#my first draft of her was so COMPLICATED she had so many spots

[tazzmanian-devil]

heres my entry for the “donnies shitty terrible girlfriend” competition. wait what do you mean its not a competition

@nerves-nebula said i can do whatever i want forever so i decided to make amphibian propaganda. if amphibian doesnt win ill...ill...i dont know, throw up maybe. she doesnt have a mouth but she CAN beam words into your brain, or something.

[neverchecking]

Hi I love you wirk

And I love how you call totk link sage

Also the cold attack boost outfit I love it my favorite The open back and showing his hips 🤤😋 hot

And I love the zonia

And I have a request

Can I request yandere sage x ruyla ( autocorrect Keeps fixing his name) king of the zonia daughter reader

Smut

Like the reader was sent to the future from her dad with out anyone knowing

And tells link to find his daughter who asleep not to far away from his shrine and go to a the time temple top and the zonia worker will show him the way

And they reade is a sweet flower but looks up to Link.

And link falls for her.

And won't let anyone take her even if it mean Baby trapping her please and thank you

And I love you.

At first I was like Raylu???? Then I noticed you mentioned autocorrect and I was like ah- Rauru.

You absolutely can. I love every part of this idea. I feel like a perfect companion to Sage is one that is just such a sunshiney baby.

Anyway, I meant to get this out last night after work, but I got high instead and spent an hour watching the ceiling fan. I also wrote like the weirdest draft ideas and I'm deciding if they're worth fleshing out at all.

(Sage is TotK Link!)

Also smut so MDNI! 18+

Smut CW: Breeding kink, baby trapping, reader is a little naive. Sage. He's a crusty little bastard. (affectionately) Dumbification.

It had many names, the Legend of the Dragon's Daughter. Many of which titled it as either a legend or a story. A myth. Some warned of great dangers surrounding the aura of the spirit the legend told about. Other's told of the pure divinity that this being held in the palm of their hand. The grace and adroitness that lined their very pores was spoken of so fondly by the older generations who had heard the story from their own grandparents, who had heard it from theirs and so on and so forth. The older Zora especially spoke of her in such a tone he found himself lending a little belief to the legend.

The story told of a daughter, blessed to the first King and Queen of Hyrule by the Three Goddesses themselves. A princess bestowed with the gift of beauty and grace, a beacon to the budding kingdom. There were even carvings under Hyrule Castle, hidden by toppled boulders, that portrayed her image.

And he would admit. She looked like a being having been blessed by the heavens above.

The carvings had showed an ugly side to an already bitter story. How this princess, this goddess sculpted muse, was struck down by the Demon King as a means to get back at both King Rauru and Queen Sonia. The carvings from there had been too worn down to get a clear reading, but it was enough to pique his interest. Besides, what else did he have to do? Save a princess who had no issues with leaving him to die? Deal with monsters that the people of Hyrule already knew damn well how to deal with and were no longer scared of them? Traverse the depths and all the lightroots he had already found?

At least this way, he may get some new power out of it. If nothing else, at least he had a good story for Traysi.

His first area to investigate was the sky island he woke up on. He could still spot Rauru's spirit in certain areas, understanding the solemn look he seemed to wear much more than he previously did.

It was also much easier to travel around the island this time around, which was a bonus.

When prodded for answers, something complicated flashed over the spirit's face before it settled into a Grim acceptance. One Link had worn too often right after remembering the untimely demise of the Champions.

"She was gravely injured. My precious sunshine. I almost lost her that day." He had spoken in a grave echo, eyes glazed and far off, as if seeing his daughter right in front of him. "My sister, Mineru, had offered her services in an effort to preserve her soul. I am unsure if it had worked. I haven't had the heart to look. I would be such a disappointment to her fiery heart and iron strong will to shine in the brightest ways possible. She was kept in the Temple of Time if you are at all curious."

He was. He was curious. He wanted to see this being for himself. If Rauru spoke so highly of you, it had to be worth it. And it was either this or go save Zelda, and he figured she was fine doing what she currently was for a little while longer.

At least until he looked further into this.

Walking into the temple, he hummed to himself as he looked around, spotting the blue glow of Rauru near a wall closer to the exit. He nodded solemnly when Link approached. The hand that matched his own raised to the wall, pulling forth one of those green symbols that chimed at his hand. The bricks shuffled and moved while Rauru faded out, leaving an unactive construct in front of him. It rattled to life, chirping up at him before recognizing that he was friend and not foe. The Construct explained that he was designed to protect the chasm the Princess was being kept in, but since Rauru had deemed him worthy, he would escort the blond to the place. It wasn't a long journey, not at all, just down a spiraling staircase with stone walls curtained by moss.

But the moment he laid eyes on you, he understood why you were hidden.

You face was lax in such a peaceful expression as your body remained weightless, suspended in a bubble of seafoam green and ocean blue. Your hair was splaying up behind you as if you were underwater with your hands clasped around a hilt of a sword. Even the sword itself was divinity in a blade, glowing a bright white from it's place in front of you. You were clad in white robes trimmed in cold with a stone necklace laced around your delicate neck, those same white earrings hanging from your ears.

You were...ethereal. From the curve of your jawbone to the plump flesh of your cheeks, he was enthralled by your very essence. The curve of your shoulders and the toned flow of your arms, even the dip in your collarbone-- all of it had his eyes trailing every bend and curve of your body.

What he wouldn't do to get a piece of you.

He ached to just touch your sun-kissed skin, to feel it under his palms as he held you. To feel the run of your hips, fingers gripping at the dips that decorated them. To paint them a splattering of blues and purples in a lasting reminder of who he was and what he had done to you. To bite and nibble at the flesh just to hear the kind of cries you would make.

Goddess, he couldn't imagine what your voice sounded like, but he wanted to. He wanted to hear what it sounded like while you breathlessly gasped out. To hear what it sounded like when you cried out his name in pure ecstasy as you withered underneath of him. To hear you give yourself to him entirely.

He wanted to feel your weight on top of him, to experience your hands in his hair (Or cupping his cheeks if he chose to allow himself that vulnerability), to live in your orbit, worshipping you as his one true Goddess.

His eyes landed on the same green symbol that unlocked everything pertaining to the Zonai. He raised his hand in response. It lit up a bright green before fading. The bubble shined brightly before growing, eventually popping and exposing you to the elements. Which why? You were so vulnerable like that? Why not just give you to him directly? You were at risk like this. Couldn't they SEE THAT-

Whatever invisible force keeping you suspended gently laid you on your feet, which were bare, only adorned with an anklet matching your necklace. The tip of the sword in your hand clinked against the stone floor. The echo of it made your eyes, your gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, snap open. If he thought seeing you before was captivating, this was downright...enchanting. The light of your irises positively glowed as your silently gasped, hands tightening around the hilt of the weapon. He rushed to your side as he saw your balance falter, cradling you in his arms as one of your hands came to gently hold your own temple. Even just the sound of your groan made him swallow hard, fighting the blood threatening to rush to his (dick-) cheeks.

You blinked before realizing that he was not someone you knew, pushing him away with much more force than he would expect from someone fresh out of a comatose state. The only thing stopping him from wrapping his arms around you once more was the tip of the very blade now prodding at his neck. He swallowed.

"Who are you?" You demanded, hold on the weapon shaking just a tad.

(Which was so adorable. How someone like you, all soft skin and doe eyes, expected to make someone like him, rugged scars and gnarled morals, bend to you was beyond him.)

(But he'd love to see you try anyway.)

"Where are my people?! Or Queen Sonia and King Rauru?!" Oh, you were so cute.

He wanted to decimate that innocence you carried.

With a careful hand, he gently pushed the blade aside with the back of a hand, letting a smug smirk settle on his lips. Your cheeks immediately reddened as your attention remained on him. Just as he liked it, he decided then and there. He liked having your attention (and only yours) on him. But having you acting so hostile towards him just wouldn't stand. But you didn't know any better, not yet anyway, so he'd let it slide.

He gently explained that you had been fatally wounded protecting your people, something that your parents were endlessly proud of you for-- even in death. While it was a direct shot in his, admittedly lacking, heart to be the one to tell you of the passed time and the death of your parents (The sacrifice of your father and the betrayal that lead to your mother's death), he was evidently the best and only option. He understood, on an intimate level, what it was like to loose so much time, healing yourself, while the rest of the world carried on, carrying the loss of friends and family with it. He knew what it was like. It had to be why you two were so perfect for each other.

He held you as your cried, soothing down your hair as your tears (Which should never have been shed) soaked his shoulder. While he was never interested in defeating the Demon King for Zelda's sake, he may have just found another motive.

One much more worthy of his time and attention.

<><><><>

When he first saw you, he understood why you were hidden, on a surface level.

He understood why much more on a deeper, more intimate one now.

You were so bubbly. Even when faced with the devastation of your home, you remained optimistic, greeting the constructs that roamed around happily. Bestowing your cherished kisses (Those should belong to him.) upon their cold exterior while wiping them free of dirt. Even the wildlife that had squawked and charged at him crooned and chirped under your touch, hankering for the scratches you gifted them under the chin. You saw beauty in the overrun weeds and fauna, taking great interest in the new species that had popped up.

When he took to the mainland, via shrine travel because he would be damned before you got down the same way he originally did, it seemed like you couldn't see everything fast enough. You loved exploring the caves, despite the Like-Likes baring their disgusting teeth and innards (Which he quickly disposed of), ached to get as close as possible to the chasms (Which wasn't very as he refused to risk you falling in), yearned to traverse the mountain peaks and snow dunes of the mainland (Which killed him on the inside since didn't you know how dangerous those were?!).

You were quite the adventurer, full of inexperienced naivety and unpoised curiosity. The exact opposite of the princess he knew. He forgot you were royalty have the time with your mannerisms, nothing like Zelda. Which was so refreshing.

If only you weren't so fragile. He would never admit it (Too your face at least) that he's thought of just tying you down and keeping you in his (He saw it as your shared home these days) home. It was on the far outskirts of Tarrey town (Far enough no one would hear your cries for help should it come to that) with a pasture out front so you could keep a horse nearby as a friend (Should you behave).

(It wouldn't be a young, steady horse. No, most likely an older horse who had long since retired from any sort of running or getaway attempts.)

He just needed a way to keep you stationary.

And it hit him like a Hinox. You two were walking around Hateno (It was deemed safe and far enough from Tarry Town that it was still new to you), when you stopped, let out a high enough squeal his ears pinned to his head as his head snapped towards you. You were always in his peripheral, but now you were right in front of him with his hands quickly holding your arms, checking you over for injury. There were none, but you were beaming like someone had handed you a million rupees (He would. He could. He'd do it just for you), instead redirecting his attention with a call of 'Link, look!'. He had followed your line of sight just as you began squeezing his own hands, expecting you to be aweing over a cow or goat or, Goddess forbid, a dog again (You very nearly took one of stable dogs home last time). But you weren't.

And that's when it hit him.

You were loosing any semblance of a mind you had over a small infant, strapped to their mother's back by a wrap of some sort. The babe smiled at your reaction, letting out a small cascade of giggles that had you squealing in pure joy.

That was it.

The answer was right there! How could he have been so blind?! It was right there. If he gave you a baby, his baby no less, you would have no choice but to remain dormant. You would have to stay right where he put you to not only protect yourself, but to your protect your child. He had no doubt you would do it. You were too kind, too naive, for any other option. Once you figured out you were carrying his child, you'd fall for thing, claiming it as your own before it was any bigger than an apple seed.

And from then on it would just be a matter of formalities. You'd be his for the rest of your lives.

Exactly what he wanted.

Exactly what had led up to this moment. You were nothing but a babbling, crying mess underneath of him, pulling at the roots of his hair as he folded your legs against your chest. You were pleading with him, some mindless demand that he wasn't even sure you knew what you were asking, but it was background noise. He was too focused on watching the way he disappearing into your cunt, a milky sheen coating the shaft of his cock as heavy dollops of past loads dripped past your gaping opening. It was mesmerizing the way your body reacted to him, sucking him in and fighting him every time he pulled out. Even on an unconscious level, you ached for him. Not nearly as much as he breathed for you, but that would come with time. He knew it would. He'd ensure it.

The cry of his name on your lips had the coil in his gut steadily tightening as his pace picked up, thoroughly hammering your insides. He needed to make sure he was prodded right against your cervix for this to work. He needed to get this right. He needed to father any and all of your children. Starting here and now.

Whether you knew about it or not.

You had babbled something about him pulling out too long ago, but he had...distracted you with long laps at your clit and soft nipples along your thighs. He didn't even think of truly ruining you until you were clenching your thighs around his head and drenching his bottom jaw, too gone to properly process anything going on around you.

And he'd keep it that way.

His thumb, rough and calloused, rubbed harsh little circles into your clit, feeling it pulse in time with his ministrations. You whimpered beneath him, chest arching up to push against his own as you cried out, squeezing around him. You were positively milking him for every drop he had to offer.

There was no way you didn't want his children. Not with the way you were clenching around him as he jutted as far as he could go, filling your womb once more. You laid boneless beneath him, hands dropping to hang around his neck as he took a moment to breath. Your cunt spasmed once more and his cock twitched inside of you.

"You're not done yet, are you, Princess?" He purred into your ear, making it flicker as he rolled his hips against yours, even if overstimulation rocked his entire system in a flash of shot nerves.

None of that mattered to him. He had a mission. A mission he would do anything to accomplish.

Anything to keep you as his.

Yes, the reader was holding the Light Sword. Yes, I know that's not how you get it. I just thought it would be a cool tidbit bc YES, Sage seems like the type to get turned on by a hot princess threatening with a sword.

[hello-universe-lovers]

"You're on a path in the woods"

An experiment in a lil animation made me wanna talk about my stp au that I have been teasing for days now.

So, without further adu, I hereby give you my AU.

SLAY THE PRINCESS: THE FIRST DRAFT

Loosely inspired by "[Tumblr] Plays STP" accounts floating around.

This follows the tale of the Narrator's first attempt at the Construct, when he was still testing the limits of this prison, and if the task of slaying the "Princess" was even feasible. As an Echo, he didn't want to risk the Long Quiet not obeying his orders, so he got a "volunteer", a mortal, to see if she would obey. He needs to be sure his will won't be challenged, before waking up the Long Quiet as a mortal. But what he got instead changed the very nature of the Construct, and maybe, the nature of the slumbering deities inside...

More details under the cut if you're interested (spoilers galore so read at your own risk):

I have had this au for, roughly, a month or so. This was just shared to my bf and some mutual and I never intended to even bring it to light. But with my voices having clear influences from this lil AU, I felt the need to at least make a post so you can understand how my Voices are the way they are, and maybe get you a glimpse into how I see the Construct, the Shifting Mound Long Quiet.

So this is just a compilation of my ideas, in no particular order:

Note: I used "Larry" as the character and "Long Quiet" as the Deity.

The [MAIN CHARACTER]:

You can call her "the Player" or "Ley" (i didn't have a real name for her), if you wanna keep it simple. She is an oc of mine (one I basically used as a atand-in to insert into whatever hyperfixation I gotten into this week). Her story in this AU is that she's a simple mortal that got caught in the Narrator's plans. She was meant as the "Beta reader" of this tale, and wasn't meant to survive even one Chapter, if she did as the Narrator said. But obviously, she wouldn't. That's a problem the Narrator came across early on: her free will and mortal experiences dictated her actions way more than intended. He had to urge her PRETTY hard, and in the end, she saved the princess, which lead to her first: the Prisoner.

When she saved that Princess, she inadvertently awakened the Gods slumbering inside. The Shifting Mound was the most obvious, taking the Prisoner and asking her to go back and collect more perspective. The Long Quiet, is more complicated. He is still in deeper slumber, but what is awake are the Voices. Without the Long Quiet, they latched onto the other sapient mind, the Player, and started guiding her. However, since she was just a mortal, and not a blank slate like the Canon Larry, she ended up changing the Voices as well. They picked up on concepts from her mind, and their humanoid appearance and personalities reflected that.

Her advantages are that since she is a full pledge human, her ability to think is more wide open, as such, she can do things that Larry wouldn't consider (for example: breaking the Princess out of her chain in Chapter 1 by using the Pristine Blade to cut it). Following that, certain routes are "locked" to her, simply because some routes required specific actions that no one would think about, on their first run (The MOC, the Wraith and Greys,... are examples). Not to mention the new avenues she could discover from simply being different from Larry.

With that being said, Shifty can still "push" her to certain routes, if it will bring her a new perspective, so while in the first few routes, Ley has a lot of control, but the options narrowed down, as Shifty starts getting REALLY specific. That is one of many drawbacks I thought for her. Another is the "2 voice" rule. As a mortal, she cannot handle more than 2 voices (and the Narrator permanently has a spot) so for each run, she only has one voice accompanying her at all times, and a voice is added only in Chapter 2, and never chapter 3. Some that may not even appear in their canon chapter 2 routes, leading to some new situations for all parties.

The Voices:

The Voices, as stated previously, are influenced by this mortal mind. While they do align with canon pretty tightly, her mind brought with them flexibility and the capacity to change rather drastically. Their appearance is the main sign of this. If it was Larry, then they look vaugly like him with little distinguishing features. But because Ley has such a big memory, they have a wide range of tropes, faces and fashion to dabble into. Some even deciding on things their Canon counterparts never would consider (Hero, Contra, Cheated and Broken being women for one, and Oppy feeling remorse).

Their routes to earn them are also different, because she has a different reaction to the Princess, though some stay the same. Here is the list (some of them are fan Princesses) of what I thought of.( And note that not all of them reach Chapter 3 because after chapter 2, she has normally detemrined what to do with the Princess):

♡ Hero: The Prisoner [FREED]

♡ Stubborn: The Razor -> the Arms Race [SLAIN]

♡ Smitten: the Tower -> (maybe) The Apotheosis [SLAIN]

♡ Opportunist: the Witch -> The Thorn [FREED]

♡ Skeptic: the Nightmare [FREED]

♡ Broken: the Beast -> the (wounded) Wild [FREED]

♡ Contrarian: The Stranger -> The Star (fan princess i will draw one day) [TAKEN]

♡ Cold: the Damsel -> the Belle (fan princess I will also draw one day) [RESCUED]

♡ Cheated: The Adversary -> the Fury [FREED]

♡ Paranoid: The Spectre [FREED]

♡ Hunted: The Huntress (again, will draw this fan princess one day) [SLAIN]

Regardless of how she earned them, at the end, after Shifty retrieved the vessel, they will always end up in the mirror. Rather than fade away, The Player will see how she sees the Voice in the mirror. They still feel cold and still fear death, but the Player comforted them for a short time, and have a talk, before feathers wrapped around them, returning them to the Quiet. She will never see the same voice twice, as the route to open them is closed. But the Long Quiet is slowly shifting with each new voice. He, like his other half, is slowly waking up.

(Potential) Endings:

I don't really think about this section, since this au is fun in the in-between, not the ending. but I do have a few ideas on what happens in the end.

☆ Ascend together: with Shifty and LQ awakened, They want to show Their gratitude to this mortal, They want her to Ascend with Them, to join their Dance in eternity. The debate probably happens too, but with the Voice joining with their Princess. But no matter how it plays out, if she accepts, she becomes the Vessel of both Change and Stillness. I call her Entropy, for the unpredictable nature.

☆ Retredded ground (what i considered Canon, if i wanna do one for this au): By going into the Heart of the Shfiting Mound, she meets with Princess and Larry, and have a talk. Ley concluded that this whole mess is way too complicated for her, and there's way too much for her to help. They are just too complex for her to find an answer for. So they suggested that they get her out of the Construct, permanently. The Echo was gonna use Larry anyway, before this trial run, so he could consider it a failure and move on. They both loved her too much, at this rate, and wouldn't want her to get hurt, on their behalf. So with the Blade, she is killed by Larry and Princess holding the knife together. This is where the Canon game happens, Larry restored as the POV character, not remembering the previous Player, only for worn footprints on the path in the woods to the cabin...

☆ Nobody left behind: this is a rendition of the Leave Together ending. Now, Ley has attached to the Voices, so she gathered all the Voices to leave too. Even a shard of the Narrator joined them so the Echo can finally fade into the wind. No one is left behind, and everyone leaves into the unknown. Maybe they will go back to Ley's old life, or somewhere new. But at least they got each other.

((HOLY SHIT THIS IS A LOT. To whoever sat thru and read thru all of this, thank you. I probably won't do anything like a separate blog or a comic or anything, but I do wanna tall about this au so plz let me rant and talk to me/hj. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day

[night-chant]

Temporary Trouble, Permanent Promise (MLQC One-Shot)

Hello hello greetings it’s me :) Thank you @krishastumblernow​ for this request! I hope you like it!! It is really refreshing and fun talking about MLQC and Lucien with you :))) He is such an interesting love interest (To this day, I still have no idea what goes on in his mind lool)

Featuring: Lucien x afab reader

Word Count: 3103

Summary: Lucien observed that you were in deep thought again, lost in your own world. Fortunately, he had methods to bring you back into his arms and to ensure that nothing would steal you away from him again.

Warnings: 18+ (minors do not interact please! I beg)

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The late afternoon sky was clear and beautiful but why was your mind not feeling the same way?

Last week, Anna and Kiki were snooping into your love life for the umpteenth time ever since they had spotted your frequent visits to the university carrying pastries that they craved so badly. 

“I knew the gardenia bouquet was from Professor Lucien!” Kiki squealed at the occupied vase on your desk. 

You sighed. “Anna, please tell me you don’t take part in office gossip too.”

She managed a sheepish smile. “But how has he been treating you? You've been together for almost a year now. How many dates have you gone on?”

With your mysterious boyfriend, a coincidental encounter often ended up as one. It was kind of hard to link a number with that. Wait, why were you even entertaining Anna’s question?

“What is this, an interrogation?” you asked in a huff, hoping they did not catch the waver in your voice. “It doesn’t matter. We haven’t really gone on one for a while now.”

Anna contemplated that scrap of information. “That makes sense. It is students’ midterm season afterall and who knows what sort of complicated research he could be working on? It was so hard to even arrange a time for him to be our consultant for the next show.”

Kiki pinched your cheek as you wrung a magazine tightly. “Don’t worry! He made time to send flowers for you. I’m sure another date will be set or I’m gonna make sure of it! Maybe some sort of amusement park, the beach or maybe Netflix and chill---”

You bonked her head with the rolled-up magazine. “I thought I gave you enough proposals to draft up to keep you busy, Kiki!”

Anna hastily steered Kiki away before the list could become more inappropriate for a workplace environment. 

“Fine! Fine! Just make sure he is not dating his work instead!” Kiki called back, her last words echoing in your mind.

***

The click of silverware broke the trance and brought you back to the cafe where you sat across from your boyfriend in a secluded table at the corner away from the lively chatter.

“It seems like you have stirred your drink into a little caffeinated whirlpool,” Lucien said, amusement evident across his lips.

Instantly, you dropped the slim spoon, spilling droplets of lukewarm coffee over your fingers. “Ah! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“First at my lecture and now here. What am I going to do with my silly girl?” Feigning a helpless sigh, Lucien gestured for your hand. His dark bangs hung low as he concentrated on patting a napkin across your skin. 

You scowled. “You mean your 8 o’clock lecture.”

“Hm, perhaps I need to resort to other methods that will keep your eyes on me.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, silencing your grumbling. Lucien’s sensual purple eyes did not break contact with yours as his tongue swiped over the last drop of coffee on your skin.

You drew your hand away before anyone nearby would notice. “H-Hey!”

Lucien let out a chuckle with his smiling eyes. He would snatch every single opportunity he got just to see your face burn pink. It didn’t help how easy it was for him either. No matter how much you prepared for his sudden attacks, he would always manage to surprise you, whether it was when he prepared dinner with you or when he laid beside you in bed. 

Just like the sly fox he was. 

Lucien adjusted the sleeves of his dress shirt before leaning forward. “Well, now that I have your undivided attention, why don’t you tell me what is on your mind, Kris?”

Despite his ever-attentive nature, you weren’t afraid to try to escape, undiscovered. “Nothing worth noting,” you simply said, fidgeting with strands of your hair under his scrutiny. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I would not consider it ‘nothing’ if it stole your attention from me --- not once but twice today.”

If he stared a moment longer, you might’ve caved in. His dark overcoat hung over his chair but it easily reminded you of his long white lab coat, of his status as a professor, neuroscientist---heck, even as a consultant. They all reminded you of his duties, responsibilities and surely as a result, the inevitable workload. 

Instead, you grabbed your cup and downed the last of your coffee as you hastily shrugged into your coat. “I-It really doesn’t matter. Let’s go home.” 

Studying your every move, Lucien let you put his coat over him and drag him out of the cafe in silence.

***

The bright red and orange leaves swirled through the cool breeze down the streets of Loveland City. The calling geese soared across the sunset toward the direction of the south. The scenery did its best to distract you but it was too late.

Suddenly, a warm hand held yours and you looked up at Lucien, whose eyes were unreadable. You two stopped walking in the middle of the vacant walkway by the river, barely able to hear the calls of the geese that were now so far away so quickly.

“Something is troubling your mind,” Lucien insisted, reaching for your other hand, shielding them both from the frigid air. “I can’t help but seek the answers to your worries.” He managed a tender smile. “Your scowl is endearing but I prefer your lovely smile the most.”

His quiet, pleading eyes were going to be the death of you. You couldn’t help but smile the smile he cherished above all. It encapsulated the innocence that he would do anything to preserve from the crooked world. He was patient, caring, and intelligent. Maybe, just maybe, it would be unreasonable to turn away from his offer of support.

“I’ve been just thinking . . .” you began but trailed off, fidgeting with his hands that were much larger than you own.

“An awful lot, unfortunately.” 

You held your gaze with his. “Y-You’re not dating your work, are you?”

For a long moment, Lucien did not speak. The breeze was tousling his stubbornly straight hair, rustling his long coat, and rippling the waves of the river. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed your expression as if it was a complex thesis.

Then he let out a soft laugh. 

“So you’ve been scowling all day and lost in your thoughts all because you convinced yourself that I am unfaithful to my dear girlfriend?”

Sheepishly, you rubbed your arm. “Now that you phrased it like that, it really does sound silly.” When he tried to suppress his chuckle, you pouted. “Okay, now you’re making fun of me.”

You were about to turn away, but he caught your wrist. 

“Now, now, there’s no need to turn from me. I still need you so.”

“No, you don’t. You need your work more,” you said but you couldn’t stop the small smile forming when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. 

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, nudging your scarf aside with his chin until his lips had access to your bare skin. You giggled against his insistent kisses, squirming from the cold.

“Although I admit I have been busier than usual,” he mused, “it was to ensure that my weekend is free. My weekends are always reserved for you. I will make time for you no matter what.” He turned you around, the last rays of sunlight gleaming against his deep purple gaze. “However, I can’t read your mind, so you will have to let me know what your heart desires from me.” He leaned close to your ear. “And I will provide whatever way I can.”

You blinked, your senses sharpened at his soothing voice and determined devotion. When you didn’t respond, Lucien caressed your hands again. “Ah, it seems like I have not convinced my silly girl.” Before you could protest, he pulled you along, resuming the interrupted stroll down the waterway. “What shall I ever do with you?”

***

There were wonderful perks of dating your next-door neighbour. It almost felt like you were living together, judging by how often you visited each other for simple domestic reasons. You would drop by to water Lucien’s plants, especially since he had convinced you that they grew vibrantly whenever you were around. He would invite you over for dinner after you two went grocery shopping the day before. Sometimes, you two would share coffee on separate balconies, both leaning on the railing, subconsciously, trying to be close even in the early morning.

Tonight, Lucien triumphed as he proposed to invite you over before you could offer the same yourself. I will beat him next time, you promised to yourself as he motioned you inside. You removed your thick coat, deeply sighing into the comforting warmth of Lucien’s apartment, the scent of cinnamon and lavender wafted to you. You started wandering down the hallway, failing to notice how he was locking the door and flipping the latch over the door frame with his eyes trained on your figure, as if the great big fox finally cornered the oblivious rabbit. 

“I left some lettuce in your fridge yesterday,” you mused as you stretched your arms over your head, realizing how stiff you had gotten because of the filming sessions lately. “Maybe we can start with that for dinner. Mm, what goes well with lettuce?” No answer. “Lucien?”

Unfortunately, your momentarily raised arms left you vulnerable as a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Lucien pressed his nose along the side of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. This did not seem to be the same Lucien as the one at the walkway. This time, a lingering presence of possession hovered in the air. 

“Wait, Lucien??” You tried to squirm out of his grasp, but it was futile against his strength. He always wore that flowing lab coat, making you forget how much muscle was hidden from plain sight. Although your heart was racing, his warmth was soothing as if determined to alleviate the initial panic. “W-What are you doing?”

You could feel Lucien hum against your exposed skin. His soft hair brushing your cheek as his hands began drifting upwards. “I have drawn my conclusions,” he murmured in your ear. “I know what I shall do with you.”

Lucien’s voice was too close to your sensitive ear. He tightened his embrace when you weakly struggled again. “Are you trying to run away from me? After your accusation of my unfaithfulness?” He sighed. “You are truly cruel.”

“I-Is that what this is all about? I wasn’t! That was not what I meant to do!” you protested as you looked over your shoulder, only to find his amused smile and darkening eyes.

You pouted, frustrated you still fell for it. “Hey, you’re just teasing me! Again!” You were about to call him some creative names but his lips met yours, silencing your train of thought in an instant. 

Little did you know that you had always managed to turn such a tranquil professor into a competitive madman with your unintentional provocations. You still thought he was just teasing you even when his hands were all over your body, from tracing your collarbone to squeezing your inner thighs? He’d make sure you retract your words. As every second passed, the gentleness of the kiss slowly but surely became more passionate and dominating, revealing his inner desire. 

You were beginning to feel light-headed and tugged at his sleeve, hoping to take a very much needed breath of air. However, Lucien was insistent that you learn your lesson for doubting the true extent of his love for you, as nothing was more of a priority than his own queen. He yearned for your lips more than he ever yearned for air. His greedy hands craved to feel you more intimately than your clothes were allowing him.

By the time you were able to successfully push his broad shoulders away to breathe, you realized your back was not pressed against his chest anymore, but on a soft comforter instead. Lucien had discarded his overcoat long ago and he was loosening his tie. The blue moonlight streaming through the translucent curtains emphasized his defined biceps and abdomen as he threw his dress shirt behind him.

Lucien was towering over you on his bed, his arms at both sides of your face and his knee between your thighs. Slowly, he stroked your silky hair from your face. His distinct scent surrounded you, overwhelming your senses as it engulfed your own.

Feeling self-conscious, you tried to turn your head to the side to break the intense stare but his slender index finger halted your meek attempt. 

“There’s no need to be shy anymore,” Lucien murmured. “It is just the two of us.” The lightning of frustration had long vanished from your veins. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, praying to survive his abundant hunger for you. 

Yet your thighs pressed against his leg, your body was instinctively willing to appease his demands.

Lucien ran his lips across your neck, his soft breath fanning over your sensitive skin. “I love you so much, more than anything,” he whispered. “Why won’t you believe me? What must I do to convince such a stubborn heart?”

You made a feeble attempt to pull your sweater off but to no avail with the position you found yourself in, trapped in your boyfriend’s possessive grasp.

“I don’t hear an answer.” Delight creeped into his voice. “I can’t read minds, silly. Tell me what you desire.”

You couldn’t help but let out a whimper, not knowing you ignited a darker desire deep within Lucien. He was being so unfair. With your glossy eyes and small pout, you said, “Please, help me, Professor. It feels too warm.”

One second, your body felt stuffy in thick cotton. The next second, cool air rushed over your chest and stomach. You gasped, almost missing the sound of ripping from your sweater. Hasty fingers pulled your long skirt and tights off, leaving them to pool below your dangling feet. Lucien pressed his toned chest over yours, shielding you from the autumn chill before it could rob your body of warmth.

“Is that all?” he prompted as you squirmed for any sort of friction but he remained still, awaiting your words.

You whined as you clawed your straps off your shoulders. “It’s still too hot, please, take it all off.”

“As you wish.”

Lucien kissed your shoulder as he unclipped and slipped your bra off, caressing your chest, a bit rougher than expected. You whined again and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your impatience. Yanking your undergarment away, he was about to give you another hungry kiss, but you put your palm over his firm chest. His eyes darkened at your sudden refusal yet his smile indicated he was very much entertained by your trembling movements.

“And what else must I do to win your affections, my dear?” Lucien asked, his steady tone almost couldn’t hide his wild instincts to ravish you completely. Then, he felt your thighs shifting against his dress pants. He let out a chuckle. The ringing of his brass buckle and rustling as he removed the rest of his clothes felt much louder in his usually silent bedroom. 

As Lucien was slowly pushing himself in you, you hummed with pleasure. “Faster, Lucien,” you pleaded. Despite the contrasting size difference, you didn’t care. You wanted all of him now. Your welcoming arms felt so inviting as he was pulled right on top of you suddenly, eliciting a groan from him due to your tightness. You let out a moan as you felt the friction you craved from his steady thrusts.

As Lucien marked you with multiple lovebites over your throat and chest, your fingers ran through his hair, dishevelling it into something that was sin to professionalism. He was panting, his pale complexion becoming rosy as you kept moaning his name, desperate for his full attention.

Satisfied with the dozen marks, he gave you a passionate kiss, his lustful tongue meeting yours. As you sucked on his in such a shy yet nevertheless seductive way, his thrusts against you grew more erratic.

“Ah Lucien~” you mewled, clawing your dainty nails deep into his broad back while your limp legs jolted around with his every thrust. “P-Please more~”

Your constant pleads seemed to paint you into the insatiable one but his quickening, deep thrusts said otherwise. Lucien could not break the kiss and his unyielding embrace around you.

Suddenly, the inevitable tension within you grew impossibly tight until you reached your high, eyes slowly unfocusing. Your raw moans for Lucien were muffled by his deep, eager kisses as he continued thrusting in, extending the euphoric feeling. 

With your remaining strength, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before you rocked yourself against him. A deep rumble arose from his chest. You broke the kiss (much to his dismay) before you pressed your lips against his ear: “I love you so very much, Lucien.”

The gentle sincerity and the purity of your sweet voice squeezed his pounding heart, driving him over the edge. He groaned against the crook of your neck as you felt the thick and warm sensation deep in your core. Slowly, it started to trickle down your thighs as well. 

Neither of you moved from your position as you both gathered your laboured breaths finally. You combed your fingers through Lucien’s hair and he nuzzled against your neck, scattering butterfly kisses across your marked skin. 

“I love you more than you will ever know,” your boyfriend murmured, more to himself. He never told you how deep he had fallen for you. He never registered emotions that were this strong in nature before he had met you again after so many years apart. It felt like he fell into an endless abyss, in the realm of the unknown yet there was a sense of comfort indescribable every time you smiled at him.

You pressed your lips onto his forehead to break his trance before craning over to check the clock. “Are you hungry yet? There is still some time to make a quick dinn---Ah, Lucien!”

Before you could get far, his hand pinned your wrists over your head on the mattress. “Yes,” he said, leering at your confused state. “As a matter of fact, I am still very hungry for someone.” Before you could retort against his unreasonableness, he nipped at your ear. “I have reserved my entire weekend to prove my devotion for you, remember? I don’t want to waste any of it until I have thoroughly convinced you with my evidence.”

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

Please take my offer of the second smut I’ve written -- I hope you enjoyed it :))

Masterlist

[gabbysdawsons]

a random mason and sophie blurb that i've had sitting in my drafts for ages anf finally finished.

just gonna tag some people I know are interested in 911 ocs: @stelstellakidd, @daughter-of-melpomene

Sophie dropped the book onto the table, it stood open for a moment, middle pages sticking up like a paper mohawk before they flopped to their preferred side, dejected. She groaned and pressed her forehead against the table, the wood cooling her flushed face. 

“What’s going on here?” Her head snapped up from the table for a moment as Paul settles into the seat across from her. 

“Mason gave me his favourite book to read.” She rested her chin on top of her hand and stared sullenly up at him. Paul pieced it together in record time.

“And you hate it.” 

“I hate it! It’s so boring, and long.” She halfheartedly thumbs through the pages, fanning them out to demonstrate the amount of pages. “And too many words.”

“Those mean the same thing,” Sophie begrudgingly raised her head from the table and leveled him with what she hoped was a withering glare, but was probably disgruntled at best. Paul backtracked nonetheless. “Have you considered that he might understand that it’s just not for you?”

“That’s the worst part. He would. He’ll shrug it off and say it’s no big deal and I’ll feel worse because how did I get the most understanding guy in the world when I can’t even finish reading his favourite book?”

Paul scrutinized her, squinting his eyes in the way that made her feel like she was a bug and he had her pinned under a microscope—or however that science worked. 

After a beat of silence he simply says, “What is the inside of your mind like?”

“Bad, Paul. It’s bad.”

. . .

When Sophie got home, Mason was lounging comfortably on her couch. His presence perfectly at ease in her apartment, like he had always belonged there. Sophie settled herself into her spot next to him, sliding her legs over Mason’s lap as she made herself more comfortable.

“So- what’d you think?” 

As he was talking, his hand rested on her shin and for a moment. It was almost enough to make her forget the dread twisting around in her stomach. She shrugged in an attempt to stave off a real response. He looked at her expectantly. 

“It was- great. A lot of really interesting words arranged in an interesting order.” She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, hoping that didn’t sound as pathetic to him as it had to her. He leaned back against the couch, a content smile on his face. So far, she was doing okay.

“What was your favourite part?”

She was screwed.

She scrambled to remember the description on the back, or anything she had read in the first two chapters. It all melted together in a mess of names and complicated words she hadn’t bothered to understand. There was a horse- there might have been a horse. Maybe. While her brain was occupied, her mouth decided to spit out whatever it could manage to cobble together.

“Oh, uh, the part with the- talking horse named. . . Steven.”

“So you hated it.”

“No- No- I loved it- it was-” he quirked his eyebrows inquisitively and she crumbled “-awful. God I was so bored. I hate reading. It’s not for me. I’ve never liked it. I used to bully Matty into doing my book reports.” 

“Soph-“

Her mouth continued spouting off nonsense, seeming not to care that it was getting more and more embarrassing with every passing second.

His hands slid to her waist, a comforting pressure that made her pause.

“Soph- you’re allowed to not like it. It’s okay- we don’t have to like the same things.” His tone is gentle, reassuring, and the heat of embarrassment rushes to her face. She drops her face into her hands, the heat radiating from her cheeks practically burning her palms. She mumbles into her palms, her voice muffled.

“Well, we like each other.” It's a lame response, but he laughs again, and the warmth in it nearly makes her melt right there on the couch. 

“Yeah, we do.”

When she dares to look up from her hands, Mason is closer than he had been a minute before, she drops her hands into her lap. Her cheeks are still burning as he closes the gap between them. After a moment he pulls away, his hand still firmly resting on her waist.

Sophie relaxes completely into the couch. “Please never make me read a book again.” 

He chuckles, and his lips curve into a smile. 

“Whatever you want, Soph.

[hpowellsmith]

Facts 66-90, including much writing-process and character trivia:

66: Originally I didn't plan to allow the PC to romance Denario and Savarel at the same time, but in the middle I realised it could work, and promised myself I'd do it if I had scope for it.

67. I coded most of chapter 11 and chapter 12, then went back and wrote most of chapter 11, all of chapter 12, and then back to chapter 11.

68. One of the most complicated parts of the game is related to romanceable characters checking in with you if you're simultaneously romancing other people. I had a long section of code that was designed for running RandomTest to check that everything was working as intended.

69. One of the other most complicated parts of the game is related to where the PC is living at the end (and with whom, if applicable). In my first draft I tried to get away with eliding details but it felt weird and the playertesters told me as much too. So I added it in, which I'm proud of despite the amount of time it took to do.

70. For my wife's first time playtesting the full draft, she broke the game because she was too emotionally reserved and the slow romance she was doing (Savarel) ended up in a limbo where they were both romancing and not.

71. The parts of the game I reworked the most were Chapter 6 and Chapter 8. There were two different storylines I planned then changed that were going to have significant progressions in those chapters.

72. Between Chapter 5 and Chapter 6, I wrote the Royal Affairs expanded epilogue.

73. I was simultaneously working on the Elite Status: Platinum Concierge additional writing when I was creating the Honor Bound outline. While I wrote Chapter 2, I was also working on the Elite Status beta testing.

74. I also did various other pieces of contract work, mostly while I was writing Chapters 1-4 and around Chapter 10. Looking at my developer journal notes, the chapter 1-4 period coincided with getting burned out (juggling three different projects will do that!)

75. Denario would love to visit more of the islands: he hasn't seen very many of them, and hasn't ever left Teran.

76. Matia loves the idea of going to the Westerlind mountain ranges.

77. Savarel's been to many of the Teranese Islands, but right now prefers to stay in one place.

78. Fiore's visited Zaledo a few times for work trips and vacations, and adores it. They'd love to go again.

79. Korzha hasn't been back to Ravella since leaving for the Teranese Service.

80. Raffi's ridden on an aeroplane once before, and it felt absolutely magical.

81. Catarina has a list of places she wants to visit, along with a plans of when she wants to make it happen.

82. Princess Josiane has met Parliamentary Officer Marietta Crane, and they get on pretty well, though Josiane thinks Marietta doesn't take her job seriously enough.

83. Very early on, I had an idea to have Kass and Doria's youngest son working at the school, but I cut it while I was outlining. Some MCs can hear about an aged-up version of their son from Kass.

84. I originally timed the Dahaikan Secession longer ago, but realised I wanted it to potentially be within the memory of a PC, and to be more recent in the memories of older characters such as Alva or the President, so I brought it to a more recent date.

85. The god Veslua is said to appear to sailors in the form of a vast black seal to assist them in times of need.

86. I initially had a much more complicated set of stats relating to the school and town strengths, but my editor pointed out that it could be streamlined (this is a common theme when I'm outlining!)

87. None of the major characters have healthy sleep patterns.

88. As a child, Matia would rescue injured animals and bring them home, to their parents' chagrin.

89. There's a spot on the hill above Elene's Prospect that Savarel likes to visit and sit alone when they get a moment. There, it feels like the gods are surrounding them.

90. Korzha has some letters from their old colleagues that are precious to them, but it feels too self-indulgent to reread them.

OK I thought of this last night but my wife took my phone away so I wouldn't stay up too late

With every like on this post, I'll share an Honor Bound fact, with every reblog I'll post two!

Facts 1-10, including cat pics

Facts 11-20, including some songs

Facts 21-30, including lots of writing process facts

Facts 31-35, including lots of character trivia

Facts 36-40, including some teen trivia

Facts 41-50, including notes on dogs

Facts 51-65, including lots more character trivia

[discotechque]

honey, i am just like you

pairing: brad bakshi/gn! reader word count: 1.5k rating: M requested: yes

this was everything to me because my first brad bakshi draft was a rivals to lovers plot

Sometimes, it starts to feel like Brad’s only hobby other than being the epitome of corporate greed is hoping you will buy into his bait. It starts off with surface-level insults, comments about your clothes, and the way you speak. Little things that would make anyone insecure if you did not find his attention to detail rather flattering.

From an untrained eye, these are the things that create animosity between two parties; an effervescent hatred that runs bone-deep and infects a room with all the worst parts of someone. Yet, you know better and these mindless quips do not spark vexation. They allow you to divulge in a mindless desire of basic human instincts.

Bite, tear, kiss, want. Things that only happen after he requests your presence for eight floors within the steel box. Something about it feels shameful, a secret that blooms a deep purple bruise against his collar. A satisfaction that sits still until you can devour him once again; something about it possesses you. So this is the life of an exhibitionist, he once murmured against your lips and it drew out a laugh in return.

There's a certainty within you that this is not love. Love is coming undone through someone's skin, looking through their eyes to see a pupil dilate for a fraction of a second, finding heaven through their mouth. Brad does not provide those things and you've learned from movies what love ought to be: anything other than this would be miserable.

Brad shakes his head towards the parting doors and you answer his call. You pause your stride, someone is watching. A shiver runs down your spine, a pensive gaze trained on your back even as you turn to meet the narrowed eyes of Poppy. She peers through Ian's glass cage, her face so near it starts to fog up the glass. The woman needs some friends or another hobby besides coding; either would do her social skills well.

You enter the elevator without greeting, impersonal yet exciting. Only acknowledging each other when you want something he has which is usually finding purchase against his neck. Everything about him is so rigid—until you find spots of softness that let him melt into your need: spots only you know just from eight floors.

“They’re catching on to us," you comment as he leans past you to press the button for the ground floor. Slender and spindly, you already want your hands all over him and it disgusts you. "Poppy’s doing that weird twitchy thing that she thinks makes her look smart when it really just makes me think she’s a prototype for the android uprising.”

None of your coworkers are truly perceptive, that's something a moron could attest to. They're obnoxious, disorganized, self-obsessed (you are not exempt from these traits)—if any of them had proclaimed they had previous knowledge on your affair then they better be good fucking liars. David Brittlesbee exposing any office secrets is mortifying in concept and execution.

He shrugs, “Relax, you’re making this more complicated than it has to be. She’s probably just figuring out ways to piss off Ian.” A floor has passed. No one has stepped on.

"There are easier ways to make out like the back of my soccer mom van or even your place." he glances at you, curls from untrimmed hair swinging loosely from their slicked position, and you resign. "An elevator is just gaudy. We keep this up and I might have to find other prospects."

You don’t have many suitors lining up at your door but pretending otherwise is considerably less pathetic. He slides closer to you, leaning against a sleek metallic wall. Fingers brushing against the small of your back, it’s a taunt to take action but Brad Bakshi is clearly above the notion of instigating anything intimate.

“What are you giving me that anyone else can’t?” A smile spreads against your lips, swiveling to face him and barely realizing how close he’s gotten. He guides your hands to his jaw, lightly pecking it and letting it sit near the corner of his mouth.

“You can deny it all you want, but I get the feeling you like me.” He goads like always a sly little smirk hanging off of his words.

(You can feel the mirth against the pad of your finger, tapping it gently with your thumb. Desire is a fickle thing, it comes from his skin to his attention to this shared shame. Tender madness: you will go insane before this man can learn to admire his want. Lonely and greedy, your heart is just like his.)

He’s right. You don’t love him, you like him. Wanting something you can have. There’s something strangely poetic about it that irritates you.

His collar feels right within your grip, wrinkled with vexation as something finally snaps when you can see yourself through his eyes. “God, you’re so fucking annoying,” You find his lips rather easily because somehow this secrecy works on levels it shouldn’t.

Hands travel down to his cardigan-clad waist, lifting it from its tucked position within his stupidly tight skinny jeans. He murmurs something against your lips but you swallow the words with fervent heedless kisses. It's messy by your design because affection doesn't stir up from mess. It doesn't forge from steel and certainly won't bloom from the void this man manages to saturate. Still, he swiftly moves away and pulls his head back to reveal his slender neck.

Somehow, even in this heat to sate any hunger; he still attends to what you like. (There wasn't a time before it actually happened that you could imagine this. Having your lips become swollen by a man who held his wealth like a knife against your throat, needing to bury your hands in the hair of someone you wanted to strangle, wanting to take everything he gives with only a slight hash of remorse. He has ruined you.)

A chime rings and you pull away from him. There's barely any time to tidy yourselves as the doors slide open to reveal this poorly concealed liaison, “GOTCHA—Oh, God!”

Poppy Li stands only a few feet from the inciting incident of what will result in multiple therapy sessions. She doesn't know where to look first, doesn't even know if she should still be looking but the door stays open by just the will of her paralyzed hand. Your hands are still perched against his exposed abdomen, both of your bodies still flushed together as if it was an innocent embrace, his neck is totally fucking annihilated.

She doesn't get paid enough for this. You don't get paid enough for this. The earth opening and swallowing you whole only seems like a shallow prayer for what this situation truly calls for. Maybe this is what she gets for trying to be nosy. Yeah, this is her fault. Absolution of any blame is certainly a specialty here.

She opens her mouth, snapping her jaw shut; the action repeats a few times as the two of you separate. Before gathering up her resolve and asks, “You guys fuck in the elevator? Why couldn’t you just be rubbing your hands together and plot about cryptocurrency?”

Brad's face transforms back into that same clever leer, ignoring all the disheveled parts of himself, “Would rubbing each other be better than having sex?”

“We don’t have sex in the office, that’s a massive HR violation.” Well, you don’t have sex at all but the thought of provoking Poppy into spiraling is all too tempting to let go.

“I thought you hated him!”

“Rivaling about things like the free market and advertising is a great way to build reluctant sexual tension,” you explain with a shrug but it's clear these elaborations are only causing her to curl up further into her frazzled state of mind. “and he’s only mildly detestable.”

She splutters, arms erratically flapping around as the doors threaten to close on her figure multiple times. In all your life, you never thought you witness an aneurysm occur in real-time. Huh, life is full of wonderful mysterious miracles; you think with a smile.

"Pop, what are you shouting about? Oh, hey, you two." It doesn't really seem that Ian cares about your presence much more than he cares about whatever is causing his partner to break down. Neither is interesting, to be fair, but you think it's starting to lower employee morale.

"They were fucking in the elevator!"

You protest, "We weren't—" It falls on deaf ears and you don't think anyone would listen to them either way.

"I thought everyone did at least that once."

This is getting way too personal. Did he? In here? Where you are? The mere thought of it threatens to send hives all across your skin. You knew something else far more shameful ensued here. This is a massive HR violation, someone needs to call Carol.

"And them? They're not even trying to hide it. I thought we all knew and just didn't say anything."

"We had options, Brad."

He shrugs once again, clearly unbothered by the circumstances and you don't think it'd be possible to provoke any other reaction from his spindly hands. "I still think this is the least embarrassing outcome."

"What's going on here?"

On second thought, David Brittlesbee exposing any office secrets is far more horrifying in execution.

[micheswife]

Confessions

MICHE ZACHARIAS X SHY CADET

Miche finally tells his crush he likes her. That's it

Miche watched her from Erwin’s office as she left the headquarters to enjoy a well-deserved break. The evening sun highlighted her brunette curls, stopping just below her delicate shoulders. It was a shame really, her hair used to touch her waist when she first joined. She was so incredibly shy and anxious back then, struggling to find her place among younger people that were much stronger than her. He remembered back when she declined the promotion for the sake of her happiness. It had been 3 years since y/n joined the survey corps at the age of 20. She was a late beginner, but her analytical skills, a fateful emotional meltdown and a background in research had soon gotten her a place under section commander Hange. Y/n was not good as a fighter, but she was observant, more than Erwin and Hange. Miche could not help but notice her, she was cute after all. She had flaws, just like everyone else, but the veteran soldier was drawn to her in particular. He couldn’t remember when he felt like that for the first time. Maybe it was when he saw her for the first time, clutching a soiled handwritten application and trying her hardest to put on a brave face. Who knows? Who cares? The important part was that he liked her, she did not know and he was not going to tell.

“What are you looking at Miche? “

“N-nothing, Erwin. Go on…”

Miche went back to focusing on the meeting. y/n had already disappeared in the next lane, so there was no point looking outside. The meeting would go on for hours, as usual, veterans had no holidays.

Meanwhile, y/n made herself comfortable near the quiet riverbank. It was one of the few attractions in the little land of Paradis, especially after the fall of Wall Maria. The serene river glowed red under the now darkening sun rays. Y/n had about 30 minutes to draw something, after which it would get too dark. Problem was, y/n had no idea what to draw. So she just sat there, wondering about her life. It seemed self-indulgent to refuse work only to get out and ponder about herself, but she needed it. The chaos inside the headquarters hardly did her any good. She wanted quiet and peace, but what she had right now was just pure loneliness. Y/n had friends, but nobody close or free enough to sit under the open night sky. So she sat all alone over the wall, the cold breeze ruffling her hair. If only there were someone to hold her.

“Bottomline, all of you must prepare your squads for next month’s expedition. We can’t afford to compromise manpower. Pay attention to the weak members, we need them to come back alive. You all are dismissed.”

Miche walked out of Erwin’s office and went straight to his room that he shared with Dieter, another squad leader. He felt tired, as though he knew what was about to come. A lot of action and a shit ton of casualties, not to forget all the rigorous training he was about to deliver on the cadets.

“What a long day..”

“Tomorrow’s going to be longer, Ness.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you will make it through the expedition?”

Miche scrunched his nose at the odd yet totally reasonable question. Him and Dieter served the scout regiment since their teenage years, yet they never quite got used to the anxiety before impending doom. Against his overbearing stress, Miche gave him a positive answer hoping to lift his spirits.

“I will make it out alive, Ness. The most damage I will end up with is a lost limb, after which I will retire and live a peaceful life. Don’t worry.” Miche finished with his signature scoff, masking his true emotions. The shameless, pretentious display of cockiness was all worth the little chuckle from Ness, the most sociable, tender man among veterans.

They made their way to the dining hall after chit chatting and freshening up. Their tables had the usual serving of bread, soup and vegetables. His eyes scanned the place for the owner of those beautiful, crazy curls, y/n, she should have been back by now. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Usually it was so easy to spot her in her corner seat. Perhaps Hange assigned her some work, but he couldn’t risk revealing his crush by asking the overly-energetic squad leader. So he quietly finished his plate, feeling just a little hint of emptiness because he missed y/n.

“Nifa, find y/n and tell her I want her in the lab tomorrow at 6am sharp.” Mike overheard Hange speaking from a couple of tables away.

“Yes captain.” Nifa quickly finished her meal and left the dining hall and eventually the headquarters. Her face made it clear that she had done this several times now and Miche was not surprised. Y/n was often in her own head and stayed out for a long time. Miche just found it unusual for her to stay out this late. It was cold outside, no person in their right mind would stay out past 8pm. He wished he knew what was going on inside the girl’s head that made her personality so withdrawn, but he did not have the time. He needed to draft a schedule for this week’s training and tests for the cadets. Just the thought of sitting in an office doing paperwork with a candlelight flickering throughout the night made him feel calm. He was extremely skilled on the field, but he liked doing paperwork too. His studious side was something only his immediate squad and other veterans were familiar with. Sometimes he couldn’t help fantasizing about sharing his study with y/n. Aside from his feelings, y/n had the brains to draft a perfect test that tapped into all the necessary skills for the next expedition. After all, that was what she had been doing before joining the survey corps, albeit in a different field. Miche stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him. He felt dumb, so dumb. He had drafted so many tests, all by himself, fully knowing that there was someone that could probably do it better than him. Fully knowing that y/n had been a psychology student, and she had perfected the theory subjects after joining the survey corps. He turned around and approached Hange.

“Would you mind if I borrow one of your soldiers for a while?”

“That depends, Miche, who are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I need her help drafting the tests tonight. I think she can do a good job.”

“You are right.. I’ll let her know.”

“Tell her to be in my office by 9;30 tonight.”

Miche left for his office to begin work, he wanted to finish as much as he could before y/n showed up. Because work was not the only thing he was concerned about. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was dubious, but he needed to do it. It was funny how a few hours ago he thought he’d never confess his feelings, but later created an opportunity to do that exact thing. He couldn’t believe himself.

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It was 9;30 sharp, and Miche heard a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked, and take a seat before me.” He said without lifting his head.

Y/n made herself comfortable and glanced over three open books and a single page. Miche was writing down questions.

“Alright y/n, I need your help drafting the question papers for tomorrow’s tests. Of course, you will be exempted from actually taking the test as a reward.”

“Understood, sir”

“Good, now I want you to create 30 questions that combine the concepts of formations, weaponry and strategy. Make them difficult, and make sure to base it upon the last 5 expeditions.”

“Alright-”

“You have 2 hours to finish this.”

“Okay..” y/n walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed a heap of books. Miche raised his eyebrows in confusion,

“How are you going to refer to that many books and finish it within time?” Miche questioned her.

“I will, don’t worry.” y/n’s sudden confidence took him aback.

“Well good luck.”

Time flew by quickly as both of them were engrossed in their work, the only sounds coming from the candle and turning of pages. It wasn’t peaceful to be precise, y/n was turning pages with such aggression it made the section commander steal glances at her. She would flip through the pages and write down important points, constantly checking the time as she worked. Her handwriting got messier as time flew by and Miche couldn’t help but notice. He could tell that y/n totally had the plan to give those cadets a hard time. She had a weak, but cocky smirk the whole time, and Miche was just glad that he was not one of the people that would need to take the test. He knew that expression and aggressive handwriting very well. She always wore that smirk while writing exams, and everytime she came out on top. Miche knew she was overcompensating for her sub-par physique and iron-deficiency that interfered with her ODM skills, but that semblance of confidence on her face always turned him on. Her hair was still messed up, she struggled to keep that twisted fringe out of her face.

“Where’s the ruler?!” Y/n asked loudly, shaking Miche out of his trance.

“Wait…” He fished out a ruler from the clutter in his drawer and handed it to y/n.

“What are you drawing?”

“A wrong diagram of the latest formation.” Y/n replied curtly.

“I see.. Good.”

Miche was organizing his drawer after finishing his work when y/n handed him the tests. It was 11;30 sharp. The ink had somehow gotten between y/n’s fingers. Miche went through all seven pages of three extremely complicated tests and shot a glance at y/n, who looked like she was awaiting his praise. She was sitting with her back straight, wide eyed and messy hair. Miche chuckled, and y/n smiled. She knew she had done those cadets dirty with her questions.

“You have a naughty side, don’t you?” “Kitten” , was the term Miche refrained from using at the end.

Y/n nodded with a cheeky grin. The section commander squinted and got up from his chair, towering over her. A faint blush crept over her cheeks as she broke eye contact with him, staring down at her feet instead. Her delicate shoulders now looked tensed up under her transparent, embroidered shoulder shawl. The pile of paperwork didn’t allow him to notice her beautiful blush pink dress. She had embroidered little flowers to accentuate her figure all the way down to her hips.

“You look beautiful in that dress.” Miche blurted out, causing her to blush harder and breathe unevenly.

“Thank you, sir..”

“Look at me when you speak.”

“O-okay..” she slowly raised her head, still not wanting to make eye contact.

“I will be straight to the point y/n… I like you, not just as a comrade.”

“Understood.” y/n was taking quick, short breaths, causing the tall blonde to get on his knees. She had gone back to her timid mouse state and he could no longer read her.

“Are you scared right now?” Miche tried hard to not sound like a creep.

“No, I like you too!”

“That’s -” he began to speak but got cut off.

“More than a comrade, if you were wondering…” she trailed off shyly. Miche kept staring at her, dumbstruck at her honest confession. This whole time he had no idea about her feelings.

"When were you planning to tell me ..?" Miche asked, pulling a chair behind him. He was still leaning towards y/n with an expression of pure shock.

"I… Never planned on saying anything." Y/n's expression saddened as she looked at him with her doe eyes.

"I can understand.". he was telling the truth. The realisation that their confessions were a result of his impulsive decision dawned on him. He couldn't take his eyes off her form. She looked anxious, fondling with her pendant in one hand.

"Do you want to take this further?" Y/n asked with a shaky voice, and his answer was immediate.

"Yes."

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?" The 35 year old man felt like a teenager trying to walk on eggshells. The woman before him giggled and nodded in approval, finally lifting her hand from the pendant. She was starting to settle down, although the butterflies in her stomach made it difficult. Miche was about to lean in when she stopped him and got up from her chair.

"I forgot to lock the door." She said naughtly.

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Okay, I really wanted to turn this into a smut, but I am too chicken. 🙈🥺

[lost-in-the-80s]

Fake Date

Pairing: Dave Mustaine x fem!reader

Words: 1,965k

Summary: You and Dave have been friends with benefits since forever, but to help Junior out, you guys agree on pretending to be a couple, going on a double date with him. (smut)

A/N: I’m not sure if this is good or not because it has been in my drafts for a while, but anyway, I hope you guys like it :)

Warnings: Mature content (f i n g e r s)

“You want us to do what!?” Y/N asked, her eyes widened while Dave choked on his beer beside her.

“Just for one night, it will be just one hour, two in max.” Junior tried to defend his plan.

“No way!” Dave managed to say, still trying to calm down.

“I swear it’s the only time you’ll have to do it!”

“Why do you want us to do it so bad?” She asked, getting up and walking towards the ginger’s kitchen to get something to eat.

“Ah, you don’t understand.” Junior sighed. 

“Then explain,” Dave instructed. 

“Every time Julie comes around Y/N’s here, she confronted me about it and I told her she had nothing to worry about, but she wouldn’t listen to me, so I told her that she shouldn’t be worried because the two of you were dating.” He gesticulated with his hands, trying to make them understand his point.

“You said what?” Both of them said at the same time. 

“Then she got all excited about it and said that we should go on a double date, and I tried, I swear that I tried to make her change her mind, but she fucking wants to do it.” He sighed, looking at the ground.

“If we do this, you’re gonna owe us big time!” Dave said, pointing his finger at the blonde. 

“Exactly,” Y/N shouted from the kitchen. 

“Come on, it’s not as if you guys had never kissed each other.” 

It was true, and to be honest, the two of them had done many more things than just kissing. Y/N and Dave knew each other way before Megadeth, they met in 1980, and even though they were just friends, in the beginning, the sexual tension between them had always been out of the roof, so it didn’t take them too long to engage in a “friends with benefits” kind of relationship.

And even though both of them hated to admit, what they felt for each other stopped being just attraction a long time ago. Now they’d sleep together after sex, cuddling against each other and talking sweet nothings while doing it. Sometimes, they’d be doing something random, like talking, and then would start kissing, even in front of others. When one was sick, the other moved mountains to help, and they had even got into fights with strangers for each other, but the two of them were too proud to ever say anything about it. 

And as Dave liked to think: “You don’t have a problem if you pretend it doesn’t exist.” 

That was his excuse when Junior talked to him about Y/N a few weeks before the date. He thought the metaphor wasn’t the best, but he understood his friend, Dave always hated complicated things, mainly because he knew he was complicated himself, and he feared that if they spoke up about it, it would become complicated and it wouldn’t work out anymore. 

And so here they were, Junior and Julie sat on a bench in front of Dave in a restaurant, all of them waiting for Y/N, who, as per usual, was late. The ginger played anxiously with the ring in his finger while he silently thought about how weird it would be for them to pretend that they were a normal couple. 

Wait, a normal couple? His conscience teased him. 

We are a couple…. I think? I mean, we hadn't seen anyone else for almost a year now… He tried to defend himself.

Then why are you so fucking worried? His mind fought back, but he had no time to reply because the center of his thoughts entered the place. 

She was wearing a leather skirt and a white button-up shirt, with lots of opened buttons, revealing a lot of her skin and making it obvious that she wasn’t wearing any bra. She walked elegantly on her high heels until she reached the table, a warm smile on her lips. 

Fuck, it’s almost as if she's teasing me. Dave thought to himself as he got up, adjusting his jeans to try to make his now-forming bulge less visible. 

“Hey, baby.” She leaned in, giving his lips a quick kiss before she turned towards the other couple. “Hey guys, how are you?”

“Hey, Y/N! We’re good.” Junior answered, giving her a quick side hug before moving out of the way so that Julie and Y/N could hug. 

“I loved your necklace.” Julie complimented, smiling before they all sat down, Y/N sitting next to Dave.

“Ah, thank you! It’s my favorite one. Dave gave me some years ago” She smiled, touching the golden accessory that she never took off.

“I’m sorry for dragging you guys here with us. It’s just that, we saw each other just twice?” Anne looked at Y/N, who only nodded in response. “And I really wanted to get to know you better.” 

“Oh, it’s fine! Dave and I were actually thinking about going out tonight anyway.” She touched his thigh, asking for support on her story.

“Yeah, we try to always go out on Fridays.” 

“That’s a nice tradition! For how long have you guys been together?” 

Dave cleared his throat before answering. “Little more than a year. We were just friends before.” 

“Aw, so it started with a friendship? That’s so sweet!” 

A waiter showed up, asking what they wanted to eat. 

“I’ll have spaghetti,” Junior said, handing his menu to the man in front of him. 

“And for the lady?” The man asked, looking at her.

“I’ll have this chicken salad, please.” 

The man nodded, turning towards the other two. 

“Steak and fries,” Dave looked towards Y/N. “for you too right?” 

She nodded. 

“Two steaks with fries then.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Yes, bring us two cokes, please.” She handed him their menu before resting her back on the bench, feeling Dave’s fingers slightly playing with her shoulder as his arm rested on the back of the bench.

They knew each other well enough to ask for each other, in fact, they had the same tastes and thoughts on basically everything, and this similarity was the main reason for their feelings towards each other. 

“And who spoke up first?” Julie asked.

“It was me,” Dave answered, making a small pause to find a story to fill in.

“We went to a party, got drunk and ended up spilling our guts.” She finished for him. 

Pretty believable, coming from the two of us. He thought.

Soon the food arrived and they all started eating, talking about Megadeth and how excited they were to go on a second tour together, but as soon as the food was over, Y/N felt Dave’s hand resting on her thigh. It stayed there for a good while and she was almost sure that he had done it on reflex, but then his hand started to travel upwards, making her give him a glare, to which he just smirked. 

Dave’s hands wandered underneath her skirt, finding her panties very easily. He ran his calloused fingertips against its fabric, seeing how a mix of despair and lust filled her eyes.

“And how did you two met?” Y/N asked, hoping that they would spend time enough talking, knowing that she would be too distracted to talk back for a while.

“Oh yeah, I was at this record shop…” 

She kept on talking, but Y/N stopped listening to anything as soon as Dave slid her panties to the side and started running his finger up and down in between her folds, feeling how it soon started to get wet. 

She sighed slowly, but upended her legs further, giving him better access. 

“You know those things you put money inside? Damn, I forgot the name.” Julie asked, rubbing her forehead to try to remember. 

“Cash register?” Y/N managed to say before one of Dave’s fingers entered her core, going slowly in and out of her, making her bite her bottom lip.

“Yes! Cash register!” Julie giggled, keeping on telling her story. “I couldn’t open it, and then David came and helped me, we started talking, and look at us now.” She smiled, looking tenderly to the blonde beside her.

“That’s a very good story,” Y/N answered quickly, one of her hands gripping on the table as it got difficult for her to talk normally.

“You know, Julie, Y/N used to work at a record shop too! Why don’t you tell Julie some stories?” Dave asked, his smirk growing as he inserted another finger inside of her, making her close her eyes tightly while her mouth opened slightly.

“Really?” Julie asked, looking really interested. 

“Ye-Yeah! For an… for a year or so.”

As soon as she started talking, Dave curled his fingers inside of her, causing her a lot of concentration to finish her quote. 

“Which record shop?”

Dave found her sweet spot, hitting it with his finger a few times, making her legs close tightly on reflex.

“Hm… which one?” She grabbed his free hand on top of the table, gripping tight at it.

“Yeah.”

“The na-… one with… I- I don’t remember the name.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Julie said before taking a sip of her water.

Dave hit her g-spot a few more times, making her close her eyes as she felt her walls clenching for the orgasm that was about to hit her, but he removed his finger before she could reach her climax, making her give him a mortal glare. 

“Wow, it’s getting late!” Julie said, looking at the watch. “I should go, I have to work tomorrow.” She smiled. 

“Yeah, let’s go. I’ll drive you home.” Junior smiled, getting up. 

“What do you think, love? Let’s go too?” Dave asked.

“Yeah, sure!” 

All of them got up going towards the cashier to pay, and when the others weren’t looking anymore, Dave sucked his fingers clean before turning towards Y/N and whispering in her ear. “God, I love dessert.” 

She smirked, before looking down and realizing that he had a very noticeable bone inside his pants, and so she realized that he wouldn’t leave her hanging after all. 

Exiting the place, Junior turned towards Dave. “Will you come with us, or….”

“I’ll spend the night at Y/N’s, don’t worry.” 

They all said their goodbyes and Junior opened the passenger door for Julie, closing it when she entered the car before walking back to his friends. “I know exactly what you were doing.” 

Y/N shrugged before Dave got a cigarette from his jacket's pocket while saying: “I couldn’t help it. Sorry mate!” 

Junior rolled his eyes, but went back to his car, turning on the engine and leaving the parking lot. 

“That was not nice of you.” She turned towards him, taking the cigarette from his lips and bringing it to hers.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause, it was damn nice to me.” He smirked, both hands circling her waist to bring her closer to him. 

She put the cigarette in between her fingers, blowing out some smoke on his face, seeing the lust that sparkled in his eyes. 

Leaning in, she whispered in his ear: “You won’t find it so nice when you’re the one being teased.” 

Her words making a shiver ran down his spine. “Are you going to tease me?” He asked near her ear.

“Oh, I will…” Her voice an octave lower, soft like velvet. “But you won’t know when, or where, you’ll just realize it when it’s already done.” 

He smirked, taking the cigarette from her hand and taking a long drag of it,  he looked up, blowing the smoke away before leaning in and kissing her. Her hands finding the back of his neck while their tongues started a battle against each other. 

“How about we finish this in my place?” She asked when they pulled apart, taking the cigarette to her lips again.

“Sounds like a plan.” He smirked.

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Thanks for reading <3

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 14 ~The Element of Surprise ~

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in The Reunion

They fitted perfectly, her softness cradling his boneless heap, making him hard as steel again. Some part of his brain must have still been functioning because he jerked and reached out for her bra to cover her when his doorbell rang. Christ!  Forcing his body to move with marginal success, he yanked her up and pulled up his jeans.

Claire slid off the table and grabbed her clothes. "Who could that be?"

"That better not be yer uncle or ..." Jamie trailed off, muttering curses under his breath, annoyed at the disturbance as he was just revving up for part two of their lovemaking. When he opened the door, a sense of deja vu hit him when he saw Mrs Fitz standing there with what seemed like a plate of a lemon meringue pie. What the fuck?

"Mrs Fitz!"

The older woman didn't bother to hide her curiosity this time as her eyes tried to peer past his shoulders. "Heard ye have company, lad, and I havenae seen Miss Claire the last couple of days."

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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  Six Days Later

Claire's heavy eyelids fluttered open, her brain still addled by sleep. It took her a while to gather her thoughts and remember how she'd made it to bed last night. She shifted slightly in bed, but there's a two-hundred-fifty pound of hard-muscled, naked male restricting her movement. Jamie's arm was draped across her waist, securing her against his chest, her legs confined under his heavier ones. She could feel his soft, steady breathing blowing warm air on top of her head, reminding her how well he'd been sleeping the last few nights. There had been no night terrors or unpleasant dreams interrupting his sleep, and she put it down to his workload during the day and their physical activities between the sheets at night.

Today was Friday, and the realisation caused a huge smile to spread across her face. Last night she'd worked late until past ten, and Jamie had found her fallen asleep in front of her laptop in her studio shed. He'd scooped her up in his arms and helped her get ready for bed, and just before sleep claimed her, he'd whispered he had a surprise for her today. 

She wondered what the surprise was and guess it would probably be a long lie-in for them and breakfast in bed. Looking back, the past few days had flown by in a blur, packed with work and catching up with her uncle Lamb during nights. Ever since her emotional reunion with Jamie, her work-related things had gone from a shamble of mess to running smoothly. It's as if the universe had decided to grant her reprieve as everyone went out their way to appease her. Even her boss John seemed to have given her space and was allowing her to work in peace. Somehow, deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion Jamie had something to do with it. 

It had all began at the start of the week when Jamie had been at work. Tom had stopped by the cottage to hand her a signed contract agreeing to his book's publication. By the time she'd told John the good news, he'd been in his element detailing his main point plan for getting the word out and announcing the book deal to Tom's adoring followers. She'd thought her boss would demand to get her and Tom on the next plane to London, but instead, John had told her he'd arranged a team to fly to Inverness for a formal meeting with their new author. As if that wasn't enough, two days later, Mary had produced enough drafts for Claire to work on and promised there would be more on the way. Her uncle, sensing work was piling, would occasionally stop by either to whip up something to eat or bring food while she'd been ensconced in her studio shed. Not that it was unusual for her uncle to perform domesticated pursuits; however, it's still surprising that he was going the extra mile to help around the house when he had the Highlands at disposal for his adventures being an outdoor person that he was.

It's becoming clear this week was proving to be a period of many turning points. She had no idea what the future had in store for her and Jamie, but she knew something had shifted in their relationship, and it was definitely for the better. Though she's still the same girl who's still trying to find her place in the world and fit in, she knew she'd changed, too. A few months ago, she would have probably backed down from any forms of conflicts, citing life as complicated enough without adding more complications. But she'd learned how to respond, choose fights that are worth fighting for and cast aside that wasn't deserving of her peace of mind. She'd also learned that once in a while, it's good for her sanity to give propriety and rules the middle finger when a situation called for it. 

It's hard to believe she's planning her life in the Highlands, the place where her parents had met and found love in each other. In her quest to get to know them more, she'd spent her holidays here to be closer to their memories and live that adventure they'd so craved. Now, she was involved with a man tormented with demons. If her parents were still alive today, she wondered how they would receive Jamie. Would they have been like Jenny or her uncle, suspicious and sceptical of their relationship? Or would they have been happy with her choice just like Willie, Brian, and Ellen have been with Jamie's?

Deep in her heart, she knew that her parents would have taken one look at them and understood that Jamie was special and meant to be her life adventure. From what Claire had surmised from uncle Lamb's stories, her parents have been that kind of people, magnanimous of spirit and always saw the best in others. Jamie was like that too. He'd taken a gamble with her despite their differences and the geographical challenges ahead. Though it seemed she was helping him with his condition, unbeknownst to Jamie, he too was helping her heal the part of her that became an orphan. In some invisible way, he was repairing something in the fabric of her world that had been torn down the middle when her parents passed away. She absorbed that thought and was reminded of what Uncle Lamb once told her, that her father always had a peculiar sense of humour. With that in mind, she'd like to think that just maybe her father had sent Jamie her way on purpose. His way of telling her to let go of the past, not over-think, embrace the Highlands as much as he had and just love.

Lying next to Jamie in bed, she felt totally at peace. They might have had a crisis of faith, but she was confident they'll find their way through whatever path was laid before them. Their love wasn't and probably never going to be easy, given their journey had been emotional, tangled with roadblocks, denials and self-preservation. Still, she wanted to find her way with him. She'd just discovered this strength she didn't realise she had, and Jamie continued to surprise her with his single-mindedness purpose to be cured. Someone once said there's no fulfilment without a bit of struggle. Just like in the stories she hoped to publish one day, the heroes had to break down first and bleed before earning their happy ending. Well, if that's the rule, she couldn't envision facing life's trials and tests with any other person to stand beside her other than Jamie.

Her smile was still in place when her thoughts were suspended by a rush of heat as Jamie's hand coasted over her hip to disappear between her thighs. A sudden thrill shot through her, making her breath catch in her lungs. He shifted the leg holding her thighs down and deftly opened her to his touch, stroking the sensitive flesh in between. She felt his shaft stir against her bottom as she scooted closer to him, eliciting a guttural sound to escape his lips.

"I can practically hear the cogs turning in yer head, Sassenach," he muttered thickly, his breathing turning shallow at the back of her neck. He nipped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. "What's going on in that mind of yers?"

"Oh, this and that and how you've been sleeping soundly ...these last few nights." She gasped out loud when he rubbed her nub with a calloused thumb. She tilted her head back to look at his face, and her lips were met by a long-drawn, possessive kiss. By the time their mouths parted, she was panting for air and squirming against him mindlessly. 

"Christ, ye're ready for me. Why did ye no' wake me up?" He thrust his finger deep inside her, fondling the spot he knew drove her wild and frantic. "Next time ye want me, wake me up."

"I-I couldn't. You were sleeping so peacefully." 

He paused his ministrations. "That's no' the answer I was hoping to hear."

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! "Y-yes, next time, I'll wake you up!"

"That's my lass." He sank another finger into her entrance. But as she tried to clench around him, his fingers slid out, using her wetness to coat her nub and gently rub her aching flesh. She wanted to scream at him for teasing her, but he only softly chuckled against her neck. At that moment, she needed to come more than she needed air. She hoarsely whispered his name in a plea for release. "Ach, no' yet, Sassenach ... ye listen better when I'm touching ye." She yelped when he suddenly yanked the covers away and flipped her on her stomach, the crisp morning air caressing her heated skin. "Let me see first that beautiful arse of yers." He shoved a pillow beneath her hips, putting her in a highly arousing position, her face mushed against the mattress and her bottom in the air. "Such a beautiful bum."

"Jamie ..." 

He kneaded the curves of her buttocks as he let out a frustrated male groan. "Let us talk first. This is the only time I'm pretty sure ye're no' gonnae argue with me with what I'm about to say. Ye listening?"

"Yes, yes ...get on with it, damn it!"

He laughed out loud just before his lips travelled along the path of her spine, kissing and nibbling her flesh. One hand slid around her belly and down the apex of her thighs, slipping blunt fingers into her folds as his mouth moved to her neck. He lingered there, biting hard and then soothing the sting with a lick of his tongue. Anticipation pulsated within her body, and goosebumps erupted on her skin as the weight of his erection slid against her upturned bottom, and Jamie positioned himself behind her. When he hefted her higher with his forearm, she let out a squeak. "Ye'll no' be working this weekend."

"Jamie," she whimpered. "B-but I can't."

"Oh yes, ye can." Skilled fingers stroke her sensitive nub, and with one thrust of his hips, he completely filled her, taking her by surprise. She nearly screamed, pressing her mouth against the mattress, suddenly mindful of nosey neighbours. She remembered what Jamie had told her about Mrs Fitz and muffled her moans on the covers of the bed.

"Oh, God, this is not fair," she breathed on an uneven exhale.

"I told ye last night, I have a wee surprise for ye. Ye've worked long enough this week. Ye're taking a wee break this weekend." When she didn't respond, he stilled his hips and took out his fingers from inside her. "You need a break, Sassenach. Now, for the love of God, just say yes, Jamie."

When Jamie drew out his hardness and plunged deeply back into her, heart-stopping sensations coursed through her whole body. Something about how he positioned her, the fluid, smooth drives of his movement made her mad with need. She wanted to urge him to go faster, but she clamped her mouth shut. He was deliberately torturing her and forcing her to agree with him. So she decided she was going to get her own back. Contracting her inner walls, she clenched around him. From experience, she knew the more he had to work to push into her, the wilder he would become. Just when she thought she finally got the upper hand, he paused and dropped his weight, stopping just short of squashing her. "No, no, no! Please don't stop!" she wailed.

"Oh, aye." He pushed his lower body tight to her bottom, his erection throbbing inside her. When she tried to wriggle her bum to urge him to start moving again, he firmly gripped her hips in place. "Ah, I ken what ye're up to," he whispered hotly in her ears. "I'm no' taking no for an answer. Ye owe this break to yourself."

"You don't play fair."

"Neither do ye."

Thinking she could compromise later after spending the whole morning with him, she finally conceded. "Fine. Just keep moving, for God's sake!" she hissed.

He let out a pained laugh and pressed his lips on the crook of her neck. "Good lass, ye ken it makes sense." Then cursing under his breath, he moved all the way out in one smooth slide before deliciously gliding deep back. "Christ, I can feel ye want to come, but ye're going to stay with me a little longer. Ye fell asleep on me last night, leaving me with a painful cockstand." 

"Jesus, Jamie."

"Aye," he rasped hoarsely into her hair. "I said the same thing when ye wriggled that pert arse against me and fell asleep immediately."

The way his thickness was invading her from an angle almost sent her hurtling over the edge. And it gave her a new appreciation for math. The thought almost made her laughed out loud if it wasn't for the pulsing pleasure between her legs.

"Christ ...look at ye," Jamie gritted, his voice sounding raw and almost severe. "So bloody perfect." 

He nudged her legs wider and changed his movements to short, strong strokes, increasing his pace with primitive energy that left her gasping for breath. With the sound of their slapping bodies, the earthy scent of arousal, the sweaty slide of skin, her belly began to tighten and coil.

"I just want to make ye happy, Sassenach," he groaned, bearing down his upper body more, his hips relentlessly pounding into hers. "So just say yes to my wee surprise, aye?" 

"Yes, yes, yes." Their voices sounded so far away, and her initial hesitation about taking a break from work almost forgotten. Not entirely, though. She tried to grasp that mental note about emails to be sent, but the hand gripping her hips moved, and fingers slid to rub her nub, stroking and pushing her further towards her peak. She gave in and widened her thighs to let him fill her more. But it left her no time to prepare for the release that shattered her apart, her love for him and the physical pleasure fusing to intensify the sensations blasting through her. It threatened to overwhelm her, but Jamie's presence anchored her as he followed her over, groaning her name, gripping her hips with a fierceness as he claimed her for his. 

Moments later, he pulled her boneless body in his arms and tucked her into his chest, tugging the covers over them and curving his front to her back. He held her tightly as the morning light streamed through the windows. 

Battling to keep her eyes open, thoughts of work slithered in, but it kept flittering away with her consciousness before she could dwell on it. Maybe just for a minute, she thought. But Jamie smelled so good, and his tender strokes enticed a hazy sleep to claim her muscles, dragging her down into the dark. Just one minute. 

As she eased into sleep, his whisper drifted toward her unconscious. "It's still early, Sassenach. Sleep a wee bit more. Your wee surprise will come soon enough."

..........

Claire woke for the second time that morning with an unladylike shriek when the mattress dipped and moved. Muddled, she jackknifed into a sitting position, eyes scanning wildly around the curtain-dimmed room for a trespasser. Claire knew someone was there, her gut instinct telling her it wasn't Jamie. Summoning her eyes to refocus, she collapsed with relief when she realised who it was sat at the foot of the bed.

"Surprise!" Annalise squealed, clapping her hands.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" She swiped her bedraggled hair out of her face. "You scared me bloody witless."

"Bloody hell, you're jumpy." Annalise shifted a hip on the bed. "Jamie's bad dreams rubbing off on you now, are they?"

"That's not something to joke about," she glowered at her friend, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Annalise' smile waned a bit. "Hey, what's up? I'm not making fun of Jamie's nightmares, and you know that." Her shoulders slumped. "In case you don't know, bad dreams can happen to anyone. In fact, I had a bad dream a few days ago. I was being chased by a pirate."

Suddenly feeling bad for snapping at her friend, she mentally dispersed the sleep fog in her brain and gave Annalise an apologetic smile. So this was her surprise, she thought. Not that Claire wasn't happy to see her friend, but she'd expected Jamie's surprise to be a romantic weekend with him. She let out a sigh. "Chased by a pirate, huh? Let me guess ...sunken chest and no booty?"

Annalise perked up at Claire's feeble attempt to sound less grumpy. "Har de har har! I didn't realise you could be funny before coffee. A total package for a marauding pirate if I may say so."

"Tell that to Captain Beard," she mumbled, getting out of bed. 

"Aye, matey!" Annalise mischievously winked. "That's if he happens to be in Isle of Harris this weekend. Which is where, by the way, we're going, as in, now! So get packing!"

Claire stilled and shook her head. "Wot?" She began to shake her head, tugging the covers around her as she made her way to the dresser. "Oh no, no, no! I'm not leaving this place for any man or woman, including you, blondie! I've got a pile of work to do. You know I have deadlines."

"Oh no, you don't. You stop right there, missy! Have you forgotten you agreed with Jamie to take a weekend break?" 

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh, did he also tell you how he got me to agree?"

"No. But you can tell me later on the plane."

"Plane?" Claire dropped her face in her hands. "Oh, God, I can't believe I agreed to this. Jamie never told me anything."

Annalise stood up from where she was sitting and crossed her arms across her chest. "Hmmm, you don't look too happy to be spending time with me."

She puffed out a breath. "It's not that ..."

"We haven't had girly time in ages, Claire. Jamie thought it would do you a world of good to have a bit of fun."

"So now what? You and Jamie plotting and ganging up on me behind my back, is that it?" Claire accused. "What about Willie? Surely, you miss him more than me. When was the last time you saw him?"

Annalise grinned. "Don't worry about Willie. We have been doing a lot of catching up all night last night, and you want to know what he did?"

Claire's face crumpled in disgust as she held up a hand. "Oh, gross! Too much information. I don't want to hear about your sex life."

Annalise laughed out loud. "Fine, I won't discuss our sex life if you start packing now. Besides, you wouldn't want to waste the tickets Jamie worked so hard for, now, do you?"

Oh dear Lord, save me from well-meaning friends! She didn't really want to leave, but if Jamie had spent money organising this trip, she wasn't about to let it go to waste. But ... "How about uncle Lamb? He came to see me, and I can't just leave him."

"He knows all about the trip, and I've been told he's got a few excursions planned around the Highlands." 

"Oh, well ...if that's the case, I need to call Mary and John and let them know what I'm up to this weekend."

Annalise grinned. "Jamie's sorted it already."

"Wot?" she exclaimed with disbelief, her hands landing onto her hips. "Jamie's been planning this with you all along, hasn't he?" She shook her head. "I-I can't believe it!"

"You better believe it."

Claire blew out a breath of exasperation. "Fine! Grab my suitcase. It's in the airing cupboard."

"Yay!" Annalise whirled on her feet and pumped her fist in the air. Claire couldn't help but smile as enthusiasm began to wiggle its way through her system. Maybe Jamie was right. She owed it to herself to have a break, and probably a change of scenery was what she needed. After Mary had delivered the goods, Claire had worked herself to the bone all week and sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. She was already in her second round of edits on the extensive manuscripts Mary had submitted and must admit they were indeed making progress. As for Tom, her job with him was done, and the team organised by John should be arriving next week. It was definitely time for a bit of fun. 

On second thoughts, though it was generous of Jamie to arrange the trip, it would have been nice if he could come along too. But the idea of Jamie's condition worsening with something as simple as weekend trips away brought a feeling of melancholy to descend upon her. She had no doubt Jamie would be cured, and they'd be able to travel together one day, so she forced herself to shake off the momentary bout of wistfulness when Annalise came bounding back with her small suitcase.

"So ...you talked to Jamie. Where is he, by the way?" she asked, grabbing clothes from the dresser and throwing them in the bed. "He left early this morning."

"Oh! Jamie said he needed to be somewhere important, and he'll see you when we return. Willie will be driving us to the airport." When Claire frowned, Annalise came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, we'll only be away for two days, and you'll see him again Sunday night."

It was apparent to Claire she'd been at a disadvantage waking up to the news of the weekend trip because if Jamie had suggested it a few days ago, she would have definitely put her foot down and refused. Unfortunately, Annalise and Jamie knew her too well; hence they'd planned this trip in secrecy.

Claire absorbed that for a few heartbeats and felt a tad of guilt. It had been a while she'd spent time with Annalise, and once her job was done in London, she'd be living with Jamie. Plus, who knew when she'd have another chance to hang out with her best friend ...just the two of them and in the Isle of Harris at that. Besides, they always had a great time together. There was no sense in spoiling their spontaneous weekend with her stubbornness. She might as well make the most of it.

Claire turned to face her friend and smiled. "Do I have time to shower?"

"Plenty of time," Annalise beamed. "While you get ready, I'll make some coffee. I know what you're like without your cuppa first thing." And with that, she danced out of the room, whistling, leaving Claire to shake her head in amusement.

Later that morning, as they drove past the motorway exit for the airport, Claire shifted restlessly in the backseat of Willie's car, watching the familiar structure pass by in a blur outside her window. She frowned. Willie must have forgotten to take the turn. Uh oh! But before she could say anything, Willie veered to a different dual-carriageway. She tried to relax back into her seat, thinking there was probably a different route to the airport she didn't know of.

Eventually, they pulled to a stop in front of a building that didn't resemble a terminal, but there was an airfield and a charter plane coming out of the hangar. When Willie stepped out of the car, a man with worn jeans, a black leather jacket and a pair of aviators waved. He looked kind of familiar, but Claire was unsure.

"Who is that?" Claire asked quietly.

Annalise followed her line of vision. "Oh, I thought you knew that guy." She frowned when Claire shook her head and squinted to get a better look. "I was told the guy flying our plane was the soon to be famous Highlands' ultimate guide to Scotland." As if on cue, the man removed his aviators and started walking towards their car, a smile plastered to his unshaven face. When he waved at them, Annalise giggled, and Claire's eyes widened in confusion. "You probably can't recognise him from afar ...it's your author, Tom Christie," Annalise announced with a satisfied smile and to her utmost shock. "He's flying us to Stornoway."

What the bloody hell? Jamie arranged this?

 Dear Readers,

Thank you all for your readership and the feedback from the previous chapter. I'm super thrilled a lot of you enjoyed it after what I put you all through with Jamie and Claire's roller-coaster journey. I hope it was worth it all in the end.

Speaking of the end, the next chapter will be the last for this arc, and after taking a break, I will start arc three of the WONDERWALL series. I'll keep you updated here. Meanwhile, feel free to speculate what the next chapter will be. Until my next update, wishing you all good health and vibes. X

[kishillaa]

SSM21 Day 28: Thank You

That girl, with big green eyes, pink hair and that huge red ribbon on top of her head, is so, so annoying. Sasuke thought, staring at her wrapping the bandage around his arm. The wound he accidentally caused when he tried to throw the kunai in his hands the way his brother did, crossing that kunai bearing hands infront of him and throw it skillfully to the target.

He just had to injure himself when a girl walk by. Today of all time.

The said girl shyly beamed at him, "All done!" and his thought shifted to how does a person can smile so widely and still look really good.

He clear his throat a few time. When he finally found his voice, he spoke, "What's your name?"

The oddly pink haired girl blink that big green eyes of hers, her cheeks tainted pink, before she answered, "My name is Sakura Haruno, you can call me Sakura." Her voice was velvety and quiet, not like her shameless smile, she actually appeared to be really shy.

He nodded, drink up the drink Sakura offered earlier as he stares at the wide eyed girl, "Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha." He said, mimicking the way he heard his brother introduced himself once–"Itachi. Itachi Uchiha." He had said.–to a stranger on the street when they walk together.

He almost roll his eyes when the girl–Sakura–send him another big smile of hers, "It's nice to meet you, Sasuke-kun."

He nodded, jump off from the bench and stand on his feet. He turns to look at the girl over his shoulder, seeing how she's fidgeting as she gazes at his back, "Thank you... Sakura."

He put more effort in sending her his gratitude, lowering her voice, make sure his tone is genuine, ernest, and his gaze never waver from hers.

He didn't hear what she had said as he walks away swiftly. Many things he was sure of after that; her big expressive green eyes attracted him more than he allows himself to, her oddly pink locks is strangely suiting–he likes it–and that annoyingly huge smile of hers is actually pretty.

-

When their names were announced in the same genin team, Sasuke sighed harshly. It couldn't be anyone else, could it?

The biggest idiot in their class–how did he passed, anyway?–the good for nothing pink–hair–big–green–eyes–overly–wide–smile fangirl and a supposedly jounin level ninja who couldn't even dodge an eraser on top of his head.

He was proved wrong of course, during that mission in the land of waves. Kakashi was a well known ninja–who would've thought a pervert with a tardiness problem make such popularity–while Naruto actually defeat a guy that even he, Sasuke Uchiha, couldn't–he is however one hundred percent sure he could too, Naruto just had to get in the way making him took those senbon meant for him. Sakura didn't do much, but she did stand infront of their client in an act to save him from the coming threat; it signifies her courage.

He remember vividly how his body moves on its own as he placed himself in between Sakura and that chuunin, and Naruto and the senbon.

It was an instinct somehow, attempting to cut his life short and stand before the blow meaning for someone else. It was strange, to try and safe someone you found so god damn annoying, and someone you couldn't stand not having a bicker with. But he did, anyway. He doesn't even understand why.

When he gained consciousness again, he was thankful for Sakura's cry over him. He feels matter, to her anyway. At least he's not the only one in this, whatever it is. That feeling is so extremely weird that he brushed it off saying how heavy she is, and let her hug him even though the senbon sticking into his skin pain him even more because of her embrace. He wanted to thank her that day, like he did when they were younger, he have no clue to why, but he thought it'd be too out of character for him, so he stayed silent and let her help him up and walk over to Naruto and Kakashi.

It was at that moment that he admitted Sakura meant a lot, she's someone important. Naruto and Kakashi too, as much as he hated it.

-

He hates this, he hates her, he hates how she reminds everything that they went through together, promised thing she shouldn't be. And when she said,

"I–I love you so very, very much, Sasuke-kun. If you would only be with me. I won't let you regret it, no matter what. I will make it fun every day. You will definitely find happiness. I'll do anything for you, Sasuke-kun. I'm begging to you, please stay!"

His eyes enlarged, his heartbeat quicken, so does his pulse. Sakura is offering something he has been missing for years, and he knows she will do it successfully, he had tasted quite a bit of those happiness she promised. It was tempting.

But when she said,

"Or take me with you!"

He calmed himself down, let a stressful but quiet sigh out. This is Sakura, she is everything he wants. He wants everything she's offering, but there's just something he need to do, before gaining those over.

He turns around–he especially hates the tears that cascading non stop down her cheeks, he hates it when she cries; because of him particularly–saying, "You really are annoying." It was his way of saying, I remember, I remember that day, I remember every annoying second during our mission together as team 7. I remember it all.

He turn around then, ready to furthering his journey, but Sakura just had to shout. She just had to run towards him. She just had to insist he stays. He move swiftly, using the new found speed he developed with Kakashi, and went behind her.

She freezes then, he stand there counting until five, before he spoke. It was something significant for him towards Sakura.

"Sakura... Thank you."

He said, voice so soft, so sincere, so genuine. And by the rigidity of her posture, a hard suck of breath, he knew she remembered that day she helped him, and know that he has thanked her for everything, up to this second; her offer, her help, her thoughtfulness towards him, everything. He counted again, until three this time, before he raised his hand, pull out his fingers and hit the spot on her neck where it would cause unconsciousness.

-

When he grew older, and they got married, had a daughter together, he say thank you most times. It meant more than just a sign of gratitude and gratefulness to them; he said it, Sakura knew it, and Sarada understands.

They are a complicated family; very, very complicated indeed–whose else daughter thought of someone else's as her mother–but they share a significant bond that are trully special. Thank you is two words that signify their love to each other, not just a mere appreciation.

A/N: I actually wrote a SasuSaku fanfic titled Thank You awhile back and you can found it in ff.net. It might suit today's prompt, but read on your own risk because it's a first draft and no editing has been made.

[lalainajanes]

This completes column #2 on my bingo card, the square was “Eager Backstage Groupie”

Another Shot of Courage

 Saturday, May 1st, 8:16 AM

Caroline wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in the little black dress she'd worn to Kat's birthday party, with a headache and a foul-tasting mouth. She's sprawled in the middle of a very large mattress, so the first thing Caroline does is explore. She stretches her arms out tentatively, expecting to poke someone (hopefully an unobjectionable someone) awake.

She appears to be alone, and Caroline relaxes into the fluffy pillows. She wiggles experimentally, satisfied when her bra and underwear dig into uncomfortable areas and gives in to the temptation to burrow under the duvet.

She just needs a minute to regret her life choices before she confronts them. Caroline sighs, stretches, and her fuzzy head begins to clear, memories sharpening.

And yikes.

Can she stay in her self-made blanket fort forever? A lot of her conduct last night had been highly irrational, some of it downright hypocritical. She is a public relations professional, highly sought after. Her clients pay many pretty pennies for her services.

Had she seriously mauled Klaus Mikaelson in one of the trendiest clubs in LA?

Caroline tugs down the blanket, intent on confirming her suspicions, allowing her to look around and study the room with new eyes.

There's a brick fireplace at the end of the bed, a wide armchair in front of it – not particularly revealing. Her eyes flick to the left. There's nothing, but dark curtains pulled tight over a wall of windows.

When she looks to the right, there's a smoking gun. Well, kind of. It's a drafting table, an easel, and shelves featuring paintbrushes, haphazardly stacked sketchbooks, and a bunch of other things that Caroline doesn't currently have the brainpower to identify.

She considers slipping out of bed and checking to see if those curtains cover any kind of door. She thinks it's logical to assume so. She's only been to Klaus' home a few times, tries to insist they meet at her office. She's never ventured far beyond the kitchen and living rooms, but it's a Spanish-style bungalow on a sprawling lot. Why wouldn't he have a walk out into the yard from his bedroom?

She discards the idea with some regret. Running away without a word is a coward's move and would probably backfire. Klaus is still her client, whatever psychosis had gripped Caroline last night, and it's not like she could dump him via email at this point. He's got a huge movie coming in three weeks, and they're flying to London tomorrow to begin the premiere tour. She could probably pass it on to another publicist, but she'd still be on the hook, would have to coordinate her plans long-distance.

Selfishly, Caroline hopes that's not necessary. She'd hate for someone else to reap the benefits of her hard work.

She heaves herself into a sitting position, wincing when her head throbs. Her stomach seems solid, with no hint of queasiness, so that's a plus. Caroline tosses the covers aside, shifts until her legs slide over the side of the bed. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror through the open closet door and cringes.

She'd done an excellent smoky eye last night, and it's migrated all over her face. She doesn't even want to consider how long it's going to take to detangle her hair. She decides she can wait a bit to hunt down Klaus, stepping forward and twisting the knob on the closed door. "Jackpot," Caroline mutters, walking into Klaus' bathroom. There's a stack of towels on the counter, and she figures it won't hurt to take a shower.

She'd had her tongue in his mouth and had apparently kicked him out of his bed, so what's one more presumption?

Friday, April 30th, 10:47 PM

In the VIP lounge Kat had rented, elevated above the main dance floor, Caroline waves away a shot of tequila. She'd had one during the birthday toast, wine at dinner. Had just ordered an overpriced cocktail. She's pleasantly tipsy but needs to pace herself because she can't get too drunk tonight.

Besides, Caroline and tequila have a complicated relationship.

Kat boos her, a few of the other girls joining in. Caroline laughs, "I know, I'm boring. I have a million things to do tomorrow to make sure I'm ready to live out of a suitcase for weeks."

Katherine scoffs, "Just make Klaus buy you anything you forget. What good is a guy who's hot for you and makes big fat superhero movie paychecks if he won't buy you pretty things?"

They've discussed this a bajillion times. Caroline has actually run away from this exact conversation, shouting nonsense syllables, with her fingers jammed in her ear, as if she and Katherine still fight over Barbies and who gets to wear dress-up trunk's best princess dress.

Caroline still can't resist arguing – it's a character flaw. "He's my client. That's it."

"Oh, please. Men in this town bone their clients all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Usually, this is the part where Katherine tries to convince her that Klaus is dying to be boned – her words, not Caroline's – but she gets distracted, squinting across the bar. Kat's lips curl, expression growing sly, "It appears my argument is moot."

Um, what? Katherine's literally never backed down from an argument in the twenty-plus years they've been friends. Puzzled, Caroline turns, trying to see what caught Kat's attention.

The club features several VIP lounges, each located at the top of a short staircase and decorated with wide velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers. There's an attendant who keeps booze and food flowing. It's clever – the sofas are inviting and squishy, tend to force people close together. The chandeliers ensure that anyone who happens to take a picture can get a decent shot, and the free flow of liquor has lowered the inhibitions of at least half a dozen celebrities, resulting in photos that send the gossip blogs into a tizzy as soon as they hit the internet.

When Caroline spots Klaus across the way, a redheaded model sprawled in his lap, she's immediately fuming.

"Looks like he got tired of waiting," Kat drawls. "Wanna reconsider the tequila?"

"Katherine. I love you. But zip it."

Katherine makes a face but leaves Caroline alone, turning to another one of their friends and asking a question. Caroline takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

She'd busted her ass to make him appear family-friendly enough to land the movie with the very PR-conscious studio that had netted him the big fat checks Katherine had just been crowing over. He's jeopardizing that on the eve of the most significant press tour of his career.

She looks over again, leaning forward. The redhead's moved away, she's sitting at Klaus' side, and they now appear to be merely engaged in conversation. Caroline does her best to think like a photographer – is there an angle that could make the scene look tawdry?

Probably not. So really, Klaus isn't jeopardizing anything.

Caroline's anger doesn't cool at the revelation.

She's so screwed.

She's on her feet before she decides to be, stalking down the stairs. She hears Katherine yelling borderline lewd encouragement at her back, but Caroline knows better than to take her advice.

She's marching over to diffuse, not inflame.

Hopefully.

Saturday, May 1st, 9:01 AM

She finds Klaus in his living room, asleep, his legs hanging awkwardly over the arm of a too-short couch, his torso twisted so awkwardly that Caroline's back twinges sympathetically. With the confirmation that she had stolen his bed, more of Caroline's irritation fades. The shower had helped, as had the bottle of water she'd guzzled and the three Tylenol she'd popped.

She takes a seat on his coffee table, setting down her second bottle of water. Caroline reaches out, shaking his shoulder gently. "Klaus," she murmurs when he begins to stir. "Wake up."

She could probably leave him to sleep. Klaus' stylist will handle most of his packing; he's borrowed a dizzying volume of outfits and accessories for Klaus to wear on this trip. The announcement won't come for another two weeks, but Klaus is shooting a Dior cologne ad once his press obligations wrap. The brand had requested he start wearing the newest line. Caroline had attended the last fitting, and she'd had a hard time keeping her blatant ogling under wraps.

Klaus looks good in ratty jeans, in a suit tailored to his measurements? Just about anyone attracted to men would have struggled not to appreciate the sight.

That's how Caroline had justified letting her emails pile up that afternoon.

She'd been a little worried about her control slipping on this trip, once they were alone in the hotel, and Klaus dropped the shiny, press-perfect façade he's learned to maintain. Caroline had designed that mask to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Doing interview prep has unfortunately only emphasized how much more she likes Klaus without it.

Klaus stretches, eyes fluttering open. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "I hope you slept better than I did."

Caroline winces, "Don’t you have a guest room or two you could have shoved me in?”

He smiles lazily, “You were quite insistent on touring my bedroom.”

Her eyes slam shut, face heating, “And that is why I don’t drink tequila unsupervised,” she grumbles.

He laughs, sitting up, his legs bracketing hers. He reaches for her water bottle and helps himself to a sip. Caroline leans back, fishing the Tylenol out of the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from his closet. She’d needed something bulkier to hide the fact she hadn’t been able to convince herself to strap her bra back on. “Do you want these?” she asks, rattling the bottle.

Klaus shakes his head, “I’m not hungover. I didn’t drink at all, and you stole that shot of tequila that was meant for me, remember?”

Ohhh no. She’d forgotten about that. She’d stolen his and the model’s.

Which, in hindsight, goes a long way to explaining what had happened after. Caroline’s problem with tequila is that once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. It heightens her usually non-existent impulsive streak, leads to sub-par decisions.

Occasionally, tequila does make her clothes fall off.

Caroline buries her hands in her face, wishing she hadn’t tied her hair back. She’s mortified, probably growing splotchy. “I am so sorry,” she mutters.

Klaus sighs, tries to tug her hands away. Caroline resists, tensing her muscles, wishes she’d gone with her first instinct and fled out the backdoor. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing, voice dipping into coaxing tones. “No apology necessary. I’m not the least bit upset.”

Unfortunately, Caroline’s totally up to the task of being upset enough for the both of them.

Friday, April 30th, 10:53 PM

Once the attendant in Klaus VIP area confirms that he does know Caroline and lets her up the stairs, Klaus has managed to increase the distance between his body and the model’s. He seems pleased to see her, grabbing her hand and tugging her to sit next to him on the couch.

Close enough that they’re connected thigh to shoulder.

The model, whose name Caroline doesn’t particularly care about, is less welcoming. She glares daggers at Caroline’s hand, still enclosed in Klaus’. He makes polite introductions. “Genevieve, this is my publicist and very good friend, Caroline Forbes. Caroline, Genevieve. She’s a friend of Kol’s.”

Klaus’ younger brother is also an actor, still firmly in the throes of his wild child phase. Caroline finds him entertaining, despite her best intentions, but he’s known to delight in making her job more complicated. She glances around suspiciously, “Is Kol here?”

Klaus gestures vaguely to the dance floor. “Somewhere. He dragged me out to celebrate a pilot he booked, then disappeared.”

Hmm, that could lead to disaster. Caroline wonders if she should shoot his publicist a text as a professional courtesy.

Caroline smiles at Genevieve sharply, “So sweet of you to keep Klaus company.” It’s mean, but Caroline wonders if Genevieve has somehow heard about Klaus’ Dior deal through the grapevine. Maybe she’s aiming for a co-starring role – Caroline’s read the treatment for the commercial; it’s supposed to be streamy.

Oh, good lord, High School Caroline has somehow time traveled and taken over her body.

Genevieve pastes on an equally fake smile (at least Caroline’s not the only one regressing). Before she can snipe back, a silver tray is set in front of them, two shots resting on it. The attendant catches Caroline’s eye, “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

Klaus interrupts, squeezes her hand in an absent apology, “Sorry, there must be some mistake. I ordered a water.”

He’s contractually obligated to maintain a ridiculously chiseled body. Caroline’s got a reminder in her phone to order him a pile of celebratory spaghetti after his press obligations are officially over and he can relax for a few months.

The attendant’s eyes flit to Genevieve in confusion, “I…”

“I cancelled that,” she chirps, sliding her hand up Klaus’ arm. Genevieve leans in, tone lowering to what Caroline thinks is supposed to be a seductive level. “Figured we would toast.”

Caroline catches it because she’s practically plastered to Klaus’ other side. “Who toasts with tequila?” she asks. “Other than creeps at bars, I mean.”

Had Caroline not been well acquainted with Katherine Pierce, she might have been intimidated by Genevieve's attempt at a lethal glare.

Caroline stares back, reaching blindly for the first shot. She tosses it back, then the second, fighting the shudder that wants to wrack her frame through sheer willpower alone.

“Bitch,” Genevieve mutters, standing and flouncing away.

It’s petty, but Caroline savors her win.

Klaus is staring at her oddly, a touch concerned. “Maybe we should get you some water, love.”

Saturday, May 1st, 9:04 AM

“There were more shots when I got back to Kat’s party,” Caroline moans. “I’m going to kill her. She knows my weaknesses.”

“While I am reluctant to defend your irritating friend, she did seem rather intent on her fun. It was her birthday, wasn’t it?”

Caroline nods, “Yeah. And Kat’s always been firmly convinced that she should get to do whatever her little black heart desires on her birthday.”

“She did insist I ensure you get home safely. I’m afraid you were rather reluctant to supply your address.”

She sighs, finally dropping her hands. “Honestly, I just moved into a condo. I might not have remembered it.” That’s the less embarrassing option. It’s probably more likely that tequila drunk Caroline had crafted a plan to seduce Klaus, and step one entailed getting invited to his house. “I know you said not to apologize, but I obviously put you out. I’m supposed to babysit you, not the other way around.”

Klaus laughs, his knee nudging hers. “I haven’t needed that for ages, as you well know.”

He has a point – Caroline likely wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if he was still indulging in public drunkenness and paparazzi punching. When she’d first met with Klaus, it had been out of curiosity. She’d made a comfortable living from her client roster, did not need to take on the project of a difficult actor.

Klaus’ bad behavior had been a few years in the past, and he’d just come off a run of festival darlings and had produced a surprise hit sci-fi drama. He’d been frustrated by the doors that remained firmly shut to him, had laid his ambitions on the table.

Caroline had been intrigued. While she’s excellent at her job, but it’s always easier to work her magic with clients who are willing to dive into the work. Klaus’ talent was undeniable; she’d thought he could be a household name with the right opportunity. She’d agreed to take him on, and three years later, it’s paid off.

Caroline tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands, eyes on the frayed trim. “I was mad when I saw you last night, and that wasn’t fair. You’d set you were resting up for the press tour, but it’s not my business if you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I was resuming some bad habits?” Klaus asks. “I know that particular venue has a… reputation. Probably why Kol picked it.”

Caroline sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge how he feels, but he’s not giving much away. “No, not really. I trust you. I wasn’t thinking super logically.”

She has to admit, at least to herself, that she’d been jealous. Caroline’s going to have to think about how deep that goes, if the feelings that had slapped her in the face last night will prevent their working relationship from being effective. What if Klaus meets someone? Will she be able to plant sneaky tidbits about how happy they are, scour the gossip blogs for rumors that could become issues?

“You? Not thinking logically? However could that be?”

She glares at him, though she knows his teasing is good-natured. “Some of it was the booze. I totally wouldn’t have hauled you onto the dance floor without it. And I wouldn’t have… well, you were there.”

She’s not up to list her transgressions. If Klaus hadn’t been drinking, then his memory of her wandering hands, her flirtatious comments, and heated invitations should be crystal clear. Caroline had been drunk, and she’s having a hard time not dwelling on the kiss – which, to be fair, Klaus had enthusiastically participated in – that she’d initiated.

“I was there. I have no objections to anything that occurred last night, save perhaps wishing you’d been sober.” Her head snaps up, eyes widening in shock, and Klaus laughs incredulously. “Surely you must know of my interest in you, Caroline.”

She’s suspected, but she’s also well aware that Klaus has no shortage of offers. Last night is proof of that. Caroline has always assumed that take one of them, at some point, and his flirtatiousness with her would fade away. She’d dated an actor or two when she’d moved to LA after wrapping up college. Caroline had been working insane hours then, trying to claw her way past the other assistants at the agency where she’d worked. Her exes from that time period had been quick to move on once they realized she wasn’t willing to center her universe around them.

“Interest can be fleeting.”

“It’s been three years.”

“You never made a real move.”

Again, Klaus counters quickly. “You’d not have accepted, and then you’d likely have pawned me off on someone else.”

Yeah, he’s got a point there. “I’m your publicist.”

“I have no objection to mixing business with pleasure. If you do, I suppose I’m willing to suffer a less competent publicist.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve been plotting.”

Klaus shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Perhaps a bit. I’ve always been entirely honest with you, I merely prevented a situation that would lessen the time we spent together until such a time as you were ready to consider me in a romantic light.”

“That’s a lot of words to confess you’ve been trying to flirt me into submission while flashing your hot body at every opportunity,” Caroline grumbles.

Klaus’ smile widens, dimples now visible. “It seems to have worked. Assuming that you meant the things you said to me last night?”

“I…” she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that directly. She should have been – Klaus is skilled at choosing the best way to catch someone off guard. Caroline glances away from him, eyes catching on the clock across the room. Crap. She has so much to do. “I have to go,” Caroline tells him, standing up.

His eyes narrow,  and his head tips to the side, like he’s searching for a sign of weakness. Both telltale indicators that Klaus is gearing up to argue. Caroline holds up a hand, “I know, okay? This looks like I’m running away, and technically I am, but this is not the time to begin that mixing you mentioned. We’ve both worked too hard to risk screwing up the next few weeks. Did you read your contract? The fines for non-compliance are no joke.”

“Now is not the time,” Klaus says slowly. “Meaning?”

“We table it now. I’m open to a discussion later.” Three weeks is plenty of time for her to sort out where she stands, right? Caroline never sleeps on flights anyway.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a timeline. I understand that you feel obligated to ensure this press tour goes smoothly, but you can only use it as an excuse until it’s over, love. I’m prepared to be persuasive.”

“What, do you want me to schedule something on your calendar? Maybe set an agenda?”

“No need to be so formal. Just agree to have dinner with me once we return. Here, if you’d like, so we don’t risk inflaming the tabloids before you’re ready.”

“You seem awfully sure that this is going to go a certain way. So eager to fire me?”

Klaus gets to his feet, and Caroline sucks in a nervous breath. Sitting across from each other, he’d been a reasonable distance away. Now, with both of them standing in the narrow gap between his couch and coffee table, if one of them breathes too deeply or shifts deliberately, they’ll be plastered together.

She’s tempted despite knowing she’s right about the timing.

Klaus rests his hand on her waist and turns them so Caroline could step back if she wanted to.

She stays where she is.

A tiny smile curls Klaus’ lips and his hand moves, pressing her closer. “As much as I enjoyed your more… explicit ramblings last night, I must confess my favorite revelation was when you confessed to just how long you’ve had them.”

Caroline, not for the first time, curses tequila’s wretched existence.

Wednesday, May 5th 2:20 PM

The meet and greets are going to kill her.

Caroline had thought they were a good idea when she’d poured through the itinerary the studio had sent over. Inviting popular bloggers, auctioning off tickets for charity, allowing fans to enter random draws – it’s great PR and provides the opportunity for viral moments, while also controlling the environment.

Caroline’s leaning against one of the walls, unnoticed, eyes on her client.

A lot of eyes are on her client, some of which irritate Caroline more than others. The two teenage girls, trailed by an exasperated dad, who’d both burst into tears when Klaus had smiled at them? Totally adorable. The nerdy college student who’d grilled Klaus about his character’s comic backstory? Kind of a pain, but Klaus had done his homework, and Caroline had been impressed.

And annoyed. Excessive preparation is very attractive and unhelpful at this juncture of the press tour. Caroline’s already begun to reconsider what they’d agreed to, wonders if knocking on his hotel room door on the last night would be such a bad thing.

That line of thinking might be overly influenced by the scene in front of her.

Klaus is speaking with a woman in an afternoon inappropriate silver dress. Caroline’s sorely tempted to have her escorted out by security. She’d slipped a key card into the back pocket of Klaus’ jeans within 90 seconds of meeting him.

He’s handed it back, said something that made her laugh. They’re still talking.

Klaus glances up, eyes landing on her immediately. Caroline hastily tries to soften her irritated expression lest he guesses its reason. Klaus smiles, subtly tips his water bottle in her direction. Silver Dress invades his personal space a little more.

Ugh. It’s gonna be a long three weeks.

[plant-flwrs]

Would you write a Neville imagine where he writes her anonymous love letters and sends her flowers and she doesn’t figure out that it’s him until he tutors her in herbology? Thank you in advance💚💚

secret admirer // neville longbottom

masterlist!

a/n: finally get to add a neville section to my masterlist omg. i’m sorry if this is a little lame, i have to get better at writing for neville. thanks for the request!!!

summary: Your secret admirer also turns out to be your Herbology tutor.

(1.5k)

--------

“I bet it’s Dean Thomas,” your friend giggled from beside you, leaning over your shoulder to look at the note again.

“No way! He just asked out Ginny Weasley this week,” your other friend said from across the room, “I bet it’s Cedric. He always seemed like the romantic type.”

The two wiggled their eyebrows at you, giggling madly. 

“Shut up!” you groaned with a smile on your face, burying your blushing cheeks in your hands.

“Seriously, who could it be?”

You glanced down at the beautiful bouquet in front of you, wrapped in delicate wax paper with a beautiful red ribbon keeping them bunched together. The flowers were stunning, and you realized you wished they could all be your new favorite flower.

“I have no idea,” you replied, bringing your nose to the plants and inhaling deeply.

“Read the note again,” one of your friends said, turning to lay on her stomach with her feet in the air.

“To Y/n, you looked stunning today, and I hope these flowers can even compare to your beauty,” you recited, holding the card delicately in your shaky hands.

The idea of having a secret admirer was something you would have scoffed at. Who could find you so special to make the effort of writing you anonymous letters? The whole thing felt unreal, to be pined for from afar. Your heart soared as you eyes ran over the boyish and messy, yet charming, handwriting on the card.

“Oh my gosh!” you friend exclaimed for the seventh time, her face twisting in adoration, “That’s too adorable. No boy could ever write something so nice.”

“Maybe it’s a girl?” your other friend offered, reaching and taking the card from you.

“The handwriting is definitely a boy’s,” you said.

“Maybe a girl helped him write it,” your other friend said, and you all began to think of boys in your grade with close female friends.

“It can’t be Harry Potter,” one of them said disbelievingly.

“Hermione would never tell him to write that,” you giggled taking the card back.

“Maybe Y/n’s managed to entice the only boy at Hogwarts with a romantic bone in his body,” your friend said, giggling again.

You all began to get ready for bed, and you found a goblet you had stolen from the Great Hall in your first year. You had been using it to hold some of your muggle pencils and a few quills, but dumped it out onto your desk. You lifted your wand to the cup, summoning some water. You delicately placed the flowers in the goblet, propping them up against the wall behind your desk. You lay in your bed, facing the flowers as your head felt heavy against your pillow. You couldn’t help but think of your secret admirer as you drifted off to sleep.

Your bliss didn’t last long, for the next morning you had Herbology as your first class. You had never been great at Herbology, finding things like Charms or Transfiguration more your strong suit. Still, you had to try your best. You slumped into your stool squinting your eyes as you read the blackboard behind Professor Sprout. There was writing about the properties of Knotgrass and its uses, and many complicated diagrams explaining how to go about its dissection.

You tried to listen as best you could as Professor Sprout explained the diagrams, but her words seem to go in one ear and out the other. It didn’t help that you were distracted by the anonymous note your fingers ghosted over in your bag, concentrated on who it could be.

Soon, you were dismissed, and on your way out you were called back by Professor Sprout.

“Darling,” she started, motioning for you to sit back down at the long table, “you seem to be struggling in my class.”

You looked at her with wide eyes, not prepared to have this sort of conversation with a teacher.

“I just don’t think Herbology is my best subject. I’m trying, though, really,” you assured her, smiling sheepishly.

“I know. That’s why I think I know just how to help you,” she said, smiling down at you.

“I have a wonderful student in your year, he’s absolutely brilliant when it comes to Herbology. I think you could really benefit if you two met in the library once a week, just to go over the material.”

You nodded, willing to try anything to get your marks up in Herbology.

“He’s a bit timid, but he’s a sweetheart,” she rambled smiling excitedly at you.

The door of the classroom opened slowly, and a boy with shaggy brown hair and a red tie peeked his head in the room.

“Professor Sprout?” he squeaked, stepping into the room once he saw the professor.

“Neville! We were just talking about you, dear. Come, come,” she said, patting the spot on the table across from you. He placed his large and heavy looking bag on the table and sat down.

“This is Y/n, she’s in need of some help in Herbology, and I was wondering if you would tutor her. I’ll give 100 points to Gryffindor in exchange for a months worth of tutoring,” she said, clasping her hands together excitedly.

“100 points?” he sputtered out, looking at the professor, “Of course I will, professor! Thank you.”

“Perfect, I’ll leave you two for a moment, have to attend to some Mandrakes,” she said, scurrying off to her office.

“Hi,” you said to Neville, and his shy gaze lifted from the table to look at you, “Neville, right?”

He nodded, giving you a timid smile.

“I’m Y/n,” you said, reaching a hand out to shake his.

He met your hand, releasing it quickly.

“So when should we meet?” you asked, retracting your hand.

“Any time is fine with me,” he said.

You smiled at his shyness, finding it adorable.

���How about Wednesdays? In the library?”

“Sure,” he said enthusiastically, swallowing hard.

“Perfect, I’ll see you then.”

He watched you leave, your frame slipping out of the door.

He pulled out another card from his bag, drafting his second anonymous letter to you.

The card reached you by the next day, it must have been slipped into your bag in the hallways. You almost ignored it, thinking it was the original card, but remembered you had kept it in you dorm that day. You fingers gently opened the note, reading it slowly in your head.

‘Dear Y/n, our paths crossed today, and it was even better than I could have ever thought. I look forward to getting to know you past the beautiful appearance you offer.’

Your cheeks flushed red at the compliment, and your mind was immediately racing as to who it could be. You didn’t know exactly when the note was written, or when you received it, so you tried to remember anyone you ran into recently. You thought hard, racking your brain until Wednesday, when you had to focus on Herbology.

You met Neville in the library after dinner, he was already there with books scattered around him.

You sat across from him, placing your Herbology textbook on the crowded table.

“Hi,” you greeted, and he smiled widely at you.

“Hi,” he said back, a blush on his cheeks.

He dove into the work, pointing at pictures and reading passages aloud to you. You listened hard at the words he said, but still could not understand.

“What does that mean?” you asked, pointing the end of your quill at some complicated word labeling a part of a flower.

Neville turned the book towards himself, looking at the word. He wrote it down, and flipped through some pages of his own notes. He turned a paper full of his notes towards you, and you took it with slow hands.

You recognized this handwriting. It was the handwriting from the notes. Before you could stop yourself, you were digging in your bag and producing the notes. Neville’s eyes grew wide as he watched you unfold the familiar cards, placing them on the table and watching your eyes dart between his notes and the cards.

“Neville,” you started, looking up at him shyly, “have you been the one writing notes to me?”

Neville didn’t meet your eyes, only nodding slowly.

“Really?” 

At the happiness in your voice, Neville’s face shot up to look at you.

“Yeah,” he said, breaking into a grin.

“I loved them, and the flowers,” you said, folding the notes again and stowing them away in your bag.

“You did?” Neville questioned, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“I did, it was really sweet of you,” you assured him, holding your hand out over the table.

You placed your hand over his, and he turned his so his palm was touching yours. He smiled sheepishly at you, blushing.

“Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” you asked him, and smiled as his eyes widened.

“I’d love to!” he said, baring a toothy smile at you.

“Perfect,” you said, blushing at him.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Caged.

Word Count: 2.0k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Yaoyorozu’s always loved your wings. She takes care of them, grooms them, keeps snow-white feathers clean and undamaged and just perfect... You just wish she took care of the rest of you, too. 

TW: Graphic Violence, Broken Bones, Kidnapping, Captivity, Dehumanization, and Delusional Mindsets. 

She’d said it hadn’t been because of your wings.

That was all she said for the first few weeks of your captivity, really. Momo was many things, but she wasn’t subtle, nor did she make an effort to watch her tongue around the civilian chained down and (more often than not) unable to respond to her one-sided conversations. She said everything a kidnapper could have to say about their hostage. She claimed that she fell in love with your personality, that she’d spent months dutifully noting down your interests and your hobbies and every piece of information that could be gleaned from careful surveillance. She told you that your wings were just a bonus, that they didn’t really matter, but they just made her precious, darling songbird a little easier to find.

But, for every second she spent singing your praises, she spent two gritting her teeth or crossing her arms or making it clear that she’d love you more if you were obedient, if you were affectionate, if you were different. Your hobbies faded into the background, considering how few opportunities she gave you to indulge them, and unless she was bringing home a gift to make up for the night you’d spent trying to cry yourself to sleep, she didn’t seem to pay your interests any mind. But, she gave your wings the utmost attention, keeping your snowy-white feathers pristine and taking far too much time to prune and pluck anything she didn’t deem ‘befitting’ of you. She adored your wings, she loved your wings, and she never hesitated to tell you that.

As much as she claimed they weren’t her motivation, she cared for your wings. She couldn’t deny that. 

That was more than she could say for the rest of you.

You supposed it wasn’t so bad, having her focus on one part of you so heavily, she tended to overlook most of your minor shows of rebellion. You were allowed to drag your knees into your chest and cling to the idea of safety as she looked over your wings, the appendages outstretched to their full length as Momo hummed and pulled at anything loose, anything bent, anything that wasn’t perfect. While she was perched on the edge of her bed, you were left to settle on the cold, barren floor and fight the chill your thin clothes did little to keep out. The basement - your bedroom, as she called it - was sizable, but the space was lost on you, considering how Momo chose to use it. After your last escape attempt, she’d declared furniture a ‘distraction’, something that took your attention away from her. You had a cot, just enough blankets to sleep, and whatever Momo thought was necessary for your basic survival. She’d said that you’d be able to earn things back, but that’d been weeks ago, and she seemed to like the way you were forced to look forward to her daily visits. She liked knowing she was the only thing on your mind.  

She liked making sure her pet had nothing better to do than beg for her attention.

“What’d you get yourself into?” She asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. The question was more for her than for you, posed under her breath, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like you had to answer when every other word was accompanied by another tug, another feather at her feet. “It’s worse than usual, today.”

A dozen excuses played on your tongue. Last month, you’d told her it was molting season, and you’d managed to quell her worries by saying that this kind of damage was normal for avians in new environments before that, a trick that worked for longer than either of you would like to admit. You doubted she’d forget so quickly, so you settled on something simple. “It’s just the stress,” You explained, the statement only half untrue. “It makes maintenance harder than it has to be, but it looks worse than it is.”

That earned a pause, a more careless jerk to one of your primary feathers. “You’re stressed?” Now, she was talking to you, expecting an answer. Paying attention to the way your hands twitched at your sides every time her fingertips brushed a tender spot of lean, thin muscle. A hint of something playful traced the edges of her tone as she continued, and you weren’t sure whether to relax or reinforce your barriers. “Don’t say it’s because of me, angel.”

A pet name. Pet names were good. Pet names meant she didn’t see you as human, right now, making you another one of her infallible, unblamable creatures. It didn’t mean you could be honest, but you wouldn’t have to lie, either, not really. Not as much as you’d have to, otherwise. “It just happens,” You admitted, giving a noncommittal shrug. “Animal-based quirks are complicated, like that. When I’m inside for too long, or… like, when the room I’m in is too small, my wings tend to notice before I can.” You allowed yourself a breathy laugh, loosening your hold on your legs. “When I moved into my first apartment, my roommate had to start complaining before I--”

“You think I’m not taking care of you.”

If her words hadn’t been enough to silence you, the feeling of her fist closing around a handful of something downy and sensitive did the trick. Reflexively, you went rigid, stretching your wings out to their full length and bowing your head, but Momo’s threats were never hollow. With one strong, steady pull, a patch of your left wing was on fire, bare and blazing and burning as you slapped your palm over your mouth and tried to stifle the shriek that threatened to escape. You kept it there, for a moment, attempting to suppress the tears building up in the corners of your eyes, but Momo took your silence as resistance, a low growl reverberating through her grit teeth as she took hold of the base of your wing, the length of exposed bone between skin and feather. She didn’t squeeze, didn’t shatter, but the idea of the pain was worse than the eventuality, forcing your breath to hitch in your throat, your whole body to go stiff. Forcing her to hold you tighter, her irritation more than apparent in the sternness of her grip alone.

"It’s such a shame,” She started, a patronizing lilt weighing down the simple sentiment. You couldn’t see her, not when you were abruptly incapable of even turning your head, but you didn’t have to. You could practically hear her shaking her head, her expression somewhere between a frown and a pout as she lamented over whatever mistake her poor, stubborn little captive made, this time. “I really do try to be patient with you. There’s such a nice nest waiting for you upstairs, but it feels like I can’t let you out of your cage without having to worry about my baby bird trying to fly away.” There was a click of her tongue, a tap of her manicured nails against your shoulder blade. You felt her eyes prying into your skin, flitting across all the places your wings rooted themselves in place, as if she’d be able to tear them out with her gaze alone. For a moment, you wondered if she could. “Maybe if you stopped trying to get yourself into so much trouble, you’d wouldn’t have to be locked up. You’d be able to accept all the wonderful things I have to give you, and I wouldn’t have to watch you throw your tantrums and pretend I wouldn’t do anything to make you happy.”

“That’s not what I meant,” You managed, curling your nails into your palm as you willed yourself not to raise your voice. Yelling at Momo was never a good idea, and playing dumb would only make her more determined to remind you of your offenses, even if you couldn’t name the incident she seemed so focused on, today. “Please, Yaoyorozu, please, I didn’t mean to--”

“This is why I have to be so strict with you,” She sighed, her free hand falling to the arch of your wing, spreading the appendage to its full span. No longer giving you the chance to refuse. “You’re so quick to lie, and so slow to regret it. You don’t even know what you did wrong.”

You flinched, your lips parting, but your mind going blank as soon as you processed the accusation. Your stupor couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but a few seconds were more than enough for Momo to come to a resolution.

It wasn’t that she was stronger than she looked. She was, technically, but it wasn’t just that, it couldn’t have been. She’d done her research, she’d prepared, she’d practice, and you could only be thankful her new skill had been refined, polished into an undeniable talent, albeit a grisly one. There was a minute of pressure - crushing, awful pressure - and a snap, and then the pain.

Always the pain.

It was a clean break, halfway between the base of your wind and the bend, shock provided little comfort, adrenaline flowing in-time with the throbbing, the tight ache now coursing through your left wing, joints loosening in their sockets and tendons contracting in an effort just to keep something so broken where it should be. Resistance wasn’t an option. It was an animalistic  instinct that had nothing to do with your avian features, you were struggling before you could think to hold yourself back, willing your injured wing to fold against your back as you flailed, kicked, clawed, doing everything you could do to get away from the predator that was so content to watch you writhe in agony. Fighting was pointless, though. Momo didn’t try to restrain you, didn’t try to hold you back. Why would she? All the doors were locked, the windows nonexistent, and it wasn’t like you could actually hurt her.

There was nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to do.

In the end, there was nowhere to go but up.

It was difficult to get off the ground at the best of times, but you were desperate. As soon as you were on your feet, you were in the air, struggling to gain elevation without momentum, without an upward draft, without a single factor in your favor. It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible, even if every muscle in your back strained at the effort, your lungs burning and your uninjured wing taking up a frenzied speed just to get you a handful of meters off the floor. It must’ve looked pathetic, one wing struggling to keep you aloft and another, crooked and weak, twitching in an attempt to keep up with the pace its twin set, and it hurt so, so much, but you didn’t care. For a few seconds, Momo couldn’t reach you. For a few seconds, she couldn’t touch you and pull at your feathers and hurt you and…

And then, you hit the ceiling, and went plummeting back to the cold, unforgiving floor, as if you’d never left it at all.

Your shoulder took the brunt of your fall. It wasn’t far, but something in your arm still cracked as you collided with the solid cement, pulling a ragged sob from your chest that came out as broken as it was pitiful. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying, but suddenly, it was all you could do to curl into the tightest, smallest ball possible and hide your face, if only because you doubted you’d have the strength to wipe away the tears now blurring your vision. Momo didn’t seem to mind, though. She hadn’t taken a step since you’d gotten away from her, but that only meant she was still calm and collected and so, so composed as she kneeled at your side, barely nothing to brush your hair away from your face before her hands trailed back to your wings, always so eager to make sure her favorite parts of you weren’t more damaged than they had to be.

To make sure her favorite toy wasn’t beyond repair, after she’s had her fun.

“I hope you got some of your energy out,” She said, her tone sweet, but her voice devoid of all warmth. You’d say devoid of all love, too, but you were beginning to think Momo never had any to lose, in the first place. Not when it came to you.

“It’s going to take me hours to take care of all this damage. The least you could do is sit still, especially when I take such good care of you.”

[daisylovesatla]

very rough draft of the start of a zutara fan fic

AU where Aang and Katara don't end up together cuz it doesn't make sense that it would be written that way but anyway, I wrote some pages about what would happen if Zuko's lightning bolt actually hurt him a lot more than it did...my ADHD brain can't remember where I saw that AU from but when I do I will tag u I promise...anyway it's Katara by herself at the palace healing Zuko and then the rest of the Gaang arrives from the Earth Kingdom, where Aang and Suki and Toph and Sokka were all fighting against the fire nation's ambush, cuz it would take more than like. a week probably to get to the same place as Zuko and Katara. Anyway I hope it makes sense I'm tentatively posting the first chapter in case everyone hates it but it's only 3,000 words I think.

(eta the ao3 link)

Book 4: Reconstruction...:)

Book 4: Reconstruction

I need some fresh air. She sighs to herself, rubbing her sore wrists and rising up from the cushion she was kneeling on. Keeping her eyes closed, afraid of the emotions that would flood through her if she snuck a glance at him while she wasn’t intensely focused on his injury, pouring all of her energy into that one spot, both emotional and physical.

It has been two weeks since the comet, and she has been doing all that she can to support him, to try to do something that could in some small way, return the favor for his sacrifice. As soon as her back is to Zuko’s bed, she opens her eyes, and is confronted suddenly with the bigness of this place. The tall, melodramatic metal doors that weigh way more than they need to, the beds with far away canopies rustling above them. Just the mattresses here are the size of her entire igloo back home, and even though it isn’t the first time she has been surrounded by superfluous opulence like this, something about this place feels particularly daunting.

She can sense his pulse, slow, but steady, consistent, as his blood flows through his veins and with it, water. Even when it isn’t a full moon, Katara is able to feel the water in everything, including the people she is surrounded by. She has yet to decide if it is an advantage, or only makes it harder to navigate through the world.

Her legs feel like lead, and she struggles to ignore the dryness of the room, the fires lit in their mantles 10 feet above them sucking all of the moisture out of this space, the lack of water, of that familiarity, making her feel like she is choking, as her breaths become more and more shallow and her heart continues to beat faster and faster, only worsening whenever the memories of that fateful, final Agni Kai come rushing back to her, making everything feel so much worse.

No, I can’t think about that right now. Katara closes her eyes again, and takes a deep breath, trying to replicate the breathing technique Aang taught her the first time he saw her meditating. In through my nose, out through my mouth, that’s what Aang taught me. She tries not to think much more about Aang than this. Too much has happened. Aang is expecting an answer, she is sure of it, an answer she can’t give him. Yet there is a hope swimming just below the surface in her, that this now or never attitude leading up to his battle with Ozai would no longer be there in him, that fire gone, the flames put out.

I have no answer right now, she decides, as she finally gets her legs to take the final steps towards the door. Yearning for a sense of coolness against her increasingly warm skin, she presses her hand against the door, and lets it ground her as she pushes it open, nearly jumping as it creaks and struggles to with each inch that she can shove it open. What is it with rich people and big doors? She chuckles to herself as she remembers storming Ba Sing Se, when things were so simple and yet not simple at all.

Running her fingers through her thick, curly hair trailing down her back, she sucks in all the air that she can in this hallway with much better circulation, finding it easier to keep her balance and move forward. The war may be over, but she is anticipating many battles are going to be fought in the coming weeks and months, battles over territory, freedom, the right to the throne. She has to heal Zuko so that he can advocate for himself, she determines, as she envisions Ozai’s loyal courtiers’ unfounded complaints with Zuko taking the role of the fire lord. She worries for him and she worries for herself. A water tribe peasant, Azula called her during the Agni Kai. Despite her strong demeanor, her ability to inspire other people to recognize their own worth, it is still difficult for Katara not to internalize this when she knows she is surrounded by enemies, no matter how much Iroh tries to reassure her and the rest of them that this is not the case. She has spent far too much time being attacked and assaulted by members of the Fire Nation to naively assume that with a change in power, a change in attitude amongst the people will quickly follow.

Many citizens are still loyal to Ozai. They still see her and Sokka and the rest of the Water Tribe as peasants, as savages with too much power. They are still afraid of waterbenders altogether, as gossip and rumors spread around the nation about Hama in the weeks following her imprisonment. She feels a pang of guilt for how it turned out with her. A Southern Waterbender, alive after all these years that she feared she was the last one, the only one, the one expected to carry on this legacy all by herself. Finally, somebody who understood her struggles, intrinsically, who had fought for so many years to be free, suddenly imprisoned again by people from the same nation that had stolen her away from her home, because she could not let go of her anger against them, like Jet.

She does not want to think about the revenge Hama tried to take on that people. How misdirected it was. How she never wants to be as full of rage and anger and resentment that she would start to do something as heinous.

It doesn’t change that that is how many people from the Fire Nation see her people. She can’t blame Hama for that, it would be wrong to expect any one person to be a representative for their tribe, their culture. “This is all so complicated,” Katara mutters under her breath, as she struggles to breathe, to let herself be free of these thoughts. Her anger, always there, ready to burst out from inside her in the form of an uncontrollable explosion.

Katara barely notices how far she has walked from Zuko’s room, until suddenly she hears a familiar voice call out to her. Startled, she looks up from the floor where she was mindlessly staring as she strolled and sees Sokka and Suki waving over to her from the other side of the hallway.

“Sokka! Suki!” She cries out, as she runs over to them, as fast as she can. “You’re here! You made it!” As she gets closer, she notices the crutch Sokka is leaning on, and her stomach feels like it is full of sand. “Are you okay? I can try my best to heal it, but I’m pretty worn out right now…” She glances at his bandages on his leg and starts to think up the best method for healing him after so much time has passed since his injury. “I’m sorry, I wish I had gotten to it sooner…” Katara begins, but she is interrupted by Sokka,

“Hey, it’s okay! For most of my life you haven’t been able to heal me when I get hurt, so it’s not like I’m not used to being in pain,” he teases, and then lets go of Suki who he was leaning on, as he goes to embrace Katara.

She can feel hot, somehow still dry, tears flow down her cheeks as she relaxes into this hug. While news had spread quickly from the Earth Kingdom to the Fire Nation about Toph, Sokka, Suki, and Aang’s victory in Ba Sing Se, her stomach had been twisted with worry the entire time they had been apart. A lot of it could have been hearsay, and until she got to hug her friends and brother in person, she could not let go of her unease. Hell, the talk of Caldera City was Zuko’s honorable triumph, but nobody who knew the truth of the aftermath of this battle had let it slip to the public that Zuko was in critical condition right now. Only Iroh, Katara, and some of the servants who were helping take care of meals and other menial tasks knew. It would throw this world into even more chaos if every day citizens knew there was a chance that Zuko wouldn’t…no. I don’t want to think about that future. I simply can’t. The guilt overwhelms Katara, but she pushes these negative feelings away and struggles to focus on the present. Sokka’s voice brings her back to the present, as she can feel his quickening heartbeat against her chest, and his tears dripping onto her robe. “We were so worried about you and Zuko, Katara. I’m glad you’re okay.”

She stammers, as she realizes it’s time to break the news to a few more people, wishing Sokka hadn’t let go of her as quickly as he did. She desperately missed her brother, and they hadn’t ever been apart for this long before, in all their side journeys in the past year, and hunting trips prior to that.

“Yes, I’m ok,” she lets the words spill out of her before she has a chance to choke on them, “But, well. Zuko...Zuko got really hurt.” Immediately, she can see the blood drain from both of their faces, and she grabs their hands, trying to comfort them despite not having the ability to comfort herself. “I’m healing him, but it’s still going to take a while. We have to just wait for him to recover.” She smiles, weakly, and fears it looks more like a grimace. “I’m glad you guys are back, though. It’s just been me and Iroh watching over him since the fight.”

Suki squeezes her hand, and the sadness and sympathy mix together in the look she gives Katara. “I’m really glad you’re okay. We’re here for you guys,” her smile sweet and boring into the deepest parts of Katara as she finishes speaking. Katara is taken aback, as her skin crawls with the thought that Suki understands, already, what happened at that Agni Kai, even if she doesn’t know the full details.

Sokka furrows his brows, and she can feel his warmth and fear as he nods in agreement with Suki. “Toph and Aang are in the courtyard with the Turtleduck pond, can we go see him with them?”

Of course, a practical response from Sokka. She knows better though. He is close with Zuko in different ways than Katara, but this was crushing for him too. She tries her best to smile reassuringly, as she fights back tears that are full of frustration and fear and anger and a deep, hollow grief that she hasn’t felt since Aang was struck by Azula, what feels like years ago but was only 4 months ago. In these four months, so much has changed, including feeling ready to face Aang. That kiss, just up and leaving, wasn’t ok and Katara wasn’t going to accept any excuses about it, just apologies.

He left everyone to go off on their separate missions, never really knowing whether or not those separation missions would be worth the danger they were putting themselves in, and that blind faith she was able to put in him when they first met was starting to get really old.

“So?” Suki chimes, pulling Katara out of her own thoughts.

“Oh, sorry,” she blushes, “I spaced out for a second. Um…” she tries to come up with an excuse for her sudden zoning out. “I’m worried about leaving Zuko by himself for a long time, and it’s been about twenty minutes so, I better get back, but stop by with everyone, sure.”

Suki gives her a quick squeeze of the arm, as they both walk off a few minutes after listening to Katara’s directions. Her chest feels tight, and she turns in the opposite direction as them, going back to Zuko.

They still don’t know how he got hurt. She doesn’t want to tell them, after so many instances of Toph teasing her about Jet and Haru, and well, she doesn’t want to hear it. Especially when Toph can feel her heartbeat. That damn seismic sense, she chuckles to herself, trying to let herself joke around a little bit.

Suddenly she is back in front of the door. She tries to shake off her anxieties and pulls the door open, the cold handle no longer soothing her but sending chills down her spine. This time, she keeps her eyes open as she walks back in, and all of the feelings she had been able to push down while talking to Sokka and Suki started to bubble up to the surface again, her cheeks feeling hot and dry, too dry. She wished she could bend a cloud of mist around herself, but knew that all of her energy had to be devoted to healing Zuko.

His familiar heartbeat suddenly found itself back on her radar, and she tried to hold back her tears and desire to just collapse and give up. But it was her duty to heal him. Her duty to heal him, the Fire Lord, just like it was hers to heal the Avatar. There was no way that any Northern healer would be willing to come down to heal the Fire Lord, nor would they be able to get there in time. So even if there were people more skilled, more capable, she knew that in order to maintain balance, it was her job to keep his heart beating.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Words = 4.3k

Chapter warnings = swearing, bad words, let me know if I missed anything!

Summary = Despite the explosive argument that resulted on your last mission with Poe, Leia decides another is in order

A/N = I made up the planet that they go to, as far as I’m aware it doesn’t exist in the Star Wars canon, but when I wrote the first draft I had no wifi to research a planet and then I couldn’t be bothered to change it. Also I know nothing about flying, nor about physics, I have based this on my (limited) experience of driving and therefore taken a lot of artistic license - I am sure what I have made these characters do is not actually possible. 

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Chapter 1

***

Poe Dameron was irritating on a normal day. A grounded Poe Dameron was worse. Like a caged fathier with no outlet for his excessive levels of energy it felt like he was pacing the length of the base multiple times a day, making it almost impossible to avoid him.

Not that that stopped you from trying. To complicate matters, you were doing your best to not think about him at all. So far, it was going well. You hadn’t even talked to him since the debrief, making a special effort to not even look at him when he was in the same room as you.

The debrief had taken place a couple of days after you’d shouted at Dameron, and had been unbelievably awkward. Leia and General Holden had been polite, running through any spare details of information gathered in the compound, what type of books there were, what they were about, what languages they’d been in.

After you’d talked, it was Dameron’s turn, answering questions about the objects in their cases, what planets they were from, how old they were, if they formed a collection. It felt like it went on forever, finally making it onto questions about your shooter, was it the suspected owner, how many droids appeared, was the security system as expected?

You were sure Dameron would be sneering at you, so you avoided looking at him, and didn’t dare directly address him. Keeping your hands clasped in your lap had helped prevent visible shaking.

Saying as little as possible, you’d escaped at the first opportunity, ignoring how Poe stood up, and desperately pretending that you couldn’t hear how he immediately started to talk, more animated than he’d been the entire time you’d been there.  

Both of you had been in trouble; Dameron for hiding his injuries, and you for shouting at him. And while he’d been the one officially grounded, it was of little comfort, knowing that it was no doubt due to him failing his physical. And now Dameron had been able to defend himself and probably slag you off in the same sentence while you had left, feeling like a child sent to their room.  

But unable to fly it felt like he was all over base, just where and when you didn’t want him to be.

Like now. You were working on a mission report with a bar of chocolate to keep you going, lying nearly horizontal on a couch. Background music was playing in your headphones and your datapad was open with a number of tabs and the mission report was there, right in front of you, half written - and yet your eyes kept flicking over to Dameron sat by the center table.

You weren’t sure he’d seen you when he walked in, hidden as you were behind the shelves in the corner. You liked this nook, it always made you feel protected and the idea of Dameron finding this corner and no doubt ruining your sense of security vaguely irritated you. Looking through the gaps you could see his legs resting on the chair opposite him, and if you sat up a bit, you saw that his back was to you, facing the door, his shoulders tight.

Ignoring him, you tried to get back to work, and you would never have admitted it, but the noises as he worked was...nice enough, in it’s own way. Little growls of frustration that you could barely hear over your music, the occasional sentence read aloud, BB-8’s reassuring little beeps. They made you feel less alone.

Finally, finally, you finished. Dameron didn’t look like he was any closer to getting up and leaving, and you took your time shutting down your pad. You’d have to pass him. It had to be done, you wanted to have a shower and go to bed, but...still.

You intended on ignoring him, but it felt excessive to leave without even a - “Goodnight, Dameron.” It was short as you passed and you resisted the weird urges inside of you that wanted to insult him and make sure he was ok at the same time.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you exhaled heavily in relief, and...something else which you didn’t want to unpack.

Until he said your name. Your first name.

You stopped walking, jaw clicking in annoyance as your back tensed. “I’m sorry.” His voice floated from out behind you, strong but quiet. You looked at the door in front of you. It was probably about 4 steps away - you couldn’t have walked a little faster?

“In the medbay, what I said… it was out of order. It was too harsh and I’m sorry.” He paused and you still didn’t move, frozen to the spot. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it, sweetheart. I-” he paused again and changed his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Finally you turned around, a strange trembling rising from your stomach to your chest. Your eyes narrowed, mouth turning up in distaste.

“You’re sorry?” you spat, taking care not to look at his face. “You were only too happy to badmouth me to Leia and General Holden afterwards though!” You took a step backwards, conscious of how far the door was. Your eyes rose from the floor to his face, ignoring the slight signs of tiredness around his eyes, the first time you’d looked directly at him since the medbay.

Shaking your head, you glanced away, the reminder sending hot embarrassment through you, still.

Dameron’s head has dropped into his hands and he’s pulling slightly at his curls. Your breath quickens in annoyance as you start talking again. “Whatever, I-” The slamming of his hands on the table interrupts what you’d been about to say. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white, and the look on his face scares you.

“You don’t have a clue! You’re determined to think badly of me aren’t you?”

For the first time, words escape you. Dameron walks towards you, quick paced and you back away until you reach the wall. There’s something poking into the small of your back, but the physical discomfort is less than the discomfort you feel radiating off Dameron.

He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell him, a deep rich smell, one that smells like a man, and why do you like it? His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wants to reach forwards and shake you.

You match his glare, finally finding your words, “I’m determined to think of you based on your actions, Commander.” He stiffens at the use of his title, but you continue. “I know you’re a better pilot than I am, but you need to learn not to look down on people who are a lower rank than you!”

Dameron’s mouth opens...and then shuts without comment. As you continue glaring at him, you realise this is the first time he’s been speechless around you. And it’s now, his body so close he’s nearly pressing you into the wall and what the hell is poking you? You can feel your heart beating quickly and you hope he doesn’t notice it in your neck.

“Well, maybe I do, but you need to learn not to judge others. Not everything’s as simple as it seems!” He’s not shouting anymore, but his voice still feels dangerous.

Whatever. You don’t want to be a part of this anymore. You push roughly past him, hitting his shoulder as you do and mumbling a “Fuck off” under your breath as you finally make your escape.

***

No sooner had you rejected Poe’s apology than you wished you had accepted. It had been an automatic reaction, snapping back at him in your hurt. You’d never been close to Poe, the snub he’d given you when you met preventing you from ever seeing him in a favourable light.

And Poe’s apology was causing an annoying thought to run through your mind. One you had absolutely no business thinking about, and you didn’t know what had brought it about.

But still. What had you missed out on by not being Poe’s friend?

The answer was, of course, absolutely nothing.

Especially now.

It would no longer be enough to bicker like siblings with a rivalry. Regret made you clench your jaw and your heart around Poe Dameron, a physical remainder of the damage you’d done.

This was a new feeling. This was proper anger, real hurt. It was unfamiliar and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

You didn’t walk around the base unless you had too now, preferring the isolation of your room to the fear that would shoot through you every time you saw someone with curly hair.

Instead, you found people came to you. Rose was a frequent visitor and you were always happy to see her, even if she didn’t quite understand your reluctance to leave. Members of your squadron came to catch you up on what you missed and after a couple of days you began to think maybe you were being ridiculous. Would it really be so bad if you saw him again?

The decision was taken out of your hands when Kare knocked on your door. She was holding her helmet, with her orange flight suit zipped up. She had a pretty bad case of helmet hair, blonde strands flopping into her face contrasting brilliantly with her brown skin. Dameron stood behind her, determinedly not looking into your room, looking slightly at odds in a normal shirt.  

Great. You couldn’t even avoid him by not going anywhere.

“Hi!” she started, pausing, “Are you alright?”

You hum gently at her, tiredness scratching at your eyes, despite the amount of sleeping you’ve been doing. “What’s going on? Where are you off to?”

“I just got back from a recon mission,” she tells you, and sleep is still pulling at you. “General Organa asked me to tell both of you that she wants to see you for a briefing tomorrow.”

You look again at Poe, as he nods stiffly.

“Is that everything?” He’s not even looking at Kare, and you shoot her a questioning glance.

“It’s at 8 in her office,” Kare says, shaking her head, silently telling you not now. You bit back an irrational laugh as Dameron nods again, leaving as fast as he can. “You’ve pissed him off!”

You’ve not managed to shut the door as she says this, and you shush her desperately as the two of you dissolve into giggles. “So it’s true?” Kare’s taken Rose’s usual seat at your desk, spinning round with the soles of her feet scraping on the floor. “You shouted at him?”

You sigh. That.

“I - yes. He did something stupid,” you tell her and she lets out a chuckle.

“When doesn’t he?” And maybe it’s something about her expression, and the contrast with her dry tone, but it makes you laugh again as she continues, “Don’t worry, everyone thinks he deserved it.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised. “They do?”

She nods, “Yeah. You’ll have to work with him on this mission though.” She’s picking up objects on your desk, and haphazardly returning them to the wrong place. You huff a little at the idea but change the topic.

***

Walking into Leia’s office the next day, you immediately rolled your eyes when you saw Dameron pulling a face as he made eye contact with you.

“Ok this stops right now.” Leia’s voice is sharp and to the point as she glares at the two of you. “This is ridiculous. The two of you are on the same side, fighting the same fight and you can’t even be in the same room?”

“With all due respect General, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend,” you say, not looking away from Dameron. He looks better than usual, wearing a black t-shirt that somehow makes his hair look darker, his arms stronger, his face fresher.

Leia huffs, and gestures to the seat next to Dameron which you take ungraciously, as she continues. “Perhaps not, but you are on the same side. I would like to ask for at least civility towards each other.” Dameron’s wearing tac gear, you realise, scanning up and down his body. Knee pads blend into the black of his trousers, which are tucked into a hefty pair of boots. Your eyes keep catching on the smoothness of his jaw and throat, he must have just had a shave. “Shake hands.”

Your mouth drops open, finally looking away. “What?!” Both of you speak at the same time. You look back at him to see him smiling gently at you. You frown, but stick your hand out, breaching the gap.

“Truce?”

You’re acting annoyed, but there’s a thrumming excitement rising again in you. A mission is a mission, even if it means working with someone you don’t really want to.

You ignore the very small part of you that does want to be friends with him.

Dameron’s hand is warm when it grasps yours, strong in his conviction, and there’s something unreadable in face as he replies. “Truce.”

Leia smiles at you when you turn back to face her, and you have to squash down your own, wanting to remain annoyed at Dameron. Clicking a button on her desk, she starts playing a hologram. It’s a video replay of a number of ships - 2 distinctly First Order TIE fighters, and 3 Resistance X-wings. The TIE fighters are moving in a way you’ve never seen before, unprecedented skill allowing them to miss Resistance shots that should have been hits.

Leia allows the video to play a number of times before waving her hand to freeze the image. You can only gape at her, not quite sure what she wants you and Poe to do about it. Dameron’s hands are already twitching in your peripheral vision, like he’s imagining how he would manipulate the controls to achieve the same effect.

“This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, which was not supposed to have any engagement,” Leia starts, “but the First Order showed up, and our pilots decided to shoot first, but couldn’t make a hit. I want the two of you to work out how they managed to do this. And I’ve arranged for the two of you to practice on Greplimin, which is a largely empty planet two parsecs from here.” Sighing, she leaned on the desk, giving Dameron the holo stick. “Can I trust you not to kill each other?”

Dameron leaves as fast as he can, muttering something about finding BB-8, but you hang back, waiting by the door to ask Leia something.

“Why have you asked me?” You still feel too vulnerable when you look at her, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll ever get over this.

Leia only raises an eyebrow, asking you to elaborate.

“I’m not the best pilot.” You start desperately. “I know I’m not. I would never tell him-,” you throw your arm at the door, “-that, but it’s true. I’m not the best person to ask and if you want someone who gets on with Dameron, I don’t - why, why did you choose me?”

Leia sits down and you stand there, feeling weirdly lanky.

“You’re right.” How is she so confident? “You’re not the best pilot. But you have an unconventional way of flying and the First Order didn’t manage to pull that stunt by being conventional.”

“Figure it out, Lieutenant,” she dismisses you, attention already on some papers on her desk.

***

Dameron had begun to make dinner by the time you’d finished setting up the tent. You’d grumbled under your breath as you worked to construct the two camp beds, sure that the Resistance could afford two tents. Outside, Dameron’s quiet conversation with BB-8 was muffled, indistinct words floating to you under the chirping sounds of the birds and insects.

Even in your grumpy mood as you’d flown out, you could appreciate the beauty of Greplimin. Green had stretched out as far as you could see, circling until you’d found a good place to make camp. A large clearing surrounded by trees, a lake not too far of a walk for water, which was now set alight with the glow of the three suns as they began to set.

The food, cooked by Dameron over an open fire, was nice enough, but something had risen to the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow. You don’t talk much, saying the bare minimum in order to resist snapping at Dameron unnecessarily. As much as you don’t want to admit it, Leia is right - you are on the same side of the war. Conversation is stilted and unnatural, so you take the cowards way out, feigning tiredness to escape.

But that doesn’t mean Dameron has any business being as attractive as he is on this mission. It’s as though ever since your argument in the common room, his attractiveness has increased dramatically and you hate it.  

By the next morning, a slight stubble had started to grow, darkening his jaw and making your heart beat a little faster as the two of you eat in silence, lit by the glow of the sun rise. Out of annoyance, you told yourself, after all, it’s unprofessional to have stubble. And anyway, who can grow facial hair that fast? From the look of him yesterday, he’d freshly shaved.

And he’d started to look at you differently too. You’re just not sure what the difference is.

The next day is spent flying. Both you and Dameron are a little rusty, having both been grounded for a month now. You have to focus on breathing calmly when you first sit back in the cockpit, the image of Poe near to collapse in the seat behind you sending you back to your last mission. You have to turn around to convince yourself that he’s sat in the other X-wing.

Turning on your comm link, the two of you run through pre-flight checks together, methodical and reassuring, before running through the normal exercises, switching between who is acting as First Order and who is Resistance.

It’s nice. Comforting, even, the familiar routines you could do in your sleep, muscle memory taking over when your brain stumbles.

And even though neither you or Poe say a whole lot, it’s a nice safety net, knowing that there’s someone on the other end of the line. It’s the odd little phrases that he uses, praising you or himself, with the occasional swear word or whoop of delight thrown in. He’s playing music, because of course he is, but you can only catch the odd bar, not enough to recognise any songs.  

Not for the first time, you recognise the intimacy of comm’s, how talking directly to the other’s ears feels...more personal, somehow. So you bite back any quick replies you think of, pushing down any breathless laughter at his comments.

You love flying too. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of floating in the sky, taking turns at a ridiculous pace, and feeling adrenaline burn you up on the inside.

The usual exercises end up taking over the whole day, you and Dameron blasting them until they’re perfect. Briefly you wonder if this is what it would be like to be in Black Squadron, perfection expected rather than a nice added bonus. He doesn’t seem surprised though, when you manage them. You frown, you’d expected some kind of taunt about how you’d done better than he’d thought...but the comms were silent to your expectations, just the odd, respectful, “Well done.”

On the third day, you give the First Order’s new moves a go. Neither you nor Dameron are quite brave enough to fully twist the way they did, and you’re not sure what his worry is, but the idea of overheating your engine mid-flight is enough to stop you.

Lunch is spent with the two of you eating together and poring over the video, stopping and starting it at different moments to talk over the best ways to fall out of the spin. Having a goal, a problem to solve makes conversation flow much easier and you’re grateful for it. It’s something else to concentrate on and you can ignore sparks of irritation as he scratches his stubble, the noise swooping low in your chest.

After lunch, Dameron acts as First Order, and it’s a surprise when his voice crackles through the comm links.

“I’m going for it.”

He’s determined, and you know there’s not much you can say to stop him, especially because you’re out here to solve this, but you still yelp out a “What!”

“If I can get enough height I reckon I could do it.” Comes the reply and you can only sigh and watch as Dameron’s ship starts to climb. Switching gears, you start to follow, circling round to imitate how the Resistance would catch up.

Poe starts to twirl as he descends, copying the way the First Order pilots had gained speed and unpredictability, and you struggle to hold your ship steady in his airstream.

He starts to spin faster and faster, cutting his engine and throwing the X-wing to the left. You’re miles behind now, having been unable to reach the same speed and you can only listen to his steady swearing as he struggles to start the engines back up again.

As he reaches closer to the tree line you start shouting. “Deploy! Deploy now!” Desperation laces your voice, “Poe deploy your parachute NOW!”

And he does.

A plume of fabric billows out from the back of his X-wing, slowing him down enough that you can see the exact moment when Poe restarts the engines. It doesn’t last for long though, and all Poe can do is control his landing, skidding through the trees.

You careen after him, bruising your landing and scrambling to get out of the cockpit to go and help clear the door to get Poe out. “Are you alright?” You ask, looking into his eyes to check for signs of a concussion. He was wearing his helmet, but that was a rough landing.

And his eyes are a really pretty shade of brown, swoons a voice inside of you, which you try and squash with a few choice swear words. Now is definitely not the time. There is never a good time for noticing Dameron’s eyes.

Poe seems alright though, accepting your hand of help to jump out. “I never knew you cared, sweetheart” he grins, and then groans. “Could do with some water though.”

So you help him back to your campsite, giving him a glass and sitting next to him in silence. Except, for the second time that day, it’s comfortable.

“The spinning was good,” you offer after a moment.

You’re not looking at him, the water glimmering as a distraction. He only hmphs in return.

“It was!” And are you trying to convince Poe Dameron of all people that he did a good job? You take a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking in the same direction as you and you note that the colour has returned to his cheeks again.

“You got good speed up,” you continue, “faster than I could and we just need to figure out how to cool our engines down - especially when we’re in hyperspace.”

“I want to know how they didn’t crash into each other.” You look at him again, his voice thoughtful. “There’s just so little control, once you cut the engine after spinning like that, you’re subject to airflow but they knew where the other would be.”

“Do you think it’s possible they’re better than us?” If you hadn’t watched Poe talk, you’d have thought you hallucinated.

Grinning, you shove your shoulder against his. “Better than you and me? You’re having a laugh.”

“Yeah that’s not it.”

There’s not much to say after that, the occasional huff of laughter bubbling out.

***

You do eventually have to go back to the X-wings, both of which need patching up. The hull of yours is damaged where you hit some trees when landing, while Poe has to start with packing up his chute before even thinking about the wiring and his engines.

Once you’ve done all you can for yours, you clamber into Poe’s cockpit. Thankfully he doesn't notice at first, allowing you a moment to compose yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms as he grips together some wiring. BB-8 is sat in the pilot's chair, beeping some instructions at him.

Meanwhile there’s a tool sticking out of his mouth, and something about that is insanely sexy, but you clear your throat before your mind can go anywhere. Poe looks up and oh maker this man is going to destroy me.

You scowl at him as you speak, as though scowling can undo your traitorous thoughts. “Do you need a hand?” Poe looks like he’s going to say no, but then something sparks out, hitting his hand, and he drops the wires, mouthing a swear in pain, although he keeps his teeth clenched around the screwdriver.

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shitshitshitshit.

You can’t look away from his mouth and you need to reset, to go back to square one, base level, because your heart has stopped in your chest and you know what this means. Instead you whack Poe over the head as you push your way into his space, stepping over the wires on the floor.

“Do you want my help or not?” you ask again, and maker you’re rude. Your parents would be disappointed. But Poe looks surprised that you’re offering again.

His eyes meet yours when he replies, steady and unwavering. “Yeah that would be nice.” The tension gradually dissipates as the two of you work together, rewiring and melding your way through the underneath of the control panel.

You do your best to ignore the touches, telling yourself that it’s inevitable in such a small space as your hands brush together as you lean over him, or how close he is when he peers over your shoulder to instruct you which piece to hold while he adjusts them back to their proper place.

***

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Chapter 1<----->Chapter 3

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