same time, flaring up and dissipating at the same time. She gasped heavily and faltered, but Fesma held her steady.

“I can’t feel my legs,” the Duchess moaned, “I can’t-”

“We’re so close, Satine,” Fesma assured, “we’re so close.”

Finally, when the pain passed, the Duchess and her ladies continued down the stairs. 

“Please,” Satine whined as Khaami struggled with the door, “it’s starting again.”

The door opened with a creek and Fesma flinched, but Satine yanked her forward as she made her way to the bed. Khaami set down the droid and closed the door, then she opened a metal drawer of steaming towels.

“How-”

“Stolen from the guest freshers,” the maid smiled, “I thought we’d need them.”

Satine nodded, lips drawn tightly.

Something buzzed, “I am Oiyo, the medical droid, what seems to be the problem here?”

“I’m kriffing giving birth!” Satine swore.

“Stay calm,” advised the droid, “and please answer some questions.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to yell at the droid again, but a shriek escaped her instead.

“You are a female of the human species, correct?”

“Yes!” Satine gasped.

“Is this your first baby?”

“Yes!”

The droid turned to Khaami, “Nurse, get behind the human female and support her upper body.”

The maid obeyed, and Fesma began to undo Satine’s corset.

“She shouldn’t be wearing that.” the droid observed.

The Duchess heaved a sigh of relief when the tightness left her stomach.

“Spread your legs, please.”

Shaking with the effort, Satine managed to spread her legs.

“If we have any pain relief,” the droid droned, “we should administer it now.”

Fesma stood, “I’ll get some water.”

Satine whimpered as Fesma sped from the room. Khaami rubbed her back.

“Roll up your skirt, please, I need to see my work.”

Satine pulled up her skirt and clenched her hands tightly around the material, hissing as the droid touched its cold fingers to her inner thigh.

“Contractions are progressing nicely,” the droid stated, “you should begin pushing in approximately four point three minutes.”

Satine groaned, the only thing she could feel was pain.

“I’m back!” Fesma announced, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Satine noticed the two water bottles in her ladys’ hands, and the Duchess began to pray.

“This is almost medieval.” Khaami noted as Fesma hand-fed Satine pain relieving pills.

“That will only ease some of the pain.” the medical droid agreed.

“Still,” Fesma frowned, “We agreed to help our lady.”

As the hours progressed, Satine’s throat grew hoarse as her screams grew more violent.

“What time is it?” Khaami questioned.

“Eleven o’clock on the twenty third of Mae Month.” stated the medical droid calmly.

Satine wailed. Fesma, who was assisting the droid with warm hand towels and holding its tools, ducked her head and inhaled sharply.

“What is it?” the Duchess simpered.

“I can see the head, Satine,” Fesma’s face went blank, “it’s a very messy business.”

In response, the droid leaned down and worked silently. 

“Push, please.” it beeped cheerfully.

Satine squeezed Khaami’s hands like her life depended on it, and after a tremendous heave and seven quick gasps, Satine had a baby.

“Congratulations, you have a son.”

Bursting into tears, Satine held her arms out. Fesma wiped the baby clean then placed him into his mother’s discarded corset. Khaami leaned over the Duchess’ shoulder and dabbed her eyes.

“Here you go, Satine.” Fesma grinned.

She took the baby in her arms and sniffled, cradling her son’s small body against hers.

“Korkyrach Kryze,” Satine smiled, “it’s wonderful to meet you.”

The baby giggled in response.

“Aw!”

“He should be kept in a blanket.” the droid suggested.

Fesma stood, “I’ll go get one.”

“Bring two!” Satine called, laughing.

The medical droid’s innards began to whirl and soon a piece of paper was ejecting out from its stomach.

“Printing birth certificate.”

Satine stared at Khaami, wide-eyed.

“Please input information correctly,” the droid stated, “it is a felony if you do not.”

“A felony?”

The droid handed Khaami the birth certificate.

“We have to fill this out correctly, Satine,” the lady bit her lip, “we could make a fake one and hide this one in the palace archives.”

Satine looked down at the baby, then nodded.

“I’m back!” Fesma panted.

“Wrap Korkie in the blanket,” Satine ordered, handing Fesma the baby, “we have to fill out the birth certificate.”

“Birth certificate?”

The medical droid beeped and offered Satine a pen. Turning her upper body, the Duchess pressed the sheet against the wall and wrote.

Name: Korkyrach Kryze  Date of Birth: 23, Mae, 39 BBY  Birth Time: 11:12

Home Planet: Mandalore  Mother: Satine Kryze  Father: ___________________

Satine’s hand began to shake.

“Why don’t we leave that one blank.” Khaami suggested kindly.

“Something’s wrong,” Satine said suddenly, “it hurts again.”

“Is it the placenta?” Khaami asked, taking the paper and pen from Satine.

The medical droid leaned down and examined its patient.

“Your body is preparing for another birth,” the droid observed, “you’re having twins.”

Satine’s mouth dropped open, then she began to grunt in pain.

“Lay back down,” Khaami suggested, pulling Satine’s shoulders back, “you can do this.”

Fesma offered her lady a quick sip of water before returning to help the medical droid.

“This one’s coming quickly, Satine,” Fesma stated, a mix of shock and fear in her voice, “not much longer.”

The Duchess screamed. Korkie cried, he was back in his mother’s arms now, and Satine was trying not to squeeze him too tight.

Wailing, the Duchess prayed and begged for this to be over soon. Fesma handed the droid a knife.

“One last push, Satine!”

As soon as the Duchess stopped crying, another pair of lungs did.

“Congratulations,” the medical droid beeped, “you have a daughter.”

Fesma wrapped up the baby in the spare blanket and gently placed her in her mother’s arms. Khaami rested her head on Satine’s shoulder.

“Tyra-Satine,” smiled the Duchess, “I think it fits her perfectly.”

Within the next hour, both birth certificates were filled out, and while Khaami helped Satine nurse the babies, Fesma wiped the droid’s memory and began to clean up.

[creepy-carrion]

Hey, I'm sorry if I come across as a "pity me" type stuff, I'm sorry. I just finished crying my eyes out over some guy and I wanted to know what the creepy boys would do if they got wind if their friend being hurt to the point of tears? The minute I called my friend crying she went straight to wanting to kill the guy haha

Apologies, I meant to get to this sooner. I really hope you’ll be able to evaluate the relations you have to this guy and decide what the best next step is. I picked a few of the boys for you, also added Jane for good measure. I hope it’s ok that some of these characterizations are still a bit,, well,,, let’s just say they’re still themselves. they all mad

BEN Drowned

Contains his anger about the situation at first, but if you know what to look for, it’s pretty obvious this does not sit well with him. He licks his lips frequently, gets fidgety, maybe even starts pacing. He’s not the best with words and comfort talk, so his primary goal will be to just distract you with some fun things so your mind can calm down. But he can’t shake off this feeling of unease so he might be a little tense.

Honestly this guy does not have the time or energy to commit to fucking with this guy the same way he messes up his victims, but he’ll ask you if he can do some... damage, regardless. He will ask for your permission because he doesn’t want his actions to end up screwing with your mental health. Ben is more calculated than that. Give him green light however and he’ll gladly fuck with this guy’s life. Maybe he doesn’t have the time to personally mess with him, but doxxing him, releasing sensitive information, deleting important documents... it takes all but 10 minutes to ruin this guy’s life.

After that, enough time to make you feel better. Like I said, he’s not much of an advice-giver, but he will listen to you in silence and distract you with whatever he can think of. A movie, a walk, gaming sessions, or talking about anything more casual. 

Jeff the Killer

Ahh. If you are venting about someone bothering you to this guy, you must want them dead either way. Jeff has no internal breaks that are stopping his immediate desire to slit this motherfucker’s throat right open. Once the guy’s name accidentally slips past your lips, Jeff has already curled his fingers around the handle of his knife and dipped out the window.

He cannot really help it. You thought BEN was bad with words? Take a look at this fucking guy. He can’t comfort anyone to save his damn life. But he does know one thing, and that is showing he is capable of caring for you with his actions. Said actions involving knives, blood and murder, but hey, it’s all he knows.

Returns a few hours later, covered in muck and blood. He will just sit with you, his shoulder pressed to yours as he comes down from his adrenaline high. This is probably the best time to talk to him if you just want to empty your heart and not want to be interrupted with unintentionally snarky responses. Jeff cares, evidently shown by that he didn’t waste any time to solve your problem, but hey. It’s still Jeff.

Ticci Toby

You hear that loud noise in the distance? That’s this boy’s alarm bells going off like fucking crazy. Yeah, if Toby hears someone has hurt you to the point of tears, he gets this awful feeling in his gut and wants to drag you away from this fucker as soon as possible.

Toby does not remember any of the events with his abusive father, but they’re still drifting around somewhere in his unconscious, and if anything even implies you were in a similar situation he was in, it makes him feel incredibly uneasy, like something might go horribly wrong. Though unlike the others, he won’t be as focused on going after the guy as making sure you will not go back to him.

Probably the best guy to go to if you’re looking for some genuine, good comfort. Toby has no issues with physical contact, the opposite. He will let you rest your head on his chest, his fingers stroking your hair as you cry into his sweater. He will lay with you like that for as long as you want, his chest occasionally rumbling because of a deep growl. If you want Toby to go after him, you need only say it. But he’d rather make sure you are really okay first. He’ll keep you in his arms all night if he has to.

Jane the Killer

Dealing with pieces of shit harassing innocent people is not just her lane. It’s her fucking highway. So you best believe she’s already concocted a plan to get this guy off his bullshit before you can even finish explaining to her what happened. Kill him? No, she may be a murderer, but her standards for murder are a lot higher than one might think. Offenders and murderers are more up her alley, but that does not mean she will pass up on beating some sense into people who think they get to harm you in any way, shape or form. You won’t hear a peep out of this guy anymore, she’ll make sure of that.

Sorry, did I say Toby was the best guy to go to for comfort? Well, yeah. But Jane is the best person to go to with your problems. Once she hears your sobs through the phone, all of her plans are canceled, she demands you come over, and in no time you’re curled up on the couch with a blanket and a hot chocolate. Jane knows how to do shit like this.

Also, you need advice on how to deal with anything? Please tell her and she will do anything she can to help. Jane is very intelligent and calculating. She has multiple responses to most of the problems you tell her about, and if she doesn’t, give her a day to think about it. And if you just need a cuddle, a distraction, anything, she’d be happy to provide you with that too. Jane is a queen.

[btsqualityy]

Scripted: Part 7

Namjoon x Reader; Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, President!Namjoon, Head of Security!Jimin

Warnings: (Reluctant) open relationship, cheating

A few weeks later, Namjoon’s comment was still ringing just as fresh in your mind as it was when he’d said it to you before storming out of your bedroom. “I’ll always care about you Y/N-ah. But respect is a two-way street, and you stopped respecting me a long time ago”. 

It was obvious that whatever had spurred him to say that was eating at him, because he hadn’t so much as spared you a single glance ever since that day. As much as you wanted to talk to him and try to get down to the bottom of it though, you never seemed to be able to catch him alone long enough to really grill him about it. One of the things about being married to the President of a country is that he’d be able to avoid you for days without suspicion from others, which is exactly what he’d been doing.

You just didn’t get it though. All of this seemingly stemmed from the conversation about you not wanting to have a baby with him but you knew your husband, and you knew that there had to be more to the story than what he was really telling you. You loved Namjoon but there was one thing about him that had always annoyed you, and that was his ability to act aloof whenever he wanted to avoid talking about his true feelings. You thought that the two of you had worked through that in the early days of your relationship, but the same could be said for a lot of the other aspects in your relationship as well.

“Y/N?” Jimin called your name and you seemingly snapped back to reality, looking over at him with your eyes blown wide in surprise. “Did you hear me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Jimin,” you sighed, shaking your head lightly. “Can you say it again?”

“I said, do you think these place settings scream ‘please give us your money’?” He repeated, holding up the book of place settings that the two of you had been looking through. The two of you were doing more planning for the children’s benefit, and you and Jimin were on your own today as Momo had other commitments.

“Yeah, they do,” you laughed and Jimin nodded as he set the book back down on the table in front of you. 

“Are you alright?” Jimin wondered. “You’ve been really quiet all day.”

“I’m fine, I just...have a lot on my mind I guess,” you shrugged.

“You could always talk to me if you wanted,” Jimin offered. “I may not be able to give you any great advice or anything, but it might help to verbalize your thoughts.”

“I wouldn’t want to seem like I’m complaining though.”

“Y/N, you’re human. All humans do is complain, it’s in our nature,” Jimin joked, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright,” you relented. “Namjoon and I got into a....well it really wasn’t an argument or anything like that but he said something that I haven’t been able to get off of my mind.”

“Do you feel comfortable telling me what it was that he said?” Jimin asked. 

“I don’t think it’d really help if you knew, because I don’t even know what he meant by it,” you admitted. “Whatever it was though, I know he’s really upset.”

“Ah ok. Well, maybe you should just give him time,” Jimin shrugged. “Maybe he just needs time to think through things.”

“Maybe but I’m not sure,” you groaned. “I’m so sick of not knowing what’s going on in my own marriage.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it then? He won’t know how you feel if you don’t talk to him.”

“Namjoon and I haven’t spoken to each other honestly, at the same time, in a year,” you disclosed. “And plus, he’s so angry right now that I doubt he’d even hear me out.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I can’t really give you any advice,” Jimin apologized. “I’ve never been married and the one long-term relationship I’ve had fell apart.”

“No, that’s ok,” you smiled lightly. “It’s kind of nice to have someone just listen, because when I talk to Momo about these things, she always gives her two cents.”

“Very on brand for her,” Jimin laughed. 

“I hope I didn’t make things weird for you,” you added. “I know you’re Head of Security for the both of us and it might be odd to have me complaining about our relationship to you.”

“Ok first off, you’re not complaining if I volunteered to listen,” Jimin pointed out. “And second, I can separate the job from my friendships.”

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” You teased him and Jimin became visibly flustered.

“I-I mean,...I was j-just,-”

“Jimin, I’m kidding,” you giggled, and he visibly relaxed again. “I do consider you to be my friend.”

“I consider you to be my friend too,” he nodded with a smile.

“I mean, I’ve vented to you about my emotional baggage so you really have no choice anyways,” you pointed out, making Jimin laugh loudly. 

“Hey, do you have anything else to do today?” Jimin asked suddenly and you shook your head.

“No, this was all I had planned today,” you said as you pointed at the books of place settings and silverware options that sat in front of you. 

“Since I couldn’t give you any real advice, why don’t you let me take you somewhere to get your mind off things?”

“Take me somewhere?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just trust me,” Jimin told you. “By the way, how do you feel about homemade skin care products?”

..........................

“Ok, I had no idea that Hope Market was this popular,” you giggled as Jimin led you through the overcrowded farmer’s market. You made sure to keep your head down in order to make sure that you weren’t seen, even though you had traded your usual dresses and heels for a t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a bucket hat. 

“It’s usually not like this when I come, but that’s also usually during the week,” Jimin replied. The two of you continued to walk until Jimin stopped in front of a booth, and you couldn’t help but to notice how the old woman who was standing behind the stall lit up at the sight of Jimin.

“Jiminie!” She exclaimed, quickly hobbling from behind the booth and throwing her arms around him in a hug.

“Hi Jung-hee-ssi,” Jimin responded, taking a step back from her once she had released him from the hug in order to properly bow to her. “I brought a friend to sample your skin care items.”

“Hello,” you smiled, bowing to her and she nodded towards you. 

“Hi, I’m Kim Jung-hee,” she told you.

“I’m Kim Y/N,” you said and she nodded once again before moving to step back around her stall. You looked over at Jimin in confusion since Jung-hee hadn’t made any mention of your name, and Jimin chuckled at your expression. 

“She’s 67 and she doesn’t own a television,” he revealed and you nodded in understanding. 

“Yah, you two get over here!” Jung-hee called out as she bent over to dig into one of the many crates that she had and Jimin set his hand on the small of your back to push you forward a little. “You’re just in time Jiminie, you and your little friend!”

“What did you make this week?” Jimin wondered as he moved to stand next to you.

“Lip scrubs! And with a new recipe too!” She announced as she stood up straight again and walked over to the two of you, multiple bottles of lip scrubs in her hands. “You’re not allergic to honey or almonds, are you sweetie?”

“No, I’m not,” you told her and she smiled before handing you a small bottle. 

“That one is my homemade sugar lip scrub,” she said and she motioned for you to open the bottle, which you did. “It has sugar which helps exfoliate, almond oil to help moisturize, and honey for smell. Try it.”

“It smells amazing,” you complimented as you dipped your finger into the scrub before proceeding to rub it onto your lips. 

“And I see that you haven’t been following the routine that I gave you!” Jung-hee scolded Jimin as she reached up and grabbed ahold of his chin, looking over his face. 

“I’ve been working!” He shot back, reaching up and pulling her hand away from his face. “I work 12 hour days, I don’t have time for a 12-step skincare routine.”

“You’re gonna end up wishing you had made time when you’re my age with bags so big, you can store kimchi in them,” she muttered, making you snort as you tried not to laugh out loud. Jung-hee then reached around and grabbed a small big that was full of wet wipes, and she pulled one out before holding it out to you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, using the wipe to get the residue from the sugar scrub off your lips.

“How does it feel?” Jung-hee wondered and you paused for a second to run the tip of your finger over your lips, a soft gasp escaping you.

“They’re so soft,” you marveled and Jung-hee smiled proudly. 

“That almond oil will work wonders,” she stated. She then turned around again, taking a few seconds to rummage around in another crate before she stood up straight again. “Here, you can try this hand lotion I’ve made while I pack up a few lip scrubs for you to take home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tried to say but Jung-hee just waved her hand at you.

“It’s not a problem. Jiminie, here,” she said, setting a small tube into Jimin’s open hand. “You rub that onto her skin the same way I do for you while I pack this up.”

“Yes Jung-hee-ssi,” Jimin nodded obediently and Jung-hee took the bottle of lip scrub out of your hands before walking off to the other side of her stall.

“She’s a firecracker,” you whispered quietly to Jimin and he snorted a laugh as he took the top off of the tube in his hands and poured some into his palm.

“Tell me about it,” he chuckled. “I’ve known her since I was little. Her and my grandmother used to be best friends before my grandmother passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized and Jimin just smiled at you as he rubbed his hands together.

“Thanks,” he said as he grabbed your hand and began to apply the lotion to your skin. “I still come and check on her every week to make sure that she’s doing ok.”

“And to get skincare tips,” you added and Jimin laughed before nodding. 

“And to get skincare tips,” he agreed. He continued to rub your hand and you realized that the lotion had long since been rubbed into your skin and that he was now giving you a....massage, almost.

“It’s nice of you to come and check on her though,” you mumbled quietly, not able to tear your gaze away from where Jimin was touching you. 

“Well she doesn’t have any children of her own and her husband’s sick, so I feel like it’s the least I could do,” he smiled, working his way down from your fingers to your wrist, rubbing softly at your pulse point. Your breathing hitched audibly and Jimin looked up at you with a small smirk.

“Feels good, huh? Jung-hee always does this to my hands too when I come, and it’s the most relaxing thing ever,” he told you and you nodded numbly, because relaxing you wasn’t the only thing that it was doing it to you. 

“Alright you two, here you are!” Jung-hee exclaimed as she walked back over to the two of you, two paper bags in her hands. “I put some lip scrubs, the hand cream, some general exfoliates, and some face masks in each one.”

“Thank you so much,” you said as you bowed to her before taking the bag out of her hand while Jimin did the same. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, free of charge sweetie,” she said dismissively. 

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” she stated firmly. “Any friend of Jiminie’s is a friend of mines.”

“Well, thank you,” you smiled. 

“I’ll be back to check on you next week, alright?” Jimin said as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jung-hee’s cheek. 

“Alright, and follow your skincare routine!” She shouted at him, making him nod immediately. 

“It was nice meeting you!” You said as you waved.

“Likewise sweetie,” Jung-hee replied with a grin and you let Jimin lead you away from her booth and back into the busyness of Hope Market. 

“What now?” You wondered as you looked over at Jimin. 

“I know a small ice cream shop not too far from here,” Jimin replied. “Wanna go get a cone?”

“God, yes.”

..........................

“You’re disgusting.”

“Respect my choices!”

“I can respect a choice, but this is just ridiculous,” Jimin muttered in disgust as he looked over at you as you licked your ice cream cone. “I mean, mint chocolate Y/N? Really?”

“It’s good,” you shrugged. 

“It’s toothpaste in ice cream,” Jimin deadpanned.

“You just have no taste.”

“That makes two of us,” he whispered and you reached over to smack his arm, making him wince dramatically. “You almost made me drop mines!”

“Good, it’ll be your karma for judging me!” You shot back. Jimin just chuckled at you, sitting back against the bench as the two of you continued to eat your individual cones in a comfortable silence.

“Thanks Jimin,” you spoke up suddenly, and Jimin looked over at you with a raised brow. 

“For what?”

“For helping me get my mind off of everything,” you told him. “It’s nice to just hang out as me, and not as ‘First Lady Kim’, you know?”

“I can imagine,” he nodded. “And no need to thank me. It looked like everything was really weighing on you.”

“It was,” you confirmed as you took another lick of your ice cream. A few seconds of silence passed before you felt a hand on your knee, and you looked over to see Jimin staring intently at you.

“I wish I could help you more,” he murmured.

“Y-you do,” you assured him softly as he moved closer to you so that your thigh was touching his. “A lot, actually.”

“You deserve better,” he stated firmly and you nodded.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. Before you could even realize what was happening, Jimin was pressing his lips to yours and you found yourself not even hesitating to kiss him back. The kiss was soft and gentle, yet firm at the same time. Jimin didn’t try to pull you closer or push you further, he just....kissed you. As if he knew that it was what you needed. 

Once Jimin pulled his lips away from yours, you slowly opened your eyes and found him smiling softly at you.

“Ok?” He asked and you nodded slowly.

“Ok,” you agreed before sitting back against the bench. Jimin did the same and the two of you continued to eat your ice cream, now trying to hide the blushes that were rising to both your and his cheeks. 

..........................

It wasn’t until you and Jimin had gotten back into his car to head back to the Blue House that you started to overthink and panic. Yes, you were in an open marriage and could technically kiss Jimin without any guilt but he was the Head of your fucking Security detail, for God’s sake. Of all the men in the world, why’d it have to be him?

On the other hand though, you were happy that it was Jimin. He’s been the sweetest guy ever and as you thought about it, you had an inherent sense of trust in him and it wasn’t just because he was your Head of Security. It was because he had shown himself to be trustworthy, which is something you’d been lacking in your marriage.

These thoughts swirling through your mind is why the entire car ride had ended up being completely silent, and Jimin didn’t try to speak up until he had walked you up the front steps of the Blue House and the two of you were standing in front of the door. 

“Are you alright Y/N-ah?” He asked you and you gave him a smile, because you truly were alright and because you noticed how he didn’t just call you ‘Y/N’. 

“Yeah, more than alright,” you told him and a small smile came across his face. “Thank you again, for today.”

“I told you, I always want to help you,” he reminded you. He reached down and grabbed hold of your hand, the same hand that he had massaged earlier, and brought it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to it. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded with a smile as Jimin released your hand. He turned around and made his way back down the steps as you turned around and pushed open the front door, stepping inside and shutting it behind you. After kicking off your sneakers, you began to make your way to your and Namjoon’s private living quarters when you heard what sounded like something hitting the wall.

“What the hell is that sound?” You mumbled to yourself, walking further down the hallway to you and Namjoon’s bedroom. When you got there, your bedroom door was slightly ajar and when you peaked inside, it felt like every ounce of breath got knocked out of your body.

Namjoon was in your bed, clearly fucking some girl missionary style. The girl was moaning loudly, and you almost swore that you’d heard it somewhere before. After watching for a few seconds, the anger you were feeling bubbled over and you burst forcefully into the room, causing the door to hit the hall and Namjoon and his whore to yell/shriek in surprise.

“Are you fucking serious?!” You hollered and Namjoon looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening when he saw your face.

“Y/N, wait,” he apologized, wrapping the duvet around the lower half of his body as he moved from on top of the girl. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh yeah?” You laughed sarcastically. “Because it looks like you’re fucking some whore in our bed!”

“I’m not a whore,” the girl spoke up and your eyes widened as you recognized the voice. You moved further into the room and you felt your heart break into two when you realized exactly who Namjoon had been fucking. 

“Hello Y/N-ah,” Ahn Hyejin smirked and you shook your head as the overwhelming sense of deja-vu almost became too much for you to handle. “Missed me?”

..........................

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[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

abt the historia and zeke are technically related, it got me thinking. We get a lot of yeager bros content and im sure there’s content of frieda being hostoria’s older sister but... where’s the content of zeke being a protective big bro to historia? Feel like they can bond well since they both got dick dads

historia taking the first few steps to breaking away from the nice, submissive type everyone knows her to be. she’s not perfect and there would be times that she’d doubt herself and go back to being insecure and playing herself down. in comes zeke who met her through his mother’s side of the family and is all for that personal growth. he relates to her wanting to stick it to her father, having gone through something like that in the past. he says stuff like, “like hell they can get away talking to you like that, tell me who they are and ill give them a piece of my mind.” and “your dad can go fuck himself, you can stay with me and mom if you need somehwere to stay. mom doesnt like rod either so you’re more than welcome.”

idk idk hahah :p

...i hope you don't mind me just wirting some headcannons and scenrios real quick, because wow anon you just opened my third eye for all this potential.

Historia and Zeke family bonding modern au below cut

They probably met for the first time at large family gathering when Dina took teen Zeke to meet his relatives and one of his uncles mentioned that his daughter from his ex-wife just started living with him after moving from the country side.

He was 17 at the time, and so while the adults were busy with each other as the topic of his mother's divorce came up again, he felt too uncomfortable to stay in the room so he just excused himself to the bathroom.

Only to sneak outside the house instead, knowing all the rooms in his uncle's big mansion were probably filled with maids or other relatives and he didn't want to risk getting caught.

The back garden was beautiful, the grass overgrown and not as bright as the front yard fake lawn, it was clearly an overlooked part of the house that the gardener seemed to forget from dried crunchy leaves collecting at the bottom of the old tree.

Zeke took a breath of fresh air, before reaching into the hidden pocket of his jacket and pulling a cigarette.

He knew if his mother found out she'd kill him, not to mention his concerned grandparents, but what they don't know can't harm them.

Getting out his lighter, he was too focused on covering the flame so the wind won't snuff it out before lighting the cigarette

"You shouldn't do that, it's not good for you." Came a high pitched voice that took him off guard, almost making him drop the lighter and cause a fire hazard.

Looking in front of him, a seven year old girl stood with messy blonde hair with some leaves stuck to it, she was clutching a patch of dandelions and weeds pulled from the ground.

Putting the lighter back in his pocket, Zeke took a deep breath before slowly letting the smoke out, pushing what she said aside, he said "And what exactly are you doing with those?"

She gave a big toothy smile before explaining how she's cleaning the garden, she said "they keep stealing the other plants' food, most plants here are dead and i wanted to help."

Zeke stepped closer before leaning down to be on eye level with her, judging by the dirt staining her white dress and between her fingernails, she must have been doing this for a while. He chuckled at the way she crunched her nose at the smell of smoke, before attempting to mask her features.

Wanting to mess with her, he held the cigarette with two fingers before offering it to her, "wanna try? i won't tell your parents, pinky promise."

Audibly gasping, she clutched the dandelions to her chest protectively before stumbling to politely reject it in a way that was clearly meant not to offend him, her eyes glancing at the garden fence door like she's considering running.

Deciding to end the joke before she would yell stranger danger, Zeke put out the cigarette with an amused smile before offering his empty hand to her.

"I'm sorry for the awful joke, please don't tell my mom, will you forgive me? Pretty please?" Putting on his best pout, Zeke almost couldn't hold back chuckling when the kid in front of him seemed actually moved by his act.

She reluctantly took his hand, tangling their pinkies together before nodding, with the most serious expression she said "okay...i won't, but you have to stop okay! My dad does it and he coughs a lot."

"Your dad huh..." Zeke stared into her eyes, "so you must be Historia."

"Mhm! Do you know my dad? He said some people will be visiting today and i should stay somewhere they can't see..."

"Hmm, well Historia " standing up, Zeke pushed his glasses back, "I'm Zeke, what do you say we become friends?"

Looking up at the tall boy with stars in her eyes, Historia enthusiastically noded, too happy to dwell on the fact that her first ever friend had offered her a smoke some minutes ago.

"That's the spirit, now" taking off his jacket, Zeke folded it before putting it aside on the fence, "what do you say we finish pulling these weeds so i can teach you a really fun game called catch."

That day, Zeke dragged dirt and mud into his mother's new car with his now ruined suit, Dina was too busy scolding him that she forgot the fact he never came back from the bathroom after leaving the room.

And after that, each year at Christmas and family gatherings, Zeke and Historia would see each other for a single day.

He slowly saw her confidence grow more and more, each time she held her head a little higher, smile more genuine than the fake polite one.

At age 15, She told him about her first girlfriend, he bought her alcohol with His ID and of course she was quick to refuse it and scold him, Zeke started worrying she's starting to resemble his mother more and more.

At 16, when her father found out and threatened to kick her out, Zeke was the person she first called even before Ymir, not wanting to worry her.

To his surprise was the fact she didn't shed a single tear as she packed her bags before getting in his car, not giving a single glance to her father staring with a horrified expression from the front gate.

No, she smiled instead as both of them went to grab some food.

He asked if she knows where she's staying, she said she knows some friends but still haven't asked anyone yet.

After arriving at his grandparents house, Dina was the first to pull her into a hug before saying how sorry she is and how she just ended a call with Riess after giving him a piece of his mind.

Zeke, knowing very well how his mother is like when she's angry, he smiled knowing the guy now definitely has a headache from all the yelling, his mother has great lungs after all.

Zeke was almost 26 at the time, and so he offered her his old room while he's away in college.

They definitely grew closer after that, although Zeke never mentioned a word to his friends neither did Historia tell anyone beside Ymir.

They just never mentioned their personal life while hanging out on the days Zeke came to visit from college.

His grandparents adored her and treated her like their granddaughter after his mother moved to another country, they even met Ymir a couple times.

Zeke never talked with Ymir but he met her on the times Historia brought her over at christmas, his grandparents were quick to praise her for landing such a beautiful girlfriend before side eyeing Zeke and asking if he will ever give bring someone home.

Zeke was there for her to see her actual sad side that she hid from everyone, both of them bonded over the burden they hold on their shoulders for having to be the "perfect reliable" person all the time.

She rarely cried, but whenever she did it was either with Zeke or Ymir.

While Zeke would vent to her about Grisha and how much the fear of turning like him is what prevents him from being in a commited relationship, while Historia listens to him before sharing her own experience with both her dad and mother and how both of them just abandoned her.

After that they just go out to get ice cream.

Fun fact, Historia can handle spicey food and like it's nothing, meanwhile Zeke will choke if he even smelled peppers.

At age 20, Historia moved with Ymir in an apartment after high school and Zeke moved back home to a house near his grandparents after finishing college and opening his own clinc.

She still sends them cards each Christmas and even visits at times, Zeke picks up each time she calls no matter what he's currently doing.