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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

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Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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demon-twink-sharl · 3 years ago

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A Subjective Objectification Of Men

aka Midnight’s (that’s me) 2022 F1 Grid Hotness Rating

hiya I did a 2021 version last year

disclaimer: this is just for funsies, pls don’t come at me if I don’t place ur fave at the top, this is literally just personal preference. plainly based on my preference on looks, though extra points are awarded for being a nice human :)

list in order from hottest to least hot:

Daniel Ricciardo: genuinely so pretty. tattoos? 10/10. choke me with those hands I am begging. exudes big dick energy. pls let the curls make a proper comeback I want to tug at them so bad

Charles Leclerc: demon twink but in a good way. he looks so innocent and yet at the same time like he could [long redacted beeping noise] me. I think I just like boys who are unhinged and look like they have one (1) braincell

Mick Schumacher: extra points awarded for being one hell of a cutie. the fact that we’re the same age so technically dating range just ends me every time. golden boy with ocean eyes. and that body. damn. let me porpoise on that *gunshot*

Pierre Gasly: I mean I don’t think I have to say much here. stupidly pretty French himbo. I wish he would just [once again a surprisingly long redacted noise] me. catholic kink coming through, let me ruin you babyboy

Carlos Sainz Jr: I have a thing for spaniards and I am not ashamed to admit it. he's just so. ugh. hot (and hairy 👀🤤) body, pretty lips, cute accent and adorably fucking stupid <3 zero braincell vibes from him. let me pamper you with love babygirl

Lewis Hamilton: pretty sure this speaks for itself too. have you seen his hands? his arms? his abs? his cute smile? his brown eyes? his tattoos? his *gets sniped*

Sebastian Vettel: I know none of us are getting younger but please. he looks like a teddy bear. the longer hair is appreciated (but pls brush it bestie. or just get a little trim I am begging) and he just looks so SOFT. like he would give great cuddles. I am in love with my emotional support German (edit: forgot to mention seb’s magnificent tits, they’re not be left out here)

Kevin Magnussen: I am surprised by how high I rate him. but not even I am immune to Scandinavian hotties. the fact he has an adorable little daughter is not making this easier on me. baby fever plus biological clock ticking says what? also I can’t get over men with beards so. yeah. moving on.

George Russell: Georgie ur being so sexy in that black Mercedes suit and outracing Lewis in this shit car <3 I mean we have all seen him shirtless so uhm, that’s that. yeah.

Lando Norris: okay I know I placed him quite far down last year and I mean, he’s not particularly hot, HOWEVER I have since developed two terminal illnesses called ‘Lando Norris Brainrot’ and ‘Wanting To Baby Lando Norris’ so uhm yeah. yeah. my polyam ass also gets excited about seeing him with Luisa 👀

Fernando Alonso: I warned you I have a thing about spaniards. adding ‘older men’ to the list because I also have daddy issues <3 make me YOUR babygirl pls 🥺

Max Verstappen: okay this just had to come up at some point. sometimes in certain angles and lightning, as well as without a cap on and slightly sweaty on the podium, he actually does look attractive, I don’t make the rules

Yuki Tsunoda: we’re getting into ‘I don’t much care’ territory at this point. he’s a cutie, I love him and his relationship with Pierre, not much to report on the hotness scale though, mainly bc he has to wear Alpha Tauri stuff all the time

Zhou Guanyu: not really much to report here, I really liked some of his looks in the paddock though so he gets extra points <3

Nicholas Latifi: I will defend last year’s claim of ‘he looks hot without a shirt on’ and that’s that.

Alex Albon: I don’t think I can say much here, lol, I just find him neat and cute <3 (plus Lily, she’s so 🥰)

Sergio Perez: I don’t even remember what I had to say about Checo last year lol, though I think he was higher up. not many particular feelings about him this year ngl

Valtteri Bottas: can’t believe there is a Scandinavian guy I am immune to. but here we are.

Lance Stroll: I repeat myself when I say that he reminds me of my middle school prom date that I’m still trying very hard to forget

Esteban Ocon: just really, really not what I like

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bobathots · 4 years ago

Text

smokescreen

i wrote the first draft of this in a lust-fueled haze in less than 24 hours a few weeks ago and then i watched a movie where tem was just absolutely off the rails h word and my brain went “haha smoking kink go brrrrr again” so literally this is just an excuse for boba to smoke. @jon favreau give him a cigarette u coward mob boss! boba/female reader. smut 18+ ~10k tags: pwp, smoking, oral sex, shotgunning, at one point u give boba a blowjob while he smokes also on ao3

He wasn’t expecting anyone — or at least, he wasn’t expecting you , that much was clear from his body language. You weren’t even sure it was him until you got close enough to see the dim streetlamp cast a familiar shadow across his face, until you could make out his staple leather jacket wrapped around his form. The tip of his cigarette stood out cherry-red in the evening light, hanging loosely between his index and middle finger. He tensed and turned his head as you approached.

“Boba!” You kept your voice light and even; you didn’t know how to talk to the man at work, much less in a situation like this. You hadn’t exactly expected to come across him in the middle of the night, in a dark alley situated neighborhoods away from where you both worked. But, then again, it wasn’t as if this was part of your normal schedule.

He dipped his head toward you in greeting, then brought his hand up to his face to take a drag from his cigarette. Your gaze remained transfixed on the motion, how he rested his index finger on his tip lip while his hand remained splayed, as if he was trying to hide the action. You spoke before you could think, the words tumbling out of your mouth, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

His inhale sounded like a sigh. Dropping his hand back to his side, he courteously turned his head away from you and exhaled billows of ash-grey smoke from his mouth. “Meant to keep it that way, too.” Oh. You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head as if to waive away your concerns. “Don’t. I’m the one smoking outside in public.”

“At midnight,” you added, knowing that he probably chose this time and place specifically for privacy. Privacy that you were now infringing upon.

“...At midnight,” he echoed, the beginnings of a wry smirk on his lips.

The conversation died out there, but you remained standing next to him, casting your gaze out onto the buildings. Distantly, you could make out drunken conversations from the surrounding busy streets so filled with nightlife, mixed with the occasional prickle of Boba puffing his cigarette. A cool breeze swept through the leaves and across your skin, causing goosebumps to pimple out in response. You hugged yourself tightly, palms wrapped around your bare arms, as if you could chase away the evening chill.

“Speaking of midnight —” You glanced back at Boba; he pinched the end of his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot with his heel, “— you shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

“It’s not so bad in this part of town.” It felt weird having your boss express concern for you, as subtle as it was, even if it was in his nature to take care of his own , as he put it. You figured you were more like a blimp on his radar; it wasn’t like you were a crucial employee. You hardly ever needed to interact with him at work. “The streets are always lit,” you continued, “and always crowded.”

“Right. Which is why you decided to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night.”

Heat rose to your face. “Because I thought I saw you!”

He let out a sound which might have been a chuckle — god, it was so hard to tell with him — and he pushed off the building he had been leaning against. “Let me walk you home, then. An apology for causing you to make a stupid decision.”

You can’t tell if he’s being mean on purpose, but regardless, you didn’t want to impose on him. “Boba, it’s okay, there’s no —”

��Start walking,” he ordered. His voice was stern, commanding; the tone he took when giving instructions at work, and that meant there was no room for argument, no wiggle room to barter or bargain. The words yes, sir sat on your tongue, burgeoning with desire, but you swallowed them down back to the pit of your stomach where they belonged.

Another breeze blew in. You shivered, both from the temperature and from Boba’s intense presence, but finally nodded in acquiescence. “It’s not far,” you assured him, turning to walk back the way you came. “Maybe like five minutes or so.” Then, something heavy and warm draped itself over your shoulders and you paused, turning back once more to look at Boba.

A now jacket-less Boba.

“I...oh. Um. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept walking the direction you set out, leaving you to play catch-up. You took a moment to slide your arms through the sleeves, and it thrilled you to find out just how much extra fabric hung past your hands. Even bunching it up at the wrists caused it to slide down from how loose the jacket sat on your body, so you simply clutched the hems in your palms to keep the fabric from slipping over your fingertips. The rest of it draped over you, his frame much larger than yours, and you felt weirdly protected in his jacket. It smelled like leather and faintly of cigarette smoke, but most importantly it smelled like him, a scent you had no other words for. It was the same smell that lingered in his office long after he’d left, something masculine and oddly comforting. Wearing your boss’ jacket was like being wrapped in a second-hand hug, and you were ashamed to admit how much you liked the idea.

You had to do a little jog to catch up to Boba. Maybe it was the night air, or maybe it was the fact that you had genuine one-on-one time with the man you’d been admiring for so long, but you were suddenly emboldened to nose into his personal life. “So...am I allowed to ask why you don’t smoke with the others?” The “others” you referred to were a sizable group of Boba’s underlings that you often noticed smoking together by the backdoor.

“Not a social smoker.”

You wouldn’t call Boba a social anything , to be honest. “Okay, so why not in your office? I mean, you spend a lot of time alone there anyway.” You would have remembered if he kept an ashtray or a pack of cigarettes anywhere visible, and his office never smelled like smoke.

Silence stretched out between you. You thought maybe he was done with your invasive line of questioning — after all, this was the first “real” conversation you had had with him that didn’t involve work-related topics — but he spoke up after an elongated pause.

“It’s a nasty habit I can’t kick. I try not to indulge if I can help it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Boba almost sounded embarrassed at having a vice. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Hm?”

“There a reason you’re leading me through back alleys instead of taking the main streets?” He cast a sidelong glance at you, and even with the glint from the streetlamps you couldn’t place whatever subtle emotion danced in his gaze.

“Oh, uhm. It’s just a faster shortcut,” you said, hesitating despite your honesty. “I...normally don’t feel safe enough to do this at night, but…” The implied since you’re here hung heavy in the air between you. You drew his jacket tighter around your body, relishing in the shield it provided against the chilly evening air.

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Boba lapsed into silence beside you. You lead him around a corner and stopped at the base of a sloping hill, turning to face him. “Um, the house I’m renting is just up the road from here,” you started, nerves sitting at the base of your chest. The thought of Boba — your boss , who you were crushing on hard — knowing where you lived? It was almost too much to bear, because you were certain you’d do something stupid like invite him in for a drink, which would naturally lead to you into shamelessly begging him to do unspeakable things to you. You couldn’t.

Instead, you shrugged off his jacket, internally mourning the loss of warmth and security it radiated. “Thanks again. And thanks for walking me home.”

Boba acknowledged you with a slight dip of his head as he pulled his jacket back around his own shoulders. You gave him what you hoped was a natural and normal smile that didn’t let your nervousness show, and turned to walk up the long sidewalk that led to your ramshackle house.

His gaze burned on your back the entire time, only letting up when you unlocked the door and stepped inside the safety of your home.

The second time had to have been a coincidence, an alignment of your schedules, because you found him at the exact same spot at the exact same time a week later. The only difference was that this time, he was grinding out a cigarette and raising a zippo to light another in the same moment.

You never took him for a chainsmoker.

“Boba —”

“What did I say about walking alone at night?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, necessarily, but neither was it condescending or patronizing. It was almost concerned, if you could call it that.

“I only have the same excuses as last time,” you admitted. He made that noise again, the little huff you’d taken to mean he’s amused, and your chest did a funny little skip in response.

“Means I’m responsible for walking you home again, then.”

“I - no! Not if it’s some sort of imposition. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of that, kid. But,” he paused to inhale, and deeply: his chest visibly expanded to fill out whatever room was left in his leather jacket, and he held it there for a beat, savoring the burn, before he breathed out in one fell swoop. “I’d like to see you safe with my own eyes.”

The white smoke obscured his gaze for just that moment, and all you could see was the bright burning end of his cigarette like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, like a gunshot wound through a white shirt.

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks, Boba.”

Something like gratitude settled over your shoulders, but there was also something else there, something you didn’t know how to describe. It meant enough to your lovesick heart to know that he cared , at least in some capacity, about your well-being. Enough to walk you home twice .

Even when Boba looked away, gaze on some distant point down the alley, you couldn’t keep your eyes from him. He looked so good , so imposing at all times, and the cigarette only helped add to his appeal. He was every bit like an intimidating mob boss, like he might decide to put his cigarette out on some thug’s eye for mouthing off — and you were only a little ashamed to say that the mental picture made you want to squirm.

At the same time, you could tell there was a different edge to him tonight. Something more coiled and tense, like he had a bundle of energy he needed to burn off and burning a cigarette was the closest he could come.

If he had been savoring it that first night, he was flat out devouring it now. It was aggressive, in a way; how he’d barely let his lungs take in a full breath of oxygen before he filled them with nicotine and tar again.

“You smoke?”

His voice startled you from your thoughts, bringing you clear back to the current moment. “N-no. Why?”

“You keep staring. Made me wonder if you wanted a puff.” He had caught you red-handed in your shameless oogling, and you supposed you should’ve felt embarrassed, but you were too enraptured with the way he spoke with his cigarette hanging from his lips, how the smoke leaked out in little wisps with every word. Deftly, he thumbed the filter to flick ash from the butt and immediately brought it back to his lips again. Your eyes followed every movement. “But it’s a good thing. Don’t start.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, which was the truth — the truth that existed before you knew Boba was a smoker, anyway. It wasn’t like you had a craving to smoke for smoking’s sake. Instead, you wanted to taste from the same filter that sat in Boba’s mouth, imagining it stained with the imprint of his lips; you wanted to inhale the same smoke that he exhaled and pretend that you were sharing breaths like lovers, or fuckbuddies; you wanted to kiss him and taste the nicotine on his tongue —

— but he was your boss, and a good deal older than you, and he’d never be interested in the first place. Instead, you had resigned yourself to watching him in the act with the hopes that you didn’t give off creepy vibes and that he’d fire you. It’d be best if you could turn your mind away from more unsavory thoughts, you decided. You would rather be a friend to him than someone he cast aside. You figured his stress came from the current negotiations between him and a potential business partner, but said partner was well-established in this area and, to the best of your knowledge, kept raising their “prices.” You didn’t know much about it because it simply wasn’t your job to know, but word did get around. “Are the talks not going well?”

He let out a derisive snort. “Hardly.” He exhaled and smoke escaped through his nostrils, giving him the momentary impression of a dragon. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It’s just…” You paused to search for the right words. “You seem very stressed. I thought it might be because of that.”

Boba grunted in response. He held his little nub of a cigarette between forefinger and thumb as the smoldering end continued to eat away at the filter. For a moment, it seemed like he was honestly considering trying to finish it off, but then he breathed out a quiet sigh and tossed the butt to the ground.

“....So it’s a stress thing, then, huh? The reason you smoke?”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his full weight against the building behind him. “Supposed to be,” he answered. “But then I got addicted.”

“You picked up smoking to cope with stress?” You couldn’t keep the incredulity out of your voice if you tried. Your response to stress was just to cry, something arguably way healthier than what Boba was currently doing.

He breathed in deep, then out, and caught the tail-end of a worrisome cough as he exhaled. “Stress used to make me angry,” he explained, taking a moment to clear his throat. “When I was younger, I picked a lot of unnecessary fights, broke a lot of bones.”

“Yours?”

“And others’.” You didn’t miss the uneven slant of his mouth, the slight grin he wore at the admission, as if he was proud . “But it was a dangerous outlet, so I found something else.”

“Like smoking is any less dangerous,” you pointed out.

“A cigarette kills slower than a bullet, kid. And besides, you’re...what, half my age? Maybe more?” He lifted himself off the building and beckoned you to follow him with a jerk of his head. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. There weren’t many other options beside violence or drugs when I was younger.” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry,” you said lamely, not really knowing how else to respond. “Don’t be.”

He was leading you home, you realized with a start, both amazed and terrified that he remembered the route you showed him exactly once. As you walked, you stayed close to his side; the evening was no less chilly, and even though you were wearing a thin windbreaker of your own, you were still cold. Boba radiated body heat, and you tried to soak up some of his without being in direct contact with him.

“You don’t look stressed,” you offered after a minute of companionable silence.

He turned to look at you fully, an obvious cue to continue, but his unwavering attention made you nervous, and you started to blabber. “I-I mean, like… just in case you were worried that you were projecting the wrong image. Whenever I see you on base I just think you look so cool and intimidating, so even if these talks are stressing you out, it doesn’t show, and you still look as powerful and scary as ever, and so —”

“Thanks.” His voice made you shut up instantly , though there was no harshness or anger behind his tone. You were glad that he stopped your rambling; you were certain that if you had continued, you would’ve said something you couldn’t come back from.

You stopped at the same place last time, at the base of the hill, and turned to Boba with a slight smile. “Well, thanks again —”

“No, kid.” His hand fell to the small of your back, so big and solid and warm , and for a moment your brain short circuited as you tried to process the contact. “I said I wanted to see you safe with my own eyes. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Uhh, y-yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Sounds good to me.” To your surprise, as you started walking again, Boba’s hand remained a constant on your back. Were he any closer, you could pretend he had his arm slung around your waist as if he were a lover, or your boyfriend, your partner — but, desperately, you attempted to put a stop to those thoughts. They were all fantasies, anyway, unreachable things that you were never meant to hope for.

You stopped in front of your house steps. They were shoddy and showed more tear than wear, and the building clearly needed some love and care. It was, however, home , for the foreseeable future.

“Um, this is me,” you said awkwardly. Boba’s hand finally fell from your back, unfortunately not stopping anywhere on the way down, and he glanced up to take in the state of the building. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not — his expression was virtually unreadable — and you didn’t want to imagine what he was thinking, or what information he could extrapolate about you based on your residence. “I wanted to say thanks for walking me home. Again.”

“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the first place,” he said in lieu of acceptance, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“I know, I know, just —” You shuffled awkwardly, half-wanting him to leave, half-wanting to invite him to stay. “Thanks.” You hoped it was obvious that you weren’t just thanking him for seeing you home, but for sharing pieces of himself with you, for allowing you to see the bits of himself he never showed at work.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to look you over, top-to-bottom. He dipped his chin slightly in response. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he was gone, the phantom touch of his hand hot and heavy on your back.

You formed a ritual together after that.

You’d meet him at the same place every week, always around midnight, and he’d smoke while you had an easy conversation. He smoked depending on his mood: sometimes, it was just one cigarette, enjoyed slowly, the stick held between his fingers more often than his mouth. Other times, he’d smoke multiple in quick succession, never more than three, but always with a sense of quiet urgency, like he wanted to finish them as fast as possible. He’d usually smoke them down to nothing, too, leaving barely anything left to count as litter.

Consequently, you grew closer to him than your schedule at work would ever have allowed. Some nights, the conversation would stick to work or work-adjacent topics. Other nights, you’d talk about more personal things, like when Boba revealed how his father died and you stepped in to overshare about your own sob-story childhood — but no matter the topic, there was a general acknowledgement that your relationship had Shifted, with a capital s . The dynamic between you two was no longer strictly boss and employee, but neither was it just a friendship. It was something precarious, dangling over the edge, desperate for something to disrupt it.

And you were desperate to keep it there. Sure, Boba had gotten a little more physical with you in the sense that he always had a hand or an arm touching you as he took you home, and maybe he gave you his jacket more often than not these chilly evenings, but otherwise he was still...Boba. Still kind of hard to read, still a little emotionally closed off, and most definitely not into you. It sucked, but you had learned to be content with the crumbs you got, and it came with the added bonus of having a secret together that no one else at work knew about. It wasn’t scandalous, or taboo, but it definitely felt a little gratifying knowing that you got to see a side of the boss that most everyone else wouldn’t know existed.

Your weekly meeting was a ritual. A sacred thing.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, Boba simply wasn’t there .

His silhouette was missing . There was no figure leaning against the building, there was no cherry-red glow of cigarette embers, there was no one.

You checked your phone: just a little past midnight. Was he sick? Or busy? He had your number for work-related reasons, so surely he would have texted you if —

But why would he? It wasn’t like this was anything serious , right? It wasn’t a meeting he needed to cancel, or a failed date you could excuse your way out of. This was just… a thing . A repeated thing with a date and a time and a place, sure, but…

Nonetheless, you found yourself drawn to your phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow across your face as you waited for a notification to pop up over your messaging app. You wouldn’t call yourself a romantic, but surely expecting a courtesy message wasn’t beyond whatever little ritual you had going on, right? At least, as your employer, he could treat it like —

A hand grabbed your shoulder. On reflex, you twisted around and flailed your arm wildly, hoping to hit whatever would-be assailant in a place that would hurt.

He caught the fist you carelessly slung in one broad hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist tight to hold it in place.

“ Boba! ” you gasped, both relieved and irritated at the same time. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He let your hand slide from his grasp, and if you were in the right mind to pay attention, you would have noticed how he purposefully let his fingertips ghost longer on your skin, how they ran from your wrist to fingers instead of dropping away outright. “Don’t stand oblivious in an alley. At least keep moving if you’re alone.”

You slid your phone back into your front pocket. “I was waiting for you . I didn’t think you were coming.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “Wasn’t aware I could be late.”

And, well — he was right. This was his thing, after all, his late-night smoke break that he just happened to be so kind as to let you participate as a spectator. Of course he could change his mind, of course he wouldn’t think to let you know. It was your fault for getting attached and thinking it was something more —

“You should stop walking alone so late at night.” Boba was close , you realized. The brief panic earlier had drawn you two together and you hadn’t parted very far, your chests merely inches from each other. It was closer than you had ever been to him before, at least face-to-face, and as a consequence he spoke quieter, his voice coming out as more of a husky rumble than an actual vocalization.

“I’ll stop when you stop smoking,” you countered, your mind too focused on your proximity to Boba to filter your words properly. You were worried he might pick up the true meaning, that it was the act of Boba smoking that lured you to him each week, but instead he huffed out a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Princess . That was... oh . It sounded like a proper pet name, and the realization made a rush of heat go to your face.

“P-princess?” you finally squeaked out. “Really?”

“You’re spoiled often enough,” Boba said plainly, though the hint of a grin pulling at his lips made you realize he was teasing you.

Something overwhelmingly warm and pleasant tugged at your heart, replacing practically every negative feeling you’d experienced in the past ten minutes. “I’m spoiled, huh? How am I spoiled?”

“You usually get what you want.”

You hummed at that, trying to think of something he might be referencing. He didn’t interact with you much at work, and typically it was usually the opposite in your experience. “I don’t think so,” you finally said, drawing up blanks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he kept up with the ritual for your sake. Maybe he didn’t smoke at the same time and at the same place on a weekly basis, but instead decided to show up because you expected him there. Because that made sense.

Guilt ate at your heart, replaced quickly by a sense of affection.

It meant he enjoyed your talks, then, right? That he at least enjoyed your company? You couldn’t think of anyone he might just hang out with other than Fennec, and even then, you couldn’t picture him going through the trouble of all of this just to talk with her.

“Boba…” Tentatively, you reached out and placed your palms against his chest, looking up at him. He smelled like leather and smoke and himself , and you were so close that if you wanted, you could… you could….

Thunder crackled sharply overhead, and you jumped back in pure surprise. Boba’s hands came to settle around your elbows, keeping you from fully peeling away.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed. Ozone filled your nose — the threat of rain.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to storm tonight,” Boba admitted, and the change in weather made disappointment surge through your veins. You doubted he was the type to enjoy smoking while soaking wet, meaning you’d likely have to call it quits for tonight.

Unless…

“You could…” Oh, god. You already knew that the offer would be a mistake, but you swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. “You could smoke. In my house. If you wanna.”

He regarded you quietly. “If I want, huh?”

“I-if you want,” you repeated. “But would a ‘please’ help influence your decision?”

“No.” And oh, that made your heart drop in your chest — but then he curled a finger under your chin and applied enough pressure to keep you gazing up at him. “But I want to hear one anyway.”

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. There was something in his eyes that had you absolutely mesmerized , something burning like the smoldering end of a cigarette. God , you wanted to fucking kiss him. “Will you please come to my house?”

His lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smirk that bordered on a grin. The way he allowed you to see a flash of teeth seemed almost predatory , and it made you want to run away, or run toward him. “I’m not in the mood to get soaked,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

You thought he would pull away from you entirely, leave you wanting and waiting, but instead his arm curled itself around your waist to pull you against the warmth of his side. The gesture was so obviously possessive that it made your heart swoon . You tentatively leaned into him, a hand braced on his chest, but he took your weight easily, as if it were nothing.

The walk to your house was usually a quick affair, a five minute walk at most . Yet, now it felt like you were getting there at a snail’s pace, your body and brain hyperaware of your surroundings, dragging the walk out into one long punishment. Boba’s hand had slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin and it burned with promise. His body was so warm, and so solid, and he smelled so good that you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and just breathe.

To anyone else, you would’ve looked like a typical drunk couple enjoying the evening together. You were invisible, and that knowledge made you almost giddy . He was no longer your boss and you weren’t his employee. The circumstances of your relationship didn’t matter, and for a moment you could pretend that you two were just —

Well, that you two were something together. Something with a future.

Too held up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the pebble in your path, and you caught your foot on it and stumbled. Boba’s arms wrapped around you before you could pitch forward and he dragged you up to hold you against his chest, one strong arm braced around your middle. “Easy.”

His lips were right by your ear, so close that his voice had come out as barely more than a low rumble. You instinctively tensed in his arms, one hand resting atop his own, and turned your head back to look at him.

Christ , you were impossibly close. The angle meant that there were scant few inches separating you from him, and that a small adjustment would be enough to allow your lips to brush his, to allow you to have a taste of him that you’ve craved these past few months —

Thunder boomed overhead and you startled in his arms, enough so that you jerked away from him. You gave a nervous laugh moreso to assure him that nothing was actually wrong than anything else. The first few fat drops of rain splattered your skin, shockingly cold, and you both looked up at the sky in unison.

“We’d better hurry,” you suggested, knowing how easily torrential rain began in storms like these.

You reached for his hand this time, settling your small hand in the palm of his own, but it was Boba that pulled you along to your house with a renewed sense of urgency as rain began to darken the concrete in small splotches. The clouds threatened to open up and drench you both, but there was something a little more primal in the way he handled you, like it wasn’t just the rain on his mind.

By the time you reached the steps leading up to your door, he was practically manhandling you up them, and instead of allowing you to stop and fish your keys from your pockets, he kept himself in your space, crowding into you, forcing you back against your door. He braced an arm over your head, the other settling on your hip, and when he pressed his knee between your thighs you parted your legs willingly for him.

Boba stared at you. Water droplets dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, shining dimly in your porch light. The same light reflected warmly in his brown eyes, eyes normally so hard and closed off, but soft for you , like he was sharing a secret, like he was barring some hidden part of himself just for you. Only you.

His thumb skimmed your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, drawing slow and smooth circles that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the way your heart pounded in your chest. When he swallowed, you watched how his adam’s apple bobbed and longed to put your mouth there, to feel the motion against your lips.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to give him a snarky reply for all but forcing you up your stairs, or call him something that involved the words cheeky and asshole — but his breath kept ghosting tantalizingly across your lips and his damned smirk was so attractive and you felt like you had been waiting for this for literal years, desire and want and longing all bound up fit to bursting in your chest. “Only if you kiss me,” you challenged breathlessly.

Boba surged forward, hands sliding to cup your face between his broad and calloused palms, and he kissed you with more teeth than lips, something ferocious and desperate . His knee slotted itself higher between your thighs, purposefully rubbing against your center, and you moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at his wrists. Against the awning, the spattering of rain turned quickly into a flood and for a moment you couldn’t differentiate between it and the blood rushing in your ears.

You never thought you’d find the taste of cigarettes appealing, but you did — at least, you liked them combined with whatever it was Boba tasted like. Maybe it was your attraction to him warping your senses but you couldn’t get enough. You licked into his mouth, sucked lightly on his tongue, teased his lip with your teeth — literally anything to keep him pressed against you.

His hands left your face which made the chilly air feel all the more cold against your cheeks. Instead, they ran down the length of your torso, mapping out the curves and planes of your body. You arched willingly into his hands as they reached around to your backside, sliding into the pockets of your jeans —

— only to be met with disappointment when you heard the jangle of your keys as he pulled them from your pocket. “Could’ve — asked ,” you managed between breathless kisses. Boba hummed into your mouth as he reached for the doorknob to your side. Reluctantly, he pulled away just long enough to slot the key correctly into the lock, and you busied yourself with tasting the expanse of skin on his throat that the new angle provided.

One hand still remained cupping your ass, and you squeaked when he suddenly grabbed a handful and squeezed. As he turned the doorhandle, he used his hand to pull your weight forward against him so that you wouldn’t fall backward into your house, which had the added advantage of pressing your chest to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured lowly, playfully swatting your ass. “Inside.”

You barely registered the sound of your keys hitting your tiled floor as he ushered you indoors, because the moment you both were safely inside you fell on him again, lip-to-lip, hands trying to work off his leather jacket. He took the hint and shed it quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and immediately he urged off your own shirt, breaking away from you long enough to pull the fabric up over your head.

His hands felt so big against your body like they were everywhere, his rough palms a stark contrast against your smooth skin. He thumbed just under your breastband, one hand settled on your back to keep your pelvis pressed to him as his other hand groped your chest over your bra, rough and demanding, and you whined into his mouth. The pleasure threatened to sweep your thoughts away, to turn you mindless and dumb and completely receptive to his whims. You turned your head away from his lips, trying to find the words to speak as he continued to grab handfuls of your flesh. “Boba —” you started, cutting off abruptly with a whine as he teethed at the delicate skin of your neck, each nibble a promise of a later bruise. “W-wait, Boba, I thought you came here to smoke?”

In an instant, his hands fell to his sides, leaving you completely untouched. If you weren’t keyed up and desperate, you might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now it just left you feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. He looked down at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed, but all you could focus on were his lips . They were slick with saliva, kiss-swollen, and you felt a twinge of regret that you had pulled away at all.

“....Do you not want —”

“No! No, I do, I just thought that maybe, y’know…” You gave him a sheepish grin, aware of how hot your face felt. “I thought that maybe you could...do both?”

Concern gave way to slight confusion, then he chuckled in amusement. “I should have guessed.” Boba reached back into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes and carefully shook one free. “You have a thing for smoking, huh?”

“No!” It was a gut-response to deny; smoking was gross . It was yucky . It did awful things to people’s bodies and it stained clothes and fingers and yet — “Or at least, I didn’t,” you amended, voice softening. “Not until I saw you that night.”

He paused, lighter halfway to his mouth. The cigarette dangled attractively from his lips. “You should have better taste.”

You choked on nothing. “Wh — you should have better stress relievers!” “Are you offering?”

That made you stop, heat rising to your face at the implication. Sure, you wanted him — but the thought of being his little toy , someone he came to when he needed a quick fuck to ease his frustrations — you liked the thought of it a little too much. Boba was smirking at you, but he seemed to understand to leave well enough alone, at least for now.

There was a flash of light, steel hitting flint, and then the familiar smell of smoke filled the air, more potent in your tiny house. He motioned his head toward your couch as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke. “Go sit.”

The command was almost unneeded; Boba practically steered you there himself, hot on your heels, his hand right back on your lower back like it belonged there. You settled yourself on the cushions, half expecting him to sit beside you, or maybe cover your body with his own — but when he sunk to his knees in front of you, nerves bubbled up in your stomach.

“Oh, Boba, I’ve never...No one has...gone down on me before.”

He grunted, deft fingertips already at the button of your jeans. “Don’t see how that impacts me.” You raised your hips to help as he tugged at the hem of one pantleg, and he slid your jeans off in one smooth movement. He placed your legs over his shoulders and jerked you forward so your ass was off the couch, hips suspended in midair by his arms hooked underneath your thighs. It left you trapped and pinned in place, your back slouched awkwardly against the back of the couch. He puffed on his cigarette before transferring it between his first two fingers, the burning tip pointed away from you as he gripped your thigh. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Unless you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, and whatever nervous thoughts you had about tasting or smelling weird, or not looking the way he expected, or not being groomed the way he liked instantly left as Boba ran the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt, so hot even through the fabric of your panties, and you jerked your hips both in surprise and want .

“Be still ,” he growled, so close that you felt his breath against your center. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“You won’t,” you breathed. You trusted him not to even accidentally harm you, like accident wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Instead, you felt his arms clamp down on you harder, giving you even less potential wiggle room than before.

A moment later, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking broad stripes against your panties. It felt good even without direct contact; you had never had someone’s mouth on you before, and it had been a long time since you had anything but your hand to pleasure yourself with.

“You’re already so wet.” He turned his attention to your inner thighs, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. His free hand rubbed you through your panties, spreading your slick into the fabric, and you moaned . “Is it because of me, or are you just excited?”

“You. It’s you.” He hooked his thumb under the edges of your panties and pulled the fabric away from your crotch, exposing your heated core. Your breath came in short puffs as he finally touched you, skin against skin, his thumb dipping into your folds to collect your slick on his fingertip. “I’ve — thought about this for so long.” “About me eating you out?” You were so wet; you could see how your juices glistened on his thumb as he brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue loll out lewdly as he licked your taste clean from his finger. You whined at that sight alone and imagined his tongue tasting you for real, imagined how wet and hot it would feel against your bare cunt. He brought that same hand down onto the meat of your thigh, slapping you light enough to get your attention but not enough to leave a lasting sting. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“About this,” you repeated, as if it clarified anything. “About you. About — Boba, please —” You tried arching your hips off the couch to tempt him, tried to explain without words what you wanted as your voice died off into a needy whine.

His hand returned to your cunt, fingertips grazing over your clit through your panties. They were so soaked with his spit and your slick that it was barely a barrier at all, made translucent by all the fluids. “Don’t make me guess what you want,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Frustrated, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “It’s embarrassing to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing, huh?” Boba teased the edge of your underwear, flicking it against your skin as a reminder that his fingers were right there , that you could have what you were desperate for if you only asked. “Is it embarrassing if I say that I love how you taste?”

“Boba….” you whined weakly.

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmured, voice growing husky. He nosed against your clothed mound, breath fanning hotly against your core. “I want to bury my tongue in your little cunt and take everything from you. I want you to come undone on my mouth, princess.” He pressed an oddly-sweet kiss to your thigh, his lips lingering on your skin. “But I can’t unless you tell me what you want.”

You felt hot and extremely bothered by the casual way he said those things, how he just uttered his desires as if they were nothing. It wasn’t embarrassing to ask him to eat you out, but you found it embarrassing that you wanted it. You swallowed thickly, and when you finally looked out from under your hands you found Boba looking up at you through hooded eyes, just waiting. Watching.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please eat me out.”

“ That ’s it." In a blatant show of strength he ripped your panties right from your hips, tearing the cloth with one strong pull. You didn’t even have time to articulate a response, because a second later his mouth was on your bare pussy, his tongue eagerly lapping up the liquid that glistened on your folds.

“ Boba! ” You jerked hard in his grasp but he pinned you down with his hands alone, his grip on your thighs so tight you knew that there would be ten marks in the shape of his fingers the next morning. He was relentless, lapping and slurping at your cunt like a man starved, and the sounds were so lewd and so pornographic that you’d have found them gross were you not so aroused.

You wanted to snap your thighs closed and rut against his mouth so bad , but his hold on you was unforgiving. He kept you spread and held in place, completely at his mercy as he licked and sucked and devoured you. Little gasps and moans kept escaping your lips, mixed in with mindless repetitions of Boba and please and yes, yes, like that. This was the loudest you had ever been; months of pent-up desire and sexual frustration had you quickly approaching an orgasm, vastly helped by Boba’s skillful tongue. The urge sat heavy in your gut and only grew with each passing second until you were frantically trying to grind into him, hips moving minutely in his iron grip.

And then he began to pull away. Your hand shot out to grab the back of his head to hold him in place, a desperate whine leaving your throat. “No! No, Boba, please, I’m so close, please —”

“Shhh.” He turned his head to place a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Relax, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His assurances were enough to cause you to let go, and he rewarded you by peppering more gentle kisses to your slicked skin. “You got an ashtray?”

You had to think through the haze of want that clouded your thoughts. “A... huh? Why?”

“Don’t want to burn you.” He motioned toward the cone of ash on his cigarette, which had been steadily burning the whole time his mouth was on you. Carefully, he unwound his arms from around you and you slumped, boneless, back into the couch. “Unless you want me to use the carpet?”

“N-no, god, my landlord would kill me.” You spotted an old mug sitting on the endtable right next to the couch and reached for it, almost spilling the scant liquid left inside as you haphazardly handed it to Boba. “Use this.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he flicked the excess into the mug and then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. You watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his chest as he breathed in, how his shoulders seemed to broaden with the action. When he exhaled, he blew from the side of his mouth, keeping the smoke from reaching your face.

Which was considerate and all, but… “ Boba .” You stretched your lower half toward him in need, letting your thighs fall open. “Please?”

“You invited me here to smoke,” he reminded, even as his free hand slid up to brush tantalizingly close to your slit. “You gonna make me waste a cigarette?”

“N-no, but…” Tears pricked the back of your eyes; you had been so close , and the longer you went without his mouth on you the more you worried you wouldn’t get to come at all. “ Please .”

Boba flicked ash into the mug again and set it aside on the floor, out of reach of flailing arms and legs. “Spoiled little thing,” he said, so affectionate, and then he was upon you, his head back between your thighs. And, fuck, maybe you were spoiled, but it was his fault for indulging you and giving you an inch so you could take a mile. His tongue just felt so good, and without his arms pinning your legs open you rutted freely into his mouth, moans and pleas rolling off your lips anew.

Boba turned his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette, holding the little nub a safe ways away from your skin. He exhaled before he wrapped his mouth around you again, hotter than before, and his lips latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” Pleasure shot up through your spine and you moaned shamelessly, your eyes shutting tightly against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. “Fuck, fuck , Boba, please, oh my god —”

“Gonna come from my mouth alone?” His lips barely left your cunt as he spoke, his hot breath only serving to further tease you. “Wanna come for me, sweet thing?”

“ Yes ,” you hissed. “Yes, Boba, please , wanna come on your tongue —” You weren’t even wholly aware of what you were saying, just babbling mindlessly as he kept torturing your clit with attention. The urge you were chasing earlier came back full-force, leaving you teetering on the edge. “Please, please , Boba, Boba —”

“Then come,” he ordered. “Come for me.”

It might have been his voice, it might have been because his teeth skimmed your clit, but you came and you came hard . You think you screamed, or blacked out, or screamed and then blacked out — and when you finally relaxed, body no long tight and taut, you opened bleary eyes to find Boba’s face still buried between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive pussy in slow, languid movements.

“Boba,” you whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “‘S’too much, please …”

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses on the heated skin of your inner thighs as he pulled away, settling back on his knees. To your embarrassment, his mouth and chin shined with your juices; he turned his head to wipe himself clean on the sleeve of his shoulder and replaced his cigarette back between his lips. It was evident he’d enjoyed himself, too, because there was a sizable bulge tenting the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey.” You stretched a leg out, brushing a toe across the top of a clothed thigh. “It’s not fair you’re still dressed. Take off your shirt.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily upward from his mouth. “Take off your bra if you want it to be fair.”

You had completely forgotten that you were still wearing it, and you realized how ridiculous you must look: stripped nude with your bare pussy on display, but still wearing your fucking bra. It wasn’t even cute .

Sitting up, you hesitantly reached behind yourself and unclipped your bra. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but left the cups covering your chest, suddenly very acutely aware of everything: the couch beneath your bare thighs, the drying slick on your skin, Boba’s warm eyes focused intensely on you .

“Don’t get shy on me, now.” Gentle and slow, he reached a hand up and helped ease your bra the rest of the way off your chest. He palmed your bare breast, pebbling your nipple underneath his thumb. “Beautiful.”

You flushed at the compliment but gently pushed his hand away. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”

He extended his cigarette out to you as he stood up from his knees, and you didn’t miss the quiet noise of exertion he made at the effort. “Hold this.” It was burned down to almost nothing, wasted, but as you took it from his fingers you remembered how often you’d imagined holding the filter between your lips, how often you dreamed of tasting him second-hand.

“Want to try?” He must’ve caught you staring; when you glanced back at him, he was bare-chested, and you marveled at the power that flexed underneath his skin, at the tattoos that spanned his chest and upper arms. You’d have to ask about them later.

“I thought you didn’t want me to start?”

“You’re an adult. I’m saying the offer’s there, if you want.”

You considered it — you really did — but then you thought about how sweeter it would taste coming from his mouth, and you passed it back to him.

“I...can we try something?

The end of it burned red-hot as he inhaled. “What?”

Your earlier shyness came back, your nerves sitting heavy in your chest. “What if...you kissed me, right? But with your mouth full of smoke? And then...y’know….” You wrung your hands in your lap as your confidence died out.

But Boba merely chuckled and took a seat on the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Half-surprised he agreed, and half-giddy with desire, you crawled loose-limbed into his space, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as you settled into him. “If it’s from you, I don’t care.”

You had tucked yourself into his side, but Boba hauled you into his lap instead, swinging your legs across his own. His clothed erection pressed into your hip and you had half a mind to ask if he wanted his pants off, too — but then he grabbed your chin between one large hand and held you in place as he puffed from his cigarette. His lips ghosted across your own, soft and tentative, and then he kissed you for real.

Unlike before, this was gentle and sweet, the slow molding of his mouth to yours, until he urged your lips to part. On instinct, you inhaled, and the smoke that entered your lungs was hot and spicy . You coughed once against his mouth before you had the chance to turn away. Your lungs and throat burned and tears quickly filled your eyes as you coughed away the sensation.

“I told you,” came Boba’s smug reply, and you narrowed your leaking eyes in a glare even as small coughs wracked your body. Gently, he smoothed his hand up and down your spine. “Wanna try again?”

“So you can —” you stopped, coughing, “— laugh at me?”

“Not laughing.” He wiped away some spittle on the side of your mouth. “It’ll be easier if you just hold it in your mouth. Don’t breathe it in.”

You nodded. After he took another drag from his cigarette, well and truly burning it to the filter, he kissed you again. This time, when you felt smoke fill your mouth, you fought off the urge to inhale. It almost tasted sweet beneath the bitter burn. You forced yourself to breathe out, the smoke pouring from between your connected mouths, but despite your best efforts you ended up inhaling a little anyway. You pulled away and coughed to clear your throat.

“Better?

You shook your head. “Not really,” you said sheepishly. “At least I know there’s one fantasy I don’t want to try again.

Boba extinguished the nub of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the mug he left on the floor. “You fantasized about this?”

“Well, duh.” You sunk down against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as he drew you close. “What else am I supposed to think about at work?”

It was a tease, mostly, but Boba pinched the soft skin of your thigh. “Naughty thing,” he admonished. “I pay you to fantasize, huh?”

“You occupy my thoughts even when I’m off the clock,” you admitted. As you shifted a bit in his lap, his erection pressed into your side, and you remembered another worktime fantasy and spoke before Boba had a chance to reply to your honesty. “Hey, you brought a whole pack with you, right?”

He huffed out a chuckle. “You trying to give me lung cancer?”

“No! No, no, just —” You squirmed. “Do you maybe want a blowjob? While you smoke?”

He answered you by reaching into his back pocket to pull out his lighter and cigarette carton. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“W-well, I mean, I thought you might like it. It’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy, right? A good blowjob and a smoke?” You eased yourself onto your knees before him as he lit up another cigarette, smoothing your hand over his broad thighs.

“Never considered it before,” he said as he began to undo his belt, “but I won’t say no.”

Your deft fingers helped undo the button on his jeans, and you pulled the waistband down just far enough to free his aching cock. “Oh, fuck ,” you breathed. He was big . Bigger than anyone else you’d taken, and you felt a phantom twinge of pain in your jaw just imagining him in your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Boba grinned down at you, his freshly-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he was big. He knew it, and he knew you liked it.

You wrapped your hand around him and almost moaned when you realized you were barely able to touch your thumb to your middle finger around his girth. “Holy fuck , Boba.” You had never wanted to suck a dick as badly as you did now, even if you were questioning how any of it would fit in your mouth. Would he even fit in your cunt? If things escalated to that point, would you be able to take him, or would he just split you in half?

You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and leaned in, pressing kisses up along his shaft. He smelled good , like musk, like Boba , the scent that you could never name. You parted your lips and dragged the tip of your tongue along his shaft, feather-light, stopping to take his leaking head into your mouth. He tasted salty on your tongue and you braced your hands on his thighs as you leaned in farther, relaxing your throat as his girth stretched you mouth impossibly wide. Already, it was almost too much, your jaw threatening to ache, and you worried you’d have to give him a handjob instead.

“‘Atta girl,” Boba praised, and oh if that didn’t make you feel like you could do anything . He ran a hand through your hair and settled a palm on the top of your head — not pulling, not pushing, but a comforting weight that held promise. Potential.

You pulled off his cock, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “You can be mean,” you breathed, cognizant of how his hand tightened in your hair. “It’s okay.”

Boba hummed low in his throat, as if he were considering it. “Some other time,” he promised. “You have to learn to take me. I can’t break you on the first day.”

His words made you whimper automatically with want as your brain immediately filled in the gaps. Boba exhaled a mouthful of smoke around his cigarette and applied a little pressure to the top of your head, encouraging you to bend down again. “C’mon, princess. Take me into your mouth.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could manage as you wrapped your lips around his cock again, sinking down on his length. Despite his size, you wanted to take him deep in your throat and feel his jeans rub against your chin. You tried to relax as much as possible as you sunk lower but he was just too much , and you ended up gagging audibly.

He gave a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you off his cock. “Go easy ,” he stressed. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Spit dribbled down your chin. “I want to take all of you,” you whined.

Boba’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb smearing your saliva across your lips. “Be patient. I’m not a small man.”

“You make it sound like I’ll get another chance to do this.”

“You will. If you want.” Ash fell from the end of his cigarette and onto the cushion below, but in that moment you couldn’t care less about your stupid couch. “I’d like to have fun with you again.”

You hid your grin behind kisses as you peppered them along his shaft. “Okay,” you finally said. “Okay, I’ll go easy.” Boba made it sound like you’d have all the time in the world later to train your throat to take his cock — and hopefully there’d be time to train other things, as well.

No longer focused on deepthroating his entire cock, you worked on fitting as much as you could comfortably handle into his mouth and settled into a rhythm as you sucked and licked. You stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand, aided smoothly by your excessive saliva that drooled down his length.

You took a chance to look up at Boba, and found him with his eyes closed, an arm thrown over the back of your couch. The cigarette bobbled in his mouth as he inhaled around it. “ There you go,” he murmured, smoke trailing from his lips. “Just like that. Easy.”

You swallowed around him and his hand tightened in your hair. The taste in your mouth grew saltier with each passing second as his precum leaked from the tip of his cock and mingled with your spit. Boba groaned above you, something guttural and almost primal , and you felt the ache between your own legs grow in response.

“Want my cum, princess?”

Grateful for the chance to give your aching jaw a break, you lifted from his cock and licked a broad stripe up from where your hand had been. “ Yes ,” you plead. “Yes, please, will you come in my mouth?”

“Gonna swallow me, huh?” At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned. “Good girl. My good girl. Scoot back.”

He moved to stand up from the couch and you realized at once what he intended to do as you shifted backwards, sitting pretty on your knees. He towered over you in this position and you couldn’t take your gaze away from him; at this angle, he seemed larger than life, intimidating and scary and huge , and the cherry-red of his cigarette burned brighter than ever.

Boba cupped your jaw in his hand, tugging at your bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” You whined and clutched at the fabric of his pants as you obediently parted your lips, moving your head so that the tip of his cock was pointed at your mouth.

He fisted his cock in one hand, jerking himself hard and fast, and with the other he gripped the back of your hair and held you in place. “Gonna come, princess. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You stretched your tongue out of your mouth as far as it would go, lips parted wide, and stared longingly up at him. Each of his exhales contained a mouthful of smoke, and it gave him the impression of standing in a translucent cloud, the tip of his cigarette standing out amongst the white.

He grunted something unintelligible and you felt something warm and thick land on your cheek. The next one hit your upper lip, and Boba drew you forward so that the head of his cock sat on the tip of your tongue. The rest of his cum landed hot and salty on your tastebuds.

Boba jerked himself from base to tip, coaxing out whatever droplets he could give you. “You look so good,” he murmured, voice husky. “Good girl. Swallow.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide after to show him. His thumb came up and helped guide the mess he left on your face into your waiting mouth, where you sucked his tongue clean each time.

“You did so well,” he praised, and even though your jaw ached and there was a dull throb between your legs, you beamed . You pressed your face into his clothed thigh and sighed happily as he rested a hand in your hair, stroking down the strands he’d mussed earlier. He took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes off into what you hoped was the mug.

A sort of quiet peace settled over you, and even though you were completely nude and it was late and you kind of wanted to invite Boba to stay the night (or forever), you were content to just sit there on your knees as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Besides. He told you there would be a next time — there was no reason to rush.

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #star wars #writing #this is extremely vanilla #i am surprised at how vanilla it is #i mean. theres some other stuff i would have written that wouldve immediately made it not vanilla #but no one ele would be into it but me #and i want my stuff to be read <3 #also i did say its a modern mob au but u can disregard that if u want #theres not like. any actual backstory or plot i just needed a way to have boba smoke actual cigarettes instead of Space Cigarettes #wtf is a death stick. its a cigarette #also i personally dont smoke so if any of the desc seem off like abt taste let me know LMAO im going off of second hand knowledge

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calypsoff3 · 2 years ago

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Six. Part 3

Chris is so angry, and I expected it but he can’t just take it out on Herb, he didn’t openly mean it. I can imagine he wasn’t paying attention until I said that “Chris, hey. Listen to me, I’m feeling the same too. Trust me, I am on the verge of tears, but I know what it’s like to be a teenager and admit to things like that, please. She’s already struggling in her own way and barking and being mad is not going to work, I beg you. We need to deal with this properly, and calm. After that you can beat anyone up” Chris licked his lips “sorry Herb, just my daughter you know. I will kill anyone that is touching my daughter, I won’t have that shit. Just be vigilant man, come on. You her uncle too, don’t be letting anything like that slide again, I’m serious” Herb nodded his head “sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just wasn’t thinking he would, he old, I don’t know” Chris sighed out “where is she?” He asked “she’s out with friends” I said “tell her to come home then” side eyeing him “Chris, you can’t do this. Please relax, this temperamental attitude is not it and it will upset her. I’m serious” Chris needs to relax because not only that she told me, she told this to me and I told Chris, I know she will know I did it because I tell Chris everything but still “I will be calm, but can you tell her to come home” shaking my head “she comes home when she wants too! And it will be soon so please” I know Chris wants to deal with it now, but we can’t scare her “I’ll tell her that you want to speak to her about things that happened in Barbados but please no shouting or getting mad, also we can then take her to one side and ask her because she is hiding more then she is letting on and I want to know, I can’t find out if you are hollering. She came to me Chris, she wanted to speak to me so if you start hollering and ruining the moment I won’t forgive you” Chris knows I am right “I promise I won’t” I breathed out “thank you, and Herb. Thank you for telling us, I know Chris likes to holler” Herb feels bad but he shouldn’t “I know but that’s my niece and I didn’t really react the way I should have, I’m sorry y’all I just didn’t think some nigga in our camp would do that, so for that I am very sorry” waving him off “don’t be, but honestly Herb, just look out for them” I just hope Chris can follow my lead because this is such a testing time for our daughters and then even speaking to me means a lot, I mean I couldn’t really even speak to my own mother because I felt ashamed like what happened was my fault but I don’t want that for them at all. I always want her to open up to me no matter the issue or what happened, my daughters think it’s funny but in real terms, these are predators.

Chris is so ready to go and beat Sinko up but he needs to relax “how you feeling?” Chris asked me, placing the plate down “erm, it’s uhm. Hard, I just want to do it right, because thinking on how I was, I wouldn’t ever tell my mom that you know, well yeah” scratching my head “I wouldn’t say it, I feel like we wasn’t really close to be speaking on that. But Rylee has said it” looking at the door, I don’t want her to be walking in “with her telling me about boys, I know I have that that opening to be there for her, and I don’t want to ruin it, I want to be there for her. As much as it gets to me, I’m ready to be breaking down but I’m thinking of my kids, I’m thinking of them, I want to protect them. Because if that ever happens to them, I couldn’t live with me” Chris nodded his head “I know this is going to take an effect on you, so I want you to be ok. You’re stressing out” I laughed “I am?” I said “I’ve literally watched you nibble on everything, left over cheese, what Raihan didn’t want. You’re stressing and cooking, eating. I am relaxed but you need too also” he has a point “what is the emergency dad?” Rylee walked in, she is texting and talking to us “you went out with Jean shorts?” Chris said, “they are mom’ I put a belt around them, I think mom has a bigger butt then me but yeah why?” I knew she wore that “you text me to come home?” Side eyeing Chris “go upstairs, change. Get your sisters and come down for me please” I said, she nodded her head and walked off “you text her?” I said “you let her wear your stuff!? I don’t like it” I huffed out “she asked, and I said yes, she always wears my stuff now Chris, they are clothing old to me” he shook his head “and I don’t like half of the things you wear” now he’s being spiteful “shut up, Chris let me handle it. Can you please just sit there and let me do it” he sighed out “I knew this would be stressful, man. I just can’t deal with daughters” he said “stop it, please” he wonders why I am eating; I can’t help it. I am stressing, I love my family, but we need to deal with this “and don’t speak on how I dressed, I think I dressed well thank you” Chris sniggered “mhmm” pulling a face at him, he can shut up right now.

Chris doesn’t even want to speak on the jail thing, he wants to go straight to Rylee, but he has too “nice of Rylee to hide her legs, we should all learn to wear big clothing. It’s so much better” Tianna laughed “that is not happening dad but continue” he shook his head “but we should look to do that but anyways, erm. I think it’s good we express our feelings, we should talk about them, and when I left Barbados, and I’ve heard from a certain Bajan that it upset y’all and you felt a type of way about it and I want to hear it really” I laughed, a certain Bajan, this nigga “I think it’s spiteful you left dad” Tianna spoke up “why?” Chris asked her “because mom was upset, then she had to deal with the monsters and that sucks for her. Then on the day everyone got at her that you wasn’t there, and we all felt it” oh they going to dig into him “I get it, but I left for my own mental state, you kids have a dad. A good one at that, I am here and always will be but me, pawpaw, that ain’t working anymore. He disrespected me in front of my kids, I felt ashamed. And there isn’t no hiding that I have a temper, I felt I would have acted a way. So I left; I spoke to my wife, we spoke through it and we are good, but I want to speak to you girls. And take on what you all think?” Looking at the girls “I missed you dad” Imani said, she is sweet “well it sucked you left but then we got our phones back, tantrums work” Rylee said, and Tianna laughed “no it’s funny” Chris mean mugged her “is everything a joke between y’all” Rylee shrugged “because you made me come back for this? Like it’s stupid, ok we get it. You’re sorry” looking at Chris “I want to also speak about why I went jail” they need to be nice, teenagers are assholes “I always thought mom liked thugs” my eyes widened “I did?” I said “you’re like me” Rylee grinned “or maybe you’re more like me but shut up and listen. Don’t call your dad a thug” I told her off “thanks” Chris said, these kids “what is a thug?” Imani asked “ignore your sisters, sorry Chris we are listening” both Tianna and Rylee laughed out “mom, you’re his biggest fan. Look at you sat to attention, have you seen her” they are draining “stop!” I said but I of course laughed because they are right.

Chris has patience, he thinks he can’t deal with daughters, but he can, he is so adorable “so I went jail, erm because of drugs. I was moving drugs for my cousin and yeah, he got me fucked up and I went to jail for five years. While being there he got me jumped, I got beat up there because it was either life in jail or five years if I told. And I thought of me, and if I didn’t then I wouldn’t be here, y’all wouldn’t exist either” he said, “so you snitched?” Tianna said, he nodded his head “oh, I’m glad you did then” she said, “so you went jail for that?” I hate that he did “that’s why they said he never made it; I could have been in football, basketball but I couldn’t, I went down. And I did it for money; my family was broke, I wanted better for them, but I went it the wrong way and that’s why I met your mom again so late, well I wasn’t actually going to go but I wanted to know if she remembered me” I grinned “but that’s it, that’s why I went to jail kids. Not my proudest moment but he mentioned it, and I felt I had to tell you. When I came out, I got jumped again. Nearly lost my life, your mom, she took care of me. It was interesting to see, it was so early on, and she came so quickly; from her tour and she took care of me but I knew, I knew she was the one. Everyone was saying leave him alone, but she didn’t, and I remember it all. I appreciate you” I blushed “they starting their love story again?” Rylee said, “yes we are, hype me up poppa” I spat, Chris laughed out “stop it but kids you got any questions?” He asked them “none whatsoever, can we go now?” Rylee asked, “they can, you can’t” I pointed “what!?” She spat “Rylee is in trouble, oh boy” Tianna said “I was going to do my homework” she is such a liar this daughter of mine “I need to speak to you” I said, Chris and I looked at each other “oh this is a ploy, why is it me” she spat, waiting for the other two to go.

I should take charge of this; I cannot let Chris do it because he will lose his temper “why do I need to be here?” Rylee asked, getting up from the couch “well, Rylee. What you told me about some guy talking to you, the older guy” her face dropped “mom, you haven’t told dad, please no” she said “Rylee I was concerned, I am sorry, but I don’t like that happened to you” she is going to hate me, I can tell already “mom that is not fair, you told dad. It wasn’t that serious” she spat “that is fine, Rylee none of this is your fault. Whatever happens is not on you, we just need to talk to you about it. I know you feel like you can’t get this person in trouble or that you don’t have people there for you, but I am here for you Rylee. I just need to know what happened” Rylee looks so concerned “I need to see your phone Rylee, I want you to unlock it and let me look” she gasped “it’s not that serious, oh my god” she is not liking it “we know it’s Sinko, he was speaking about you” Rylee look guilty, I don’t know why but she does “w-w-w- what? Why my phone? That’s crazy, that is invading my privacy” she defended “give the phone to your mom right now, she has asked you. Whatever shit you got on there I want to see!” Chris spoke up, it’s on her. She is not listening to me “no! I don’t want dad to look at it, no” she refused “Rylee, I need to see your phone. You’re hiding something now” this is not looking good at all “your mother asked! Give the motherfucking phone before I drag that fucking shit from you! I ain’t fucking playing with you Rylee!” Chris barged ahead shouting “give me your phone right now! What the fuck you hiding in that phone? We pay for your bill so that shit is ours! Now give it!" moving forward “leave it! She will give it; she will give it to me” I said “will she!? Clearly she isn’t” looking at her “Rylee” I said to her “just you mom, alone. Please mom” how can I not obey her tears “I see it too Robyn, don’t play this shit” Chris said, “let me see it, just please” I said to him “I want to see you give the phone to your mom right now!” he shouted at her “you’re hiding some fucking shit, my friend!? When I beat him!” holding my hand out “come” she could have just gave it up “please mom” she pleaded with me.

My daughter crying, Chris angry. I am between this now “dad didn’t need to shout at me” she sobbed out “he loses his temper, especially when he thinks you are hiding something, and he doesn’t like it. You were not listening; he is going to shout at you. He is angry at you but just listen to me and I can help you, but you need to help me Rylee. Once your dad stops hearing me then you on your own, so I need to see your phone, I need to know what is happening. I am not mad at you, I never said I was but I need to know to protect you” I hate to see her cry, but it’s nice to see them scared of their dad “I just, mom please. Don’t let dad see my phone” why is she being like this with her phone “then tell me what it is?” I asked “I have things on there, like stuff. That he may not like, and you” nodding my head “then let me see your phone, you rather me see it then your dad because if I don’t then he is going to drag that phone away from you. None of this is your fault, we are just scared for you, we want to protect you” she nodded her head “there is only so long I can hold him off, what has Sinko done?” she sniffled “just messages but it isn’t just him mom, there is other people, and I don’t want dad to see, please mom” she pleaded “ok, but what has been sent or whatever?” I asked “dick pictures, to me” the door opened “has she given the phone, I am not shouting now but I am ready to lose it” looking at Chris “please give us some space, I am talking to her. Just please” I said “one way or another I want that phone and after all that, I want you to have no phone, you bring that shit to me” Chris pointed, he is going to be on some shit now because of all this, this is stressing me.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

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🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends.

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter.

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

#btsghostie #bts scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts humor #e2l #kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bangtan #bts fanfic #the sleep deprived series

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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When the World is Free Chapter 6: I Just Can’t Find My Way Out

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Jamie was falling. Air was rushing past him and metal was clanging, deafening him. There was a blaring in his ears, a ringing in his head. His guts were in his throat, and he actually prayed that he would vomit for any semblance of relief.

It felt like it would never stop, and the blaring and ringing just kept getting louder, and the churning of his insides got more and more unbearable. It got to the point where he was begging for impact, begging for it to kill him, so he didn’t have to suffer any longer.

But then the ground was fast approaching, and he’d never been so terrified.

——

He woke with a start, just before he hit the ground.

“Jamie…?”

His pulse was racing, there was bile in his throat, every muscle in his body was tense.

And his back was on fire.

He began whimpering against his will. It hurt so unbelievably badly. He was burning.

“Jamie…it’s alright, I’m here.”

He knew he was awake, he knew the falling had been a dream, as it always was. He often relived the crash in his dreams and woke up before impact in Claire’s arms. But the pain he was feeling was real. The terror he felt at the thought of bleeding out in the middle of the woods was real.

He could not get enough air. His chest burned almost as much as his back. His breath heaved between clenched teeth. He was trembling.

“Jamie…are you awake? It’s alright, love, I’m here.”

He whimpered again, and it morphed into pitiful weeping. He did not even have the sense to be ashamed. He just wanted it to stop.

“Jamie, are you in pain?”

Yes. Help me. Help me, Sorcha. Save me.

He sputtered incoherently, the fire spreading wider over his back.

“Jamie…what can I do? Tell me how to help you.”

She gingerly touched his shoulder, turning him from his side to lay on his back.

He screamed in agony, unable to hold it back anymore. The noise was joined suddenly by Brianna’s crying.

“Jamie!” Claire was frightened, he could see it, hear it in her voice. “God, I’m sorry! What’s wrong?”

He recoiled from her, turning back on his side to face away from her.

“It…burns!”

“Your back? It hurts?”

He sobbed gutturally in response, and he felt the bed shift behind him, then heard Claire running around to the other side of the bed.

“Jamie, look at me.”

She knelt on the floor right in front of him.

“Look at my eyes, Jamie.”

He obeyed her, finding her eyes with his bloodshot ones.

“I’m going to take your hand. Is that alright?”

He ground his teeth, attempting to quiet his whimpering, and he nodded.

“Alright, my hand is coming to yours. There.”

He felt both of her hands close around the one that he was clenching his pillow with.

“You are awake, Jamie. I know it hurts, but it isn’t real. I am real. Can you feel me?”

She squeezed his hand between hers. It was warm, it was real.

“Breathe, Jamie. Let the air come in. It’s real.”

He obeyed, breathing sputtering breath after sputtering breath.

“Good…may I touch your face, Jamie?”

He blinked rapidly, and he nodded. She kept one hand on his and let the other trail to his face. Her hand was soft, and warm, and real.

“Do you feel me, Jamie?”

He nodded.

“I’m here. You’re awake. It’s over. You’re safe, you’re unharmed. It’s alright.”

He listened to the soothing tones of her voice, leaned into her touch. Gradually, the burning subsided to a dull ache, throbbing rhythmically.

“You’re alright,” she said again, leaning in closer, her breath dancing on his skin. “I’ve got you, love.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he closed his eyes, sighing.

He was suddenly aware that Brianna’s wailing had stopped, and he tensed, flicking his eyes in the direction of her cradle.

“She’s alright,” Claire said softly. “John came in and took her, you must not have noticed. He’s got her. Relax.”

His breathing slowly returned to normal under Claire’s touch. She stroked his arm, his cheeks, his hair, all while carefully avoiding his back. The throbbing continued, slowing gradually.

Jamie’s nightmares were nothing unusual. They’d been happening since he’d returned. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up screaming either, but this was the first time he’d done so with an infant in the room. He felt ashamed and pathetic; his wife shared a room with her husband and her near two-month-old daughter, and the husband was the one waking her up, and waking up the baby while he was at it.

For the first time, Jamie was grateful that John hadn’t moved out yet.

After Brianna was born, Claire was beyond exhausted, alternating between sleeping and feeding constantly. She needed all the help she could get with nappy changes, cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping, and were Jamie a working man at that time, he wouldn’t have been able to help. He was begrudgingly glad that John could go out and earn money for their living while Jamie took care of his wife and child.

Well…she still wasn’t his wife.

Claire had reasoned that they would not be able to afford the divorce lawyer until Jamie had a steady income as well, and she had also reminded him how much help John was in terms of Brianna.

“And besides, it’s nearly Christmas. What are you planning to say to him? ‘Merry Christmas, get out of my home’?”

Claire had been quite smug when she’d said it, but Jamie had to admit she’d had a point.

And now, Claire was taking care of him, and John was taking care of the baby.

Christ, he felt useless. Even though he’d found a job, working at John’s office, he still felt useless.

After a while, Claire got back into bed behind Jamie.

“I’m going to touch your back now. Is that alright?”

“No,” he said reflexively.

“It’s alright, Jamie, you’ve healed. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you trust me?”

“Aye…I do.”

“Alright. Here come my hands.”

Jamie braced for impact, his muscles tensing and his eyes squeezing shut, but all he felt was two small hands on his body, and then lips pressing between the hands.

It’s gone.

He sighed heavily in relief, leaning greedily into her touch.

“That’s right. It’s alright.”

He slowly turned around, laying on his back and turning his head to look at her.

“There you go.”

He sighed again, reaching up for her. She obliged him, allowing him to pull her against his chest and hold onto her for dear life.

“I’m…I’m sorry, mo ghraidh.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She tightened her grip on him, kissing his chest.

“I ken how little sleep ye get wi’ the bairn, and I’m only making it worse.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she insisted. “I just wish I could help you. I hate seeing you in such pain.”

“I dinna understand it…I ken I’m safe, I ken it’s over…but my mind…”

“Shh…” She reached up to stroke his jaw, caress his cheek. “Trying to understand it will make you mad.”

“I feel like I am mad.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly, leaning on her hand so she could look him in the eye. “You are not the only soldier with shell shock. You went through something horrific. Your mind knows you’re safe, but your body is trying to catch up. And I will be here until it does, and long after.”

“I dinna deserve ye.”

“Nonsense.” Claire leaned down and kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Soldier.”

“I love you too.”

A small cry broke them apart, and Claire sat up.

“See? She would've needed a feeding soon anyway.” She flashed Jamie a smile before getting out of bed and going into the living room, returning with Brianna after a few seconds.

“Oh…I know, I know,” Claire crooned, making her way to the rocking chair.

“Claire.”

She paused, looking up at him.

“Feed her here, wi’ me.” He sat up, adjusting pillows so that Claire could sit up and lean against him comfortably while Brianna fed.

Claire smiled, making her way back to bed. She sighed as she settled in Jamie’s arms, and Brianna latched on immediately as Claire exposed her breast.

“I could watch ye do this every second fer the rest of my life,” Jamie whispered. “Give our child life like this. It’s beautiful.”

Claire smiled, but then she snorted. “Are you sure it isn’t just because you like my breasts this size?”

“Och!” Jamie pinched her arm, being that her arse was currently unavailable to him. “I didna say that wasna part of it, but that’s no’ why. And ye ken it.”

Claire laughed, putting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Jamie kissed the crown of her head, his eyes not leaving Brianna.

“Have I told ye lately how much I love ye, m’annsachd?” He rested his cheek on Claire’s head, stroking Brianna’s hair.

“Perhaps not in the last hour,” Claire answered, and Jamie heard the smile in her voice. “It still never feels like it’s enough, does it?”

“No, it doesna.”

“We love you, baby girl,” Claire whispered. “With all our hearts.”

“Aye, and we always will.”

——

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Jamie?” Claire asked for perhaps the tenth time that morning. Brianna cooed from her small wooden playpen on the floor as if in agreement, and Jamie did not miss the smile that John flashed in her direction.

“I dinna ken how else to say it, Sassenach,” Jamie said, agitated. “I’m no’ made of glass. I’m bloody fine.”

He was standing in the doorway in nothing but his trousers, feet and chest bare. He made his way to the icebox for something to eat.

“All I meant was that you hardly got any sleep last night,” she tried again, gently. Her voice floated closer until she was standing in the doorway, holding her robe closed against the chill.

“I’m no’ calling in sick my first day because I had a wee nightmare,” Jamie said, popping cheese into his mouth. He rationally knew that it had been much more than a wee nightmare, but in the light of day, remembering that he’d literally thought himself on fire while fully awake was nothing short of embarrassing.

“It wouldn’t be calling in sick. You’d just be delaying it another day. They wouldn’t mind, would they, John?”

Jamie smushed an entire slice of bread into his mouth, and was barely able to stifle the groan that bubbled up in his chest. John’s head popped up from the pan he was working at to turn and look at Claire.

“Ehm, well, no, I don’t think so. If you’re not feeling well — ”

“I’m fine.”

John jumped a little, and Jamie almost felt sorry.

John had ended up securing Jamie a job at his architecture firm; not as an architect, but something to do with bookkeeping. He’d been reluctant to accept a position he’d felt would be so stifling, though he’d tried to hide it from Claire (without much success). But Claire had assured him it was only temporary until they could move into the country or even back to the Highlands, where he could work in nature or with animals again. Jamie had tried to persuade Claire to just move back to Lallybroch with him, but she’d been adamant about not being ready to face his family yet. Not to mention she did not want to travel in the bitter cold with an infant, which he’d immediately agreed with.

He could spare a few months of discomfort to keep his child safe and healthy, even if said health and safety were maintained in a stuffy London flat.

Jamie knew he should be grateful for that stuffy London flat. It had kept a roof over his wee family’s head when he was unable. And he knew that it only had done so because John had seen to it.

Jamie knew that he meant no harm. After the moments they’d shared the day Brianna was born, Jamie could accept that any pain caused was not deliberate, that everything that had happened had been set on course with the best of intentions. Brute though he may be, Jamie was not brute enough to hold ill will against a man who he’d seen openly weep when cradling Jamie’s child, a man who’d gone to the ends of the earth to ensure Claire’s safety and comfort. A man who’d kept his promise, and then some.

No, it was impossible to bear any ill will.

And yet, though his mind knew this, his body could not be stopped from snapping at him, snarling, even growling. He’d be seized at once by images of Claire astride John, John’s fingers digging into her flesh, or John’s lips kissing the swell of her belly, and he’d go blind with rage.

He knew it was unfair.

But there was something broiling within him that was ready to explode, and he could not find a way to stop it from coming. He felt powerless to determine his own actions, like his soul was trapped in a shell of hatred and cold indifference.

“Oh! Look at you!”

Jamie snapped out of his reverie, realizing a little too late that he had completely crushed a second piece of white bread beyond recognition in his trembling, white-knuckled fist.

“You clever girl!”

Jamie felt the tension rolling away from his shoulders, and his fingers unconsciously unfurled around the lump of squished bread, letting it fall to the counter unceremoniously. Claire’s unbridled joy was music to his ears, and he was drawn to it before he even told his body to move. When he crossed the threshold into the living room, Claire was holding Brianna over her head, positively beaming at her. Brianna’s thumb was stuck in her mouth, apparently unfazed by whatever she’d done to make her mother so giddy. Jamie’s heart melted, and he took a few eager steps into the room.

“What’s she done?”

“She turned over!” Claire exclaimed, turning her radiant face to Jamie and bringing the baby back against her chest.

Her smile and her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen the sun, and he instantly fell more in love with her than he’d been just two minutes ago.

“All by herself,” Claire went on, cooing into Brianna’s red wisps, patting her soft bottom.

“Did she now?” Jamie said, closing the distance between them. “Is it no’ a bit early for her to be doing that?”

“Doctor Spock said she shouldn’t be doing it for at least another month,” Claire said with a soft laugh.

“Och, what does Doctor Spock know?” Jamie reached for her and Claire obliged. “Ah, come here, lass. Such a braw wee thing.” He tenderly kissed her nose, and her pudgy hand clumsily swatted at his chin, eliciting laughter from Claire and himself. Jamie held her securely in one arm, holding her wee hand in place with his free hand, and he gently kissed the very center of her palm. His eyes flicked from the top of Brianna’s head to see Claire staring at him with nothing short of adoration, pressing her hand into his bare chest. He smiled back at her from behind Brianna’s tiny fingers sprawled over his lips, and the little heathen took this as a cue to stick them between, pulling at his bottom lip.

Claire laughed again, tutting and shaking her head as she pried Brianna’s fingers from his mouth. “Be nice to Da, lovie,” she crooned, kissing the back of her hand, then her head, and then leaning up to kiss Jamie.

“Every day I think my heart canna possibly get any bigger,” Jamie whispered. “And then I hold my lasses in my arms again and I’m proven wrong again and again.”

“I feel the same way,” she answered, nuzzling his nose with hers. Brianna abruptly turned her head, smooshing her face against Claire’s, and both her parents chuckled again.

“I am alright, Claire,” Jamie said, looking into her eyes. “I ken it looks like I’m being haunted; perhaps I am. That’s certainly what it feels like. But yer sweet faces…both of ye. Ye bring me back to life, slowly but surely.”

Claire nodded, understanding. “I love you.”

“Aye. I love you, too.”

Brianna began fussing, and the moment was gone. Jamie began bouncing her lightly, patting her bottom and walking around.

“Sit down, mo ghraidh. Ye’ll be alone wi’ her all day. Let me tend to her.”

“You need to put on a shirt, Jamie,” Claire chided even as she plopped onto the couch gratefully.

“I’ll bide. No’ time to go yet.” He crossed back into the kitchen, still bouncing Brianna.

“Would you quit rifling through the icebox?” Claire’s voice stopped him cold while he was reaching for the handle. “You know full well John is cooking. And it’s meant for all of us.”

Jamie glowered at John, and then he had to put conscious effort into not thinking about how ridiculous he must have looked wearing such a face while he bounced like a fool.

“I’ve put on extra bacon,” John said, indicating the smaller pan, the larger one holding the eggs. “So Claire won’t get up in arms about you stealing hers.”

Jamie hmphed, opening the icebox anyway and popping more cheese into his mouth.

“Stubborn Scottish arse,” he heard Claire mutter. He rolled his eyes, but then was met with a soft chuckle from the stove, and he scowled at John again.

“Forgive me,” John said quickly, though Jamie was certain he wasn’t at all very sorry.

He felt very much like he was being ganged up on by this pair of sassenachs, and that perhaps the near-to-whistling tea kettle would join the ranks next.

“Here.” John moved the pans off the burners. “Everything is done. Let me have her so you can finish getting dressed.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at him.

“Come on, man. We don’t have all day.”

Jamie hmphed again before relinquishing his daughter to John, and he deliberately told himself to not think about how their hands lingered together in the exchange.

He continued to tell himself not to think about it as he buttoned his shirt, tucked it in, put on a belt and a tie, and grabbed a jacket to throw over later. He heard laughter coming from the kitchen as he departed the bedroom, and yet another fire lit behind his eyes, steaming out his ears, and propelling him to move faster to join them.

He stopped dead in his tracks, then, to see John and Claire facing one another in their chairs, John cradling Brianna in his arms as Claire gave her nose a little tap, causing her to swat blindly at her mother’s fingers and toss her head back and forth.

“Stop tormenting her,” John chastised, though his smile did not fade. “She’ll grow to resent you.”

“Oh…you wouldn’t, would you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t see how she could,” John relented, beaming down at the baby and then up at Claire.

Jamie almost jumped when John’s eyes landed on him, and he didn’t realize why until Claire turned around and John uncomfortably cleared his throat.

He hadn’t wanted it to end.

It was like watching a beautiful family that he was not a part of, touched by their familiarity, their warmth.

Except that was his family.

He shook his head.

He’s no’ yer family, man. He’s a friend, a friend who is leaving.

Jamie reluctantly sat down next to Claire, wordlessly shoveling eggs onto his plate.

“Here, I’ll — ”

“No, I’ve got her.” John stood up, encouraged Claire to keep eating, and then disappeared to put Brianna in her cradle.

Claire swallowed and stared at her food for a moment before turning her face up toward Jamie, offering a tiny smile.

“He made extra bacon today,” she said softly, pushing the plate toward him gently.

“Aye,” Jamie muttered, stabbing several pieces at once with his fork and depositing them on his plate. “I ken.”

——

Jamie woke with a start, his pulse racing. He’d been falling again, waking up just in time before hitting the ground. He waited in terror for the burning in his back to start, but it didn’t come. He turned over, desperate to see her, to feel her, her warmth, her realness. To ground himself before any delusions began.

Moonlight illuminated her face, and it calmed his heart. He tenderly brushed a curl away from her face and kissed her temple before reluctantly extricating himself from her nuzzling grip and pulling the blankets back. Best not to wake her with this one since it seemed to already be over. It had been over a week since the last one where he’d woken up on fire; perhaps Claire could sleep easier thinking that they were ceasing all together.

Jamie pulled the blankets up to Claire’s chin, knowing that she’d be cold without him next to her, and then he made his way to Brianna’s cradle. He needed to feel her next, her tiny softness and warmth, the realness of her featherlight weight, the unconditional trust that he had in her, knowing none of his demons or shortcomings. He needed that.

But when he reached the cradle, it was empty.

Jamie sighed, knowing exactly where she was. He crept silently to the bedroom door, slipping through and shutting it behind him. He was right, of course; John was sitting in the armchair beside the illuminated lamp, holding the sleeping baby, his makeshift bed set-up on the couch abandoned for now.

He was just…watching her. He was not speaking, or rocking. He was just holding her close to his chest, watching her sleep. Jamie almost felt guilty when John looked up, having heard the door shut.

“I, uh…” he said uneasily. “Sometimes I do this. Just hold her close and watch her sleep.”

“Aye,” Jamie said gruffly. “So do I.”

“Could you not sleep?” John said gently. “Another dream?”

“Aye.” Jamie lingered uncomfortably in the doorway, tempted to just disappear back into the bedroom and bury his face in Claire’s hair until his mind was blank.

“Did you…?” John stood up carefully, taking a few steps toward Jamie, clearly meaning to give Brianna to him.

“Nah, it’s…it’s alright,” Jamie said, crossing his arms uncomfortably over his bare chest. “Could ye…could ye no’ sleep either?”

“Not quite,” John said. “I’ve got…a lot of thoughts racing in my mind.”

“Like what?” Jamie challenged.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t?” Another challenge. Jamie unfolded his arms and took a few steps into the room. “Try me.”

John blanched, gulping. “Well, it…” He cleared his throat. “I…have no idea what I’m doing, Jamie.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“I mean I have no idea what I’m doing here. With you, and Claire. And Brianna.” He seemed at a loss.

“I dinna ken either, man,” Jamie said, more unkindly than he’d meant it.

John sighed, adjusting Brianna’s weight in his arms. “Surely you understand how it feels to be lost?”

“Aye…I do,” Jamie’s voice softened, tinged with pain.

“I’m completely and utterly lost…” John’s eyes left Jamie, and wandered down to look at Brianna. “But then there are these…moments of clarity.” He stroked her cheek, and Jamie’s chest tightened with what he was nearly certain was possessive jealousy. Nearly certain.

“Do you know why I watch her sleep?” John said, his voice hardly above a whisper as he stared into her face. “Because I…I’m so afraid that I’ll…forget…”

His voice trailed off, and Jamie’s brow furrowed with concern, not understanding. John sighed again, finally looking back up at Jamie.

“I know I’m not her father, Jamie. When you were gone, it was all I could think about, raising this child that wasn’t my own. But I was bound by honor to her, the same way Claire is bound by honor to me. I made promises to Claire, because of the promises I made to you. I wasn’t at all sure how it would be between the three of us. To…to father a child that I didn’t sire. But then I…I felt her moving…inside. And when I felt her little foot against my palm…I fell in love.” He looked into Brianna’s face, and Jamie could not deny that the man was speaking true. “And seeing her now…that love is stronger than ever.”

Jamie’s insides roiled, his heart palpitating. Why couldn't he breathe…?

“If you want me to go, Jamie, just say the word and I will. I can use this red hair to cry adultery, and the divorce would be all too easy.” John’s voice quavered, as if it would not at all be easy. “You need never see me or hear from me again, and Brianna need never know that any of this ever happened. But…and forgive me for presuming to know her heart better than you do…but I don’t think Claire would ever forgive you.”

He crossed the room and transferred the tiny bundle into Jamie’s arms, a purposeful look in his eye. “And it would break my damned heart.”

Brianna fussed a bit, and Jamie tore his eyes away from John’s pained gaze to look at his daughter, bouncing her a bit.

“It’s alright, love,” John whispered, stroking a long, gentle finger over the baby’s cheek.

A switch flipped in Jamie’s heart at the sound of John’s words whispered lovingly to his child, at the sight of his tender, soothing touch to her cheek.

It was beautiful.

Jamie was unable to stop himself from gripping the back of John’s head and turning his face up so he could press their lips together. It felt the same and yet so different than the last time they had done this. So very much had changed…and yet so much was the same.

Jamie pulled away when he felt John’s tears slipping onto his cheeks.

“I dinna want ye to go,” Jamie whispered hoarsely, nuzzling his nose against John’s.

Claire would never forgive him…and he’d never forgive himself either.

Brianna fussed again, disrupting whatever moment had bloomed between them.

“D’ye…suppose she’s hungry?” Jamie said, partly to break the tension and partly because he had no idea if the bairn needed something he could not provide.

“Perhaps.” They both looked down and tried to soothe her, but to no avail.

“I’ll take her to Claire,” Jamie said reluctantly, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was to disturb her sleep. He turned to go to the bedroom, but stopped. He turned back around, feeling very much like a dog with his tail between his legs. “Ye’ll…wait here, then? Ye won’t leave?”

John’s face morphed through a wide range of emotions without saying anything, and then he nodded, swiping at the tears that still lingered on his cheeks. “I won’t leave.”

Jamie nodded gratefully, his heart twisting and his stomach churning, and then finished his journey to the bedroom just as Brianna started squalling in earnest.

When he opened the door and crept into the dark room, Claire was already sitting up with the lamp on, squinting her still sleepy eyes at him, likely having heard Brianna’s cries. She lowered her nightgown and reached her arms for the baby, leaning back into the pillows with a contented sigh as she latched on to nurse.

“Can I…tell ye something, Claire?” Jamie said, his pulse quickening as he sat on down on the bed beside Claire.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes not leaving the suckling bairn at her breast.

“I kissed John again.”

Her head whipped up, her stroking finger freezing on Brianna’s cheek.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Ehm…when?”

“Jest now. Before I came back in,” Jamie had thought it would take quite a bit more prodding from Claire and quite a bit more time, but he found himself blurting it out like a sprung leak in a dam. “Bairn in my arms and all…I jest…leaned in and kissed him.”

“Are you…alright?”

Jamie nodded. “He was…saying that he’d leave us. If I wished it.”

He saw Claire visibly stiffen at that, and immediately it confirmed that John’s words rang true.

“The only thing I thought to do was…kiss him.”

“So you don’t want him to go.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew it to be true.

“No…I don’t.”

A few tense moments of silence passed, the only sounds to be heard Jamie’s heavy breathing and Brianna’s tiny snuffling as she greedily fed at Claire’s breast.

“I dinna understand it,” Jamie finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m no’…I’m no’ like him, Claire. Not that I judge him, mind, but…I love you, and yer body…every part of ye.” His fingers absently trailed over the swell of her breast, half covered by Brianna’s little head.

“Perhaps you…desire both. Women’s bodies as well as men’s,” Claire said gently. “It’s not impossible.”

“But I…I’ve never had those…inclinations before. No’ like John.”

“I didn’t bed a man until I was sixteen,” Claire shrugged. “I didn’t really know until then that I would enjoy it.”

Jamie’s brow twitched at the mention of Claire bedding any other man, and then it fully furrowed, remembering that she’d bedded the man he’d just given his lips to.

“Christ,” he hissed in frustration. “This is a right mess.”

Claire sighed, and then winced as Brianna gave a particularly hard tug. “It is…confusing. I’m not at all sure how to approach the situation.”

“D’ye have to…approach it?”

Claire scoffed. “What would you have us do? Just ignore the fact that he’s still in love with you, and ignore that you feel desire to return his affections?”

Jamie averted his eyes. “Aye. I was hoping we could.”

“Christ,” Claire sighed with exasperation. “How many babies am I taking care of?”

Jamie glowered at her, apparently proving her point.

“Answer me this, Jamie. Who are you most jealous of?”

“What?”

“When you think of John and I in bed, who are you most jealous of?”

Jamie’s face turned red, and heat rushed to his cock at the mere suggestion.

Jesus…she kens exactly how to get the truth out of me.

“I…I couldna say. It’s as if I…I want tae…tae share ye both. Wi’ each other.”

Brianna fell away from Claire’s breast, and Claire sighed heavily, heaving herself out of bed to walk around the room with her so she could burp. Jamie felt himself burning with shame at his admission, and he tried to calm himself by counting Claire’s footsteps, tapping his finger on his thigh in time with her gentle patting of their baby’s back.

“You don’t need to feel ashamed, Jamie,” Claire said softly, and her voice floated on the surface of his subconscious, keeping him from passing out. “Because I…I feel almost the same.”

His blood ran cold, and he whipped his head up to look at her.

“I don’t want to give either of you up,” she said softly. Brianna finally burped, and Claire sighed with relief, smiling in spite of the turmoil that Jamie could see forming between her brows.

“There you go,” she crooned, moving the baby off her shoulder and cradling her lovingly. “All ready for bed now, darling.” Claire exhaled heavily as she sat in the chair beside Brianna’s cradle, facing Jamie on the bed.

“What exactly are ye saying, Sassenach?”

“I know how it sounds, but it’s no crazier than anything you’ve told me,” Claire said, preemptively protecting herself from any oncoming jealous rage. “You know that you are the love of my life, Jamie. You know that my love for you knows no bounds. Don’t you? You know that?”

Jamie’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, but he nodded. “Aye. I ken that.”

“And I know it’s the same for you to me,” she said. “What you and I share is…is deeper than something…usual. But John is…I don’t know. I feel such…tenderness for him. I can’t explain it. I think of him touching my belly when Brianna was inside and I…my heart feels fit to burst.” Jamie looked up to see the wee lass in question was just about asleep in her mother’s arms.

“I think of him holding me as I cried for you all those months, and…yes, I think about our…sexual experiences together. Even though we never truly had sex after that one horrible night…we do have very intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies. And I think of you, so terribly alone during the war, with no one but him to comfort you. I trusted him with you the same way you trusted him with me, really.” She looked down at Brianna and ran a finger down her face, stopping at her little button nose. She stood up and placed Brianna in the cradle despite her tiny protests, then sat back down and rocked the cradle to quiet her again.

“It’s not the same kind of love I have for you Jamie, not at all,” she went on. “But…I do love him quite dearly. More than I should as his companion.”

Jamie nodded. It was not often at all that Claire had the words that Jamie lacked. She was never able to express her thoughts as easily as Jamie, and she often sat back and listened to him ramble away the workings of his own mind, or even deciphering the workings of Claire’s own mind just by watching her face change in silence. So for Claire to sit there and put to words exactly what was churning in his muddled brain was quite astonishing to him.

Claire took her hand off the cradle, seeing as Brianna had finally quieted, and she settled her hands in her lap.

“What are you thinking, Jamie?”

He looked up at her; his face was still burning red, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact as he said:

“I’m thinking that ye understand how I’m feeling a great deal more than I ever hoped ye could.”

——

John was collapsed on the couch, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

What the bloody hell had just happened?

It wasn’t possible. Jamie couldn’t possibly. All these months of rage and hostility after John had coveted his love…it was impossible. Yes, he’d kissed him before. But before, the possibility that one or both of them may die was very real. Jamie was being kind, expressing gratitude for his promise to look after Claire.

Being “kind” by kissing you on the mouth?

It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t. Well, it had meant the world to John, of course it had. It was the first time his heart and soul had truly come alive in his entire life. But for Jamie? It was…pity. A last rites of sorts, for either one or both of them.

But this?

For the second time, Jamie had initiated a kiss. John would never dream of doing such a thing, would never dream of forcing himself on a man that did not share his predilections. A man who loved a woman.

And yes, he loved Claire. God, John knew it. Whatever this kiss meant, it could not mean that Jamie ceased to have feelings for Claire. That was truly impossible.

So then…what could it mean…?

Jamie was likely in there telling Claire right this moment. He’d told her about the last time. Obviously she hadn’t minded, but circumstances had been different. What was she saying now? Would she throw John out now for coveting her husband? Would she finally understand how Jamie felt all these months and agree it was time for him to go?

God…he couldn’t bear it.

Just when he thought he might faint, the door to the bedroom opened. Claire. John opened his mouth to stammer apologies, to blame himself entirely, but then Jamie followed behind her, shutting the door. He didn’t know what to think. Claire smiled weakly, crossing the room to sit beside John on the couch. She looked behind her at Jamie, giving him some look that prompted him to hmph and make his way to sit on the other side of her. John fumbled with the pillows he’d been sleeping with, tossing them onto the floor to make more room on the couch.

“Claire…I…”

“We want to talk to you about something,” she interrupted. “Something that’s weighing heavily on us, and I think on you, too.”

John’s throat went dry, but he snapped his mouth shut and nodded mutely.

“This…isn’t the first time that Jamie has been…romantic with you,” she began. “And you know, I…I’ve never been the least bit jealous. Perhaps at first, the first time, but after that, I was more…curious. Than anything else.”

John felt bewildered, and his face must have shown it.

“I was intrigued by the idea…that he could love me with all his heart and still be…drawn to you that way,” she explained. “I couldn’t understand it. But now…”

John’s stomach flipped.

“I find myself…missing you.” Her hand covered his clammy one, resting on the couch cushion. “And I…I can’t make any sense of it. Because getting Jamie back is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But I…I can’t help the way I feel. And I…I miss…” Her hand lingered mid-air, as if she meant to cup his cheek, but stopped. Her voice trailed off, and she returned her hand to her lap, keeping the other on John’s.

“So I…understand now, I suppose,” she finished quietly. “Because I love Jamie with all my heart, but I…I’m drawn to you, John.”

Her eyes were hooded. John’s mouth flapped uselessly, staring in awe between the couple. He expected to see rage in Jamie, that same fire he’d seen all these months, but he was met with a fire of a different kind.

“I…I am too, John,” he whispered, barely audible. “I canna…canna explain it. Ye…ye set me ablaze, man.”

Claire exhaled with a shudder, and John’s chest felt tight.

“I…I don’t…know what to say…” he stammered, hardly any air in his lungs.

“You don’t have to,” Claire said. “Just…” She swallowed, taking a breath. “I know that I’m…not what you want. And that’s alright. I just…” She looked back at Jamie, whose veins were now throbbing in his temples. “Will you let me…be here?”

It took John a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “Be here…? For…?”

“I want to see it.”

“I beg your pardon?” John stammered.

“I want to see you kiss,” she repeated, rather detached, almost as if speaking of something medical and scientific.

John blinked dumbly at her like she had two heads, then turned to Jamie, expecting to see his own bewilderment mirrored back at him. Instead, he almost jumped out of his skin at the intensity of the gaze he was met with. Jamie was practically staring directly into his soul.

“D’ye want me, man? Or no’?”

John’s jaw fell slack, his mouth went dry.

“Go on, darling,” Claire crooned, reaching out to stroke John’s cheek in encouragement.

Do I want him? Of fucking course I do.

It was madness. What they were about to do was complete bloody madness.

But as Claire slowly guided his face closer to Jamie’s he didn’t give a damn.

John was unable to stop himself from fiercely gripping Jamie’s face and kissing him, hard. It was no less urgent than any of the previous kisses they had shared, but this time, there was fire. Jamie was still for a moment, not moving hands or lips as he hadn’t the other times. But then John moved his mouth over Jamie’s again, probing his lips with his tongue, and something ignited within Jamie.

In an instant, Jamie was kissing him back, threading his hands in John’s hair, thrusting his tongue against John’s. A gasp floated on the surface of John’s subconscious, a sound John knew had come from Claire. His cock was hard as rock, every inch of his skin felt lit afire. Jamie bloody Fraser was kissing him. And he meant it.

Overcome with either lust, love, or both, John trailed his lips down Jamie’s face until he latched onto his neck, and the grunts and growls that John’s ears were filled with were music to his ears. To bring Jamie pleasure, to be allowed to do so…it was beyond anything he had ever dreamed. Jamie’s shirt was moving beneath him, and it didn’t take long for John to realize that Claire was pulling it over his head for him. John moaned in appreciation of Jamie’s beautifully sculpted body and began greedily devouring every inch of his exposed torso. John heard whimpering and suckling above his head, and one quick glance upward revealed to him that Claire and Jamie were kissing madly, thrusting tongues in and out and twisting their heads.

John ran his tongue all over the lines of Jamie’s muscles, then watched in fascination as Claire’s hand traveled down Jamie’s chest as well. Her hand stopped over his left nipple, and Jamie cried out into her mouth as she pinched it, hard. John took the hint and moved his mouth to Jamie’s right nipple, sucking hard and flicking rapidly with his tongue.

“Do you like it, Jamie?” John heard Claire breathe out. “Do you like it when John does that just like I do?”

John’s cock hardened even further. To answer Claire, Jamie seized John’s face between his enormous hands and dragged him back up to kiss him savagely. Claire moaned loudly despite the fact that she was the only one left untouched; the sight alone was seemingly enough for her. Jamie began reciprocating John’s attentions, tugging impatiently on John’s shirt until it was over his head. Claire moaned again, and John’s breath caught in his throat to see that her nightgown was rucked up over her hips, her fingers moving in circles over herself. Before he could contemplate this, Jamie’s teeth latched firmly onto his neck, and he cried out in shocked arousal. He could not stop the pathetic keening from his own mouth as Jamie moved his lips and tongue all over his neck and chest, paying equal attention to both of John’s nipples as John had done for him.

Suddenly, Jamie choked out a moan, and John opened his eyes to see that Claire had a firm grip on Jamie’s cock over his trousers. John truly thought he might faint; he was perhaps seconds away from laying eyes on Jamie’s manhood.

Dear God in Heaven.

Claire’s other hand had not left herself, and Jamie was quickly losing patience with his trousers. He practically forced Claire’s hand under the waistband, and she pulled him free, fisting him tightly. John could not say whose groan was louder: Jamie’s at the contact of Claire’s hand, or John at the sight of him. Claire began pumping him slowly, and Jamie moved his mouth back up to John’s, kissing him even more sloppily than before. Teeth clashed, tongues and lips were bitten. John very suddenly felt electricity shoot through him that took him a moment to pinpoint where it started.

Claire had sprung his cock free as well, and she was now stroking them both, one in each hand.

John and Jamie both were now crying out, grunting into each other’s mouths. Claire occasionally dipped her head to kiss, lick, or bite at Jamie’s neck, and sometimes Jamie’s mouth left John’s to kiss Claire on the mouth. John watched them kiss, his hips unconsciously thrusting into Claire’s hand, and then she pulled away from Jamie and looked at him.

“Do you want to kiss me, John?” she said breathlessly.

In her eyes, he saw the rest of what she wanted to say: you don’t have to.

She knew that perhaps this was a moment that she was privy to witness and help Jamie with, but not necessarily to participate in herself. She knew that perhaps John would draw that boundary.

She was a woman after all.

But, God, the pink flush to her cheeks, her neck, the swollen plumpness of her lips, the wild look in her eyes…

“God, yes.”

Claire groaned loudly as John seized her face in his hands and kissed her hungrily. As he did, she tightened her grip on his cock and sped her pace. He was dangerously close to climax now, and became all the more so when he latched his teeth onto Claire’s neck, and she gasped out:

“Oh, John!”

The muscles in his stomach clenched, his balls grew tight, and then suddenly, everything stopped, and he stopped kissing Claire, looking down frantically. Jamie’s hand had wrapped around her wrist.

For a moment, the only sound was panting from all three of them. John stared at Jamie, who stared at Claire, who stared back at Jamie.

“Let me,” Jamie said, breaking the silence.

“God in Heaven,” John groaned.

Claire’s hand left both of their cocks, and she breathed raggedly as Jamie moved closer to John. John hissed loudly when Jamie’s warm, large hand closed around him.

“Jamie…” he panted. “God, Jamie…”

“Aye, man.” Jamie gave an experimental stroke, having never done this to anyone but himself. “Let me hear ye.”

John pressed his forehead into Jamie’s, his lips parted, his jaw slack, moaning without restraint.

“It feels…like heaven, Jamie…”

Jamie growled possessively and claimed John’s lips, increasing his pace. John knew he would not last long like this, not when he’d dreamed of Jamie’s hand around him for years.

Jamie pulled his lips away from John’s and burned his eyes into his.

“Kiss her, John. Kiss our woman while ye fuck my hand.”

Our woman.

Claire made a sound between a moan and a sigh of relief as she grabbed John’s face and kissed him soundly. Jamie buried his face in the crook of John’s neck as he began pumping him furiously, and John threaded the fingers of one hand into Jamie’s hair, and the other into Claire’s at the nape of her neck.

John’s entire body seized up, and he choked out a gasp against Claire’s lips, then nearly screamed as Jamie’s lips latched onto his neck. He shot his seed onto his stomach, keening like a woman as Jamie stroked out every last drop, running his tongue over the bite marks he’d left, and as Claire swallowed the sounds he made.

It took him several seconds to recover, but he was surrounded by Jamie and Claire all the while, Jamie’s hand cupping his softening cock and balls and absently stroking his back, Claire stroking his face and kissing him sweetly.

“Are you alright?” she whispered after John had more or less caught his breath.

“I’m…more alright than I’ve been in years,” he panted, and Claire smiled shyly.

“Jamie?” Claire said.

“Are you…are you alright, love?”

It slipped out; John hadn’t meant to say it. Not to him. Not now.

Jamie unthreaded himself from John and sat up on his knees, facing him.

“I’m alright, John.” He firmly gripped John’s thigh. “I’m…happy to have…given ye that.”

Claire smiled tenderly and kissed Jamie’s cheek.

Neither of them seemed to mind John’s near-fatal slip of the tongue.

“I’m…I’m happy too,” he said instead, rather stupidly.

Claire kissed his cheek as well, and he felt warmth spread from head to toe.

Our woman, he remembered.

“Do you…” John flicked his eyes down to Jamie’s still-throbbing cock, standing straight up. “Would you like it if I…?”

“Aye, I would,” Jamie said. “But not until I’ve served the lady.”

Claire wet her lips and exhaled raggedly, and John felt his stomach flip.

“Let me show ye how to pleasure a woman, a charaid.”

Claire was panting again, and she reached down to pull her nightgown over her head. John observed that her nipples were hard and erect, larger than they’d been the last time he’d gotten a good look at them.

“They’re beautiful, are they no’?” Jamie said, as though presenting fine jewels to clientele, running his hands over her breasts. “Plump and swelled with milk for my child.”

Claire moaned as he firmly squeezed them both, and then he closed his lips around a nipple. She leaned into the back of the couch lazily, allowing Jamie’s ministrations to melt her into the cushions.

“Go on, John,” Claire panted, guiding his hand to her breast. “We want you to.”

John gulped and hesitantly squeezed the breast that Jamie was not attending to, and Claire groaned.

“Yes…” She arched her neck, her eyes sliding shut and a crease appearing between her brows.

It wasn’t long before John’s confidence grew, and he was kissing her breast and teasing the nipple as Jamie was doing on the other side. Her noises were exactly as John remembered them to be, exactly as he used to overhear. Being the one — rather, one of the ones to pull them out of her, and this time it being in joy and bliss…he felt more blessed than he could put into words.

John and Jamie teased her until John was sure she could stand no more; she was hoarse with crying for more, and her hips were thrusting blindly into nothing.

John knew that Claire and Jamie had yet to be intimate since Brianna’s birth, and also knew how painful such a thing could be if one didn’t wait the proper amount of time. But Claire seemed more than eager, and when John experimentally swiped his fingers over her hot center, he could feel that she was more than ready.

“When a woman is aroused…Instead of a cockstand, she gets…wet.”

Yes, he’d retained at least that.

Jamie’s mouth left her breast and trailed down her body until he was sliding off the couch and kneeling before her.

“Just…” Claire panted. “Go slow.”

“Aye, mo ghraidh. Ye can trust me.”

John sat beside Claire on the sofa, watching hungrily as Jamie hooked one of her legs over his shoulder. His stomach turned to liquid as Jamie’s mouth came in contact with her, and Claire practically screamed. She was still quite sensitive from the birth, and from weeks and months of not being touched. John stared at Jamie’s mouth as it worked on her, so enraptured that he jumped when Claire leaned her head against him. Upon instinct after months of caring for her, he gently caressed her smooth cheeks with his hand.

“God, Jamie…” she cooed. “I’m ready…just one for now…”

Before John could contemplate what she meant, she was threading her fingers in his hair and tugging as if her life depended on it. She nearly screamed again, tensing slightly and tightening her grip. She breathed heavily against John’s skin, and John instinctually kissed her out of comfort.

Just one finger. That’s what she meant.

It was the first thing to have penetrated her since she’d pushed a baby out, so she was bound to experience some discomfort.

“Ye alright, mo chridhe?”

“Mhmm…” Claire managed, keeping her fingers locked in John’s hair.

Jamie returned his attention to his task, and Claire resumed kissing John, occasionally throwing her head back to scream, squeezing his face to the point where he thought she’d bruise him.

“Another, Jamie. Another.”

John knew Jamie had obliged when Claire gave a throaty grunt, this time with no evident pain.

“Yes…that’s it…”

Her noises became louder and more frequent, and it wasn’t long before John had his face buried in her neck, her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, pinning him in place.

“More, Jamie!”

John felt his cock growing impossibly hard again.

“Are ye sure — ?”

Claire cut him off by throwing her other leg over his other shoulder, trapping his face between her thighs.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Claire spat, and John knew she was filled with another of Jamie’s fingers when she screamed again, digging her nails into John’s back. It wasn’t long after that before she found release, shrieking unabashedly and nearly drawing blood from John as he suckled at the nape of her neck.

John picked his head up, his eyes wide with wonder to see her coming like this, not a dash of grief etched in any of her features. Her neck, chest, breasts, and nipples were covered in bruises, bite marks, and angry red splotches; whoever left each was anybody’s guess. She was a work of art, a living canvas littered with marks of possession from her two husbands, crying out in pure joy.

“You’re…” he breathed in disbelief. “That was…beautiful.”

Claire laughed airily, her eyes still shut, her chest still heaving. Jamie rose from the floor, sitting beside Claire on the couch.

“Ye’re alright? There’s no pain?”

Claire shook her head, a lazy smile finding its way to her sleepy face.

“I’m splendid.”

John chuckled, pushing a sweaty tendril away from her face. Before he knew what was happening next, Jamie’s hands were on his face, kissing him ferociously. He was met with an unfamiliar taste that had his brow furrowing until he realized.

He was tasting Claire on Jamie’s lips and tongue.

It was enough to stiffen his cock even further.

“D’ye taste her, John?” Jamie growled between kisses.

“Yes…” John groaned.

“I look forward to watching ye taste her fer yourself someday.” Jamie ran his tongue over John’s lips in a tantalizing circle.

“Yes, someday,” Claire piped up, her voice still drugged with her climax. “For now…” She pushed on Jamie’s chest to separate him from John. “Your turn, Soldier.”

Claire dropped to her knees on the floor just as Jamie had done to her, and Jamie cried out as her lips closed around his cock. John could not help himself; he began stroking himself, not knowing what else to do to relieve the painful throbbing that the sight was giving him. Jamie reached to kiss John much the same way as Claire had, and then Jamie’s hand replaced John’s on his cock. Whenever Jamie gave a particularly loud cry in response to whatever Claire was doing, he gripped John’s cock harder, causing John to cry out as well.

It was overwhelming, almost enough to make John spill his seed again.

But then Jamie’s hand stopped, and John opened his eyes to see Claire holding Jamie’s wrist, her mouth having left his cock.

“Do you want John to do it?” she said huskily. John gulped and looked wordlessly back and forth between Jamie and Claire, and then Jamie nodded. Claire gently pulled John off the couch to kneel beside her before Jamie’s solid member. Claire sweetly kissed John, and he could taste Jamie on her.

“Go on, darling,” she whispered lovingly.

“God in Heaven…” John muttered, positioning himself before Jamie. How many nights had he dreamed of this, of having this god of a man at his mercy, of bringing him pleasure beyond description, of making him cry out his name…

It was almost too much to bear.

He peppered Jamie’s inner thighs with kisses, leaving the occasional bite that caused the man to hiss in Gaelic. When he reached his cock, he teased it with kisses as well, leaving Jamie panting, sweating, and groaning before John finally took him into his mouth.

It was like playing one of God’s own instruments.

He worked him in his mouth, and alternated between digging his nails into Jamie’s thighs and stroking gently, playing him like a string.

Just after John had gotten a good rhythm going, he stuttered, feeling Claire’s soft lips between his shoulder blades. Her hands trailed down his back and around to the front, grasping his cock. She began pumping mercilessly as John worked Jamie back up to where Claire had left him. Both of Jamie’s hands gripped John’s hair ferociously; the man was growling. John thought he might pass out. It was too much, Jamie in his mouth, in his hair, Claire around his cock, her lips on his shoulder, his neck…

Jamie lost control first, crying out loudly and shooting his seed down John’s throat. Just knowing that he was swallowing Jamie was enough to set John off again, and he moaned loudly, unable to yell out loud with Jamie’s softening cock still in his mouth.

John removed Jamie from his mouth and collapsed with his cheek on his inner thigh, panting heavily as Claire stroked him down from his high. John thought sheepishly that he’d likely shot his seed right into the couch in front of him, or at least on the rug beneath him. He made a note to insist on cleaning it himself if he caught Claire trying to do so tomorrow.

John had barely registered that Jamie’s grip on his hair had loosened; all he was suddenly aware of was that Jamie’s fingers were lazily running circles in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He realized, too, that Claire’s cheek rested on Jamie’s other thigh, she having hoisted herself back onto the couch and curled up into his side like a cat. Jamie’s other hand was stroking Claire’s hair just as lovingly.

John felt a rush of tears at the realization that Jamie was treating John exactly the way he was treating Claire. Claire caught his eye across Jamie’s lap, and she reached across to caress his cheek.

“Are you alright, John?”

John exhaled in disbelief, meaning for it to be a laugh, but it came out as a choked sort of sound. “God…alright doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Despite the exhaustion in his limbs from expending himself twice, John reached to his face to gently take Claire’s hand in his so he could press a kiss to her knuckles.

“I enjoyed it too, darling,” she whispered.

John kept his lips on her fingers, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing them in, savoring them. When next he opened his eyes, Claire’s breathing was heavier, and her eyes were closed. She’d fallen asleep. John heard Jamie hum in amusement, and he finally picked his head up.

“Tired her out,” Jamie said lazily. “Puir wee thing should be sleeping when the bairn isna asking fer milk. Shame I’m a greedy bastard.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear, and John laughed softly. “What does that make me, then?”

Jamie made one of those Scottish noises of his, then unraveled his fingers from John’s hair to caress his face. “Come here, man.”

John pulled himself onto the couch and beside Jamie, suddenly entirely too self-conscious to be fully naked in front of him now that he was thinking clearly again.

“Was it really alright, Jamie?” John whispered. “I couldn’t live with myself if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Christ, John. Are ye deaf as well as blind? Not a single person has made me that mad wi’ lust but Claire. No one else but you.”

John’s breath stuttered in his chest, and he felt yet another rush of tears.

“And it…it was alright, even when I…when Claire…”

“Aye. That was…” Jamie swallowed, averting his eyes for a moment, perhaps in embarrassment. “As little sense as it may make, I quite enjoyed watching ye ravish her.”

John blushed fiercely, but he could not help the swell of masculine pride in his chest for having managed to arouse both of these beautiful creatures in one fell swoop. John tentatively reached across Jamie’s lap to caress Claire’s cheek.

“I didn’t think I’d ever love someone as much as I loved you, Jamie.”

For the second time that night, the weight of John’s words did not sink in until it was too late.

Not only had he admitted it to Jamie, he’d admitted it to himself. Something he’d had yet to do.

I really and truly am in love with her.

“Please pretend you didn’t hear that,” John whispered almost inaudibly. “I didn’t mean…”

“Hush, man. Ye’ll drive yerself mad.”

John closed his lips and nodded, reluctantly drawing his touch away from Claire and meeting Jamie’s eye again.

“I’m just…” he stammered. “Very grateful. For you both.”

“As am I. For ye both.”

Jamie kissed him sweetly, and John could have died right then and there a happy man.

“Suppose I should get this one to bed,” Jamie said, proceeding to maneuver Claire in such a way that he was cradling her in his lap. He stood up to carry her bridal style to the bedroom.

“I’ll…see you in the morning, then,” John said uncomfortably, reaching for his trousers.

“John.”

He looked up to see Jamie’s gaze piercing through him.

“D’ye think I’d let ye do what ye just did wi’ yer mouth and no’ let ye into my bed?”

John blinked dumbly, his lips flapping uselessly for a moment. “I…I didn’t think…”

“Besides. Claire would never let me live it down,” Jamie interrupted. “Must I carry ye as well? Get up, man. Take my trousers wi’ ye. And Claire’s nightgown.”

Jamie turned then and carried Claire into the bedroom, leaving John to scramble for their clothing and follow after him. He watched as Jamie placed Claire onto the bed — on the left side — like she was made of porcelain and glass. Jamie gestured for John to throw their clothes on the floor by the foot of the bed, and then he made his way over to the cradle.

“She slept through all that racket, then?” John whispered.

“It would appear as such.”

Jamie leaned in and kissed Brianna’s tiny head, and John’s heart strained in his chest. Jamie whispered something in Gaelic and then left the cradle. John approached it next, almost as if he didn’t believe that she was really asleep. He smiled to see that she was, and he swiped at a few copper tufts on her forehead.

“Goodnight, little love.” He kissed her head as Jamie had, and then turned to see that Jamie had gotten into bed on the right side and gathered Claire into his arms.

“Where should I…?”

“Just get in the bed, ye stuffy wee fusspot.”

John blushed, grinning sheepishly as he made his way to the bed. He got in on the right, and he was indescribably touched when Jamie folded him into his side as he’d just seen him do to Claire.

“Jamie, I…” At a loss for words, John pressed a fervent kiss to Jamie’s chest. “Thank you.”

He heard Jamie inhale deeply through his nose as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Claire’s head, then he felt as Jamie did the same to him. It made him feel safe, it made him feel whole.

“Thank you, John.”

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfiction #claire fraser #jamie fraser #john grey #lord john grey #john x jamie #john x claire #john x jamie x claire #jjc #throuple #ot3

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honeypwark · 4 years ago

Text

[ Studio Intruder ]

↳ Crown era

↳ Kiryoung gets caught by a label mate. He offers his help. He becomes very fond of her.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Some nights, when Yoongi is working late, coffee is the only thing that sustains him. It’s not like he even needs to be here this late; they just released an album and are in the midst of promotions. He actually probably shouldn’t be here because they have a music show in two days. But sometimes it’s impossible to go home when you’re working on something, tunnel visioned on completing your idea before it escapes you.

That’s why Yoongi is in one of the company building break rooms at two in the morning getting his second cup of coffee that night. He puts the lid back on then leaves to head back to his studio. As he turns to do so, he sees a small figure farther down the hallway, hood up, head down, and walking quickly.

His immediate thought is that she might be a fan who’s broken into the building. Somewhat against his better judgement, he begins to follow her. She doesn’t go much farther and Yoongi stays hidden behind the corner when he notices she’s stopped in front of a studio door.

When he checks again, he sees she’s unlocking the door and stepping inside. He walks over to the studio she entered. “Adorable Trap” is displayed on the door of Adora’s studio, but the girl who entered is too short to be the studio’s owner.

Yoongi knocks on the door.

He gets no response. He enters slowly, looking around for the girl he’d followed here.

“Hello?”

He steps fully into the studio but finds no trace of the girl. He knows this is the studio she entered because the door was unlocked, but where could she have gone? It’s not an enormous room by any means, so unless the small girl had shoved herself under the desk-

Yoongi looks at the desk.

He walks over to it slowly and takes hold of the desk chair. Once he’s pulled it out of the way, he can see the girl is curled up under the desk with her backpack hugged to her chest, aggressively avoiding looking at him.

“Stand up.”

She does, crawling out from under the desk to stand in front of him with her head hanging.

“What are you doing in here?”

Her voice is so quiet her can hardly hear her, “They won’t let me schedule studio time so Soohyun unnie lets me use her studio.”

Yoongi doesn’t understand anything about what she just said, “What?”

The girls reaches up and tugs her hood off.

“The company won’t let me use a studio so Adora lets me use her studio without them knowing.”

Yoongi blinks, somehow more confused now that he realizes the person in front of him isn’t some random girl or crazy fan, but his fairly recently debuted junior, Kiryoung of TXT.

“The company won’t let you use a studio?” he summarizes.

Kiryoung ducks her head and speaks like she’s ashamed of the answer, “They said that it wouldn’t fit with the image they want me to have.”

Yoongi feels disproportionately angered by that.

Kiryoung suddenly looks up at him with fear in her eyes, “You’re not going to tell anyone, right? I’ve already been scolded when I tried to help with recording the English version of ‘Cat & Dog.’”

“That’s so stupid,” Yoongi says.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” Kiryoung begs as tears gather in her eyes, “I don’t want to get in trouble!”

As Yoongi has been getting angry at the company for not letting one of their artists’ pursue their interest in music production, Kiryoung has been getting more distressed at being found out. Yoongi realizes that without a promise that he won’t tell anyone about her and Adora’s arrangement, Kiryoung is ready to start crying.

“Hey, no, I’m not going to tell anyone, it’s alright,” Yoongi assures her. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” she says pitifully, using her hoodie sleeves to dry her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi tells her, “You’re fine.”

He reaches out to hold her arm and attempt to comfort her but stops. They’re not close by any means; the only interaction they’ve had is when their groups have been together. He puts his hand back at his side.

For only being a girl he’s said probably a total of five words to prior to tonight, Yoongi’s emotions seem to be all over the place. First he was angry at the company for telling her she can’t make music and then he was sincerely worried about making sure she didn’t cry.

Kiryoung sniffs, “I should probably go home.”

“Aren’t you going to work on something?” Yoongi asks.

“I... feel awkward now.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m literally always awkward,” Kiryoung admits.

Yoongi chuckles.

Kiryoung winces as she realizes what she said, “That makes me sound so lame. I’m sorry. I should go.”

“Hey, wait.”

Yoongi steps with her towards the door.

“If the company won’t let you pursue producing, then I can help you.”

“...what?”

“I can help you with producing. You can play me some tracks and I can give you some pointers.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Only if you want to, though.”

“Yes!” she says too quick and too loud.

She shrinks back in embarrassment. Yoongi chuckles again, growing more fond for Kiryoung and her awkwardly shy personality the longer he’s in her company.

“Okay. We can work in my studio.”

“Okay,” Kiryoung agrees happily.

Kiryoung follows Yoongi out of Adorable Trap, locking the door behind her then walking with him to his own studio. He pushes the door open and steps inside. Kiryoung hesitates over the threshold.

“You can come in,” Yoongi says as he notices her hesitation.

“I, um... Are you going to get in trouble? For helping me? I don’t want you to face repercussions from the company...”

Yoongi laughs at her concerns, “What are they gonna do? Fire me? I’m not Jin hyung when it comes to disobeying the company, but I think I’ll be okay if they find out. Now come sit down.”

Kiryoung walks into the studio and shuts the door behind her, taking her backpack off her back as she sits on the stool Yoongi pulled out for her.

“And if they give you any more ‘you shouldn’t produce because it doesn’t fit our image for you’ crap, come to me and I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi says. “Open your laptop.”

She does as he asks, logging in then handing the device to him when he hold his hand out for it. He begins hooking it up to his desktop computer. He opens up his preferred production and editing program, saving what he was working on then exiting out to make a new document.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Kiryoung asks softly as he does this, her curiosity winning out against her shyness.

Yoongi glances at her briefly then continues opening files on Kiryoung’s laptop to bring to his computer.

“I guess I kind of see myself in you.”

Hearing those words from the member of BTS Kiryoung admires the most? Euphoric.

“You do?”

“Yeah. They wanted me to be the grumpy grandpa member for so long but that’s not really who I am. I’m not bright and sunshine-y either, but I’m not a scary person, despite people always perceiving me that way.”

“I don’t think you’re scary.”

��You almost started crying when I found you earlier.”

“That’s because I thought you were going to tell the company you found me!”

“I’m a lot of things, but a snitch isn’t one of them. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Kiryoung looks at Yoongi gratefully, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He points to his screen, “Which track do you want to work on?”

“Um, that one.”

“‘Crystalline Teardrops Flow Like a River of Grief’?” He glances beside him at Kiryoung, “You’re a little poet, aren’t you?”

“I convey words better in lyrics than I do in speaking.”

Yoongi smiles fondly at Kiryoung when she says that, the girl bashfully refusing to look at him after she does. He double clicks on that file and opens it in the producing software he has open.

“Anyway, about the company’s image thing, don’t let them control who you are. It’s hard enough being an idol already, don’t let them make you play a character as well. Don’t let anyone control who you are.”

Kiryoung looks at Yoongi with so much respect that he is the one to look away.

He plays it off and swiftly changes subjects, “Let’s listen to what you have, shall we?”

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sanktagenyas · 4 years ago

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alrighty so i guess coherent thoughts about this book might be a very generous estimate of what i’m about to write here but i’ll write down my thoughts anyway ‘cause i wanna share and possibly hear yours like for real interactions with my posts are not just welcomed they’re encouraged.

ok so to start our protagonists are alina and mal and our antagonist is the darkling and i pretty much related to alina right away because i love a hero with insecurities and doubts, i love an underdog so of course i was always meant to fall in love with alina starkov on sight. now the darkling... should be that i and everyone else would be beyond tired of the dark, tall, handsome and mysterious/scary men in fiction especially when they whisk our hero away for even more mysterious and/or nefarious purposes that they leave them completely in the dark about BUT the charisma fucking jump off of the pages i don’t know what else to tell you. and i am deeply intrigued about him and his backstory and also him and how he feels about our protagonist because when you catch the attention of a centuries old immortal being that says something about you but it says more about said immortal imo.

we come to learn that the darkling is beyond ruthless and yet he still a capacity for love after all this time even if it’s quite out of use to say the least. and just the fact that out of the thousands of people who have crossed his path there’s this one girl he saw and he was like well look at that someone who’s not unremarkable for once. and i know that’s not exactly a romantic sentiment but that’s how it starts, folks.

but anyway to cap my little ramble here despite the fact that i’ve seen that kind of villain before i do still really love the darkling. i like that we don’t have all the facts yet about what led him to become who he is so there’s just the right amount of mystery around him to keep you wanting to discover more and he is just human enough that he is not this caricature monstrous villainous figure (alina would beg to differ but i don’t listen to what alina yells at people when she’s angry)

now onto mal. i’m trying to word this in a way that doesn’t make me come off as a raging anti because the truth is that would require me to be invested in mal enough to hate him and as of now i’m just not. with book one being told entirely in alina’s perspective it’s pretty in your face that we should care about mal. our hero loves him and we want her to be happy, right? plus we really shouldn’t ship her with the villain there are so many wrong aspects about that dynamic just to name one aspect the deceit and the lies. the foundation of darklina is so fucked we should not ship it, right? well see that’s where i would argue that my biggest issue with darklina as a ship is the darkling in the final act all but saying fuck alina’s agency i’m going to make her my puppet for eternity not because that is necessary to accomplish my plan but because i’m jealous and resentful that she left me behind and didn’t embrace my plans for ravka and therefore embrace me.

and you might think wait i’ve lost the plot we were talking about mal and now we’re talking about darklina and the darkling but rewind back a little i said my issue with darklina in the final act of the book is the darkling pissing all over alina’s agency. and he might do that in more extreme ways than mal but mal certainly does seem to view alina as property at times and that implies him not respecting her agency. i could point to the fact that saying “don’t tell me we don’t belong together” is only framed as romantic statement because it comes out of the mouth of one of our protagonists and not our antagonist but that’s a cheap shot, it’s easy. instead i’ll echo my thoughts i shared about that malina reunion in chapter fourteen. mal was not one bit concerned about alina there and even though he says later on that not one hour was spent not thinking about her and wondering about her wellbeing all that flies out of the window the second he sees her with the darkling during the fete and here’s the thing if he had caught them mid makeout session i could understand him letting jealousy completely overtake him to the point that he doesn’t ask if she’s ok or how she’s been treated here and just assumes based on appearances (let’s not forget before she unlocked her powers alina was well and truly miserable regardless of the luxury afforded to her by her new grisha status so appearances don’t mean shit malyen) that she must be hunky dory and then tiptoes the line around slutshaming her but definitely crosses the line over into making her feel like shit for circumstances beyond her control territory and all that over seeing her do magic trickery at a party with another guy.

alina is allowed to be attracted to another man, she’s allowed to have feelings for another man. they’re both guilty of miscommunication as they obviously both feel the same way about each other but alina has the decency to keep her jealousy to herself and not have outbursts about mal getting close to other girls like she owns his ass or something. that put me off and then i was hoping there would be a talk that would clarify things and he would apologize and that happened but it also came with the revelation that mal was upset to see her happy with the darkling. so he’d rather see the woman he loves miserable and alone rather than happy and belonging? and that’s the romantic lead i’m meant to be fawning over? i’m just not seeing it right now and that’s why even as he so generously offers her absolution (idk if you can read my sarcasm but just to be clear it’s sarcasm) for having loved the darkling and tells her he loves all of her even the part that loved the darkling i’m like..... i don’t believe you boy.

i guess in summary my thoughts about mal as a love interest is i need some consistency you cannot have him throw a jealous fit over seeing alina standing with another man (that’s literally all they were doing for real) and looking happy about it and then have him be like i don’t care i love you anyway. you cannot have him act as though he owns alina and in the same breath throw in her face that the darkling owns her (i hate this foreshadowing thank you very much) and you cannot have him get cold or angry at so much of a mention of a life she might have that doesn’t include him and then expect me to believe he’s made peace with her having feelings for more than just him. he’s not even able to accept a scenario where she goes off and does shit that doesn’t involve him as he shows no interest in her life in the little palace for the longest time. meanwhile you can literally read all about alina wondering what happened to him and what he went through trying to get to her. and for the love of saints i would love it if alina would stop acting like she needs to be forgiven for these feelings i absolutely get that she feels conned and ashamed about it but you do not need to ask anyone for absolution for falling someone who made you feel seen for the first time in your life. fuck that noise.

i just know trust issues are gonna arise and i know he doesn’t feel that way truly. if alina turned around and at some point decided to show mercy to the darkling mal wouldn’t understand or accept it and i’d fully expect a guilt trip to ensue.

now that’s my thoughts on mal as a romantic lead and that’s about the biggest aspect of him we’re focusing on but i do think he is a brave man who genuinely cared for his friends and genuinely cares for alina as that whole journey to hunt morozova’s herd definitely proved. he loves her i don’t doubt that but one grand gesture doesn’t excuse the way he treats her earlier in the books is my point and as been pointed out by others i don’t like how much alina relies on him even when he isn’t here. her refusal to let go of him was directly affecting her happiness and overall health as she couldn’t come into her powers before she thought he was lost to her. if i’m not liking who the hero becomes when she’s with the love interest it’s a big indicator i’m not gonna love said love interest as much as i’m clearly expected to by the author. i like mal just fine, he’s not without redeeming qualities, i just don’t love him yet and i may never do and that’s ok.

now i wanna take a moment and a couple sentences (it won’t be a novel i swear, pinky promise!) to talk about the twist that i should have seen coming miles away and i already know once my sister watches the show or reads the book whatever comes first i will be mercilessly teased about not seeing it coming. but when i found out the black heretic and the darkling are one of the same my jaw dropped. as memers might say i took that personally. and even though we have a lot of grounds to covers still and unanswered questions such as is the darkling still alive? if he is what is he up to now? is baghra dead in a ditch somewhere or worse? will alina and genya ever see each other again? why was zoya so standoffish and violent with alina, what’s her story? the question in my mind most prominent is what happened to the darkling? what happened for him to become who he is. i love the quote monsters are not born they’re made and i much prefer to see a villain who wasn’t always one than one who is just evil for the evulz. so i want a backstory and i also wanna learn about baghra while we’re at it.

it’s all fun and well for her to denounce her son’s actions but and i hate to break it to her but YOU RAISED HIM LADY. so yeah baghra’s whole speech to alina is missing parts for sure because she’s not just gonna admit her hands are covered in blood as much as the darkling’s are. not without some pressing at least.

sooo to cap off all this i guess i would have just two throwaway remarks and that is that i am getting a lot of gay vibes from alina and if i took a shot every time she remarks on genya’s beauty or just gushes about genya in general i’d be drunk by now and i hope we get an actual queer romance somewhere in these books even just between side characters. second remark would be ivan i’m waiting for you to find some redeeming qualities my dude, i was rooting for you! at first he is a raging dickhead about it but seemed to mellow some and then near the end it’s right back to square one and i am really sorry about his brothers dying but having lost family members is not actually a get out of jail free card that gives you free range to mistreat people just because you can.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone book spoilers #i'm not putting anti malina tags on here because i'm not interested in engaging in disc-horse #that's why i'm also not tagging characters or ships but if it wasn't clear i am darklina trash yes hello #this is a) a mess and b) far too long but it's what it says on the tin aka my incoherent garbage thoughts

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carlosgabrielruiz · 3 years ago

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PINKERTON - 33 1/3 Proposal Part 5

CHAPTER 2 I’m Tired, So Tired:Song Number 1 - “Tired of Sex”

The first song on a record is oftentimes referred to as the opening salvo – the first shot – that serves as a letter of intent for what is about to transpire. With Weezer’s Blue Album, the opening song was the powerful “My Name is Jonas.” To the uninitiated Weezer fan, it was a tour de force of loud-quiet-loud musicality that was about to be sonically unleashed upon the listener.

“My Name is Jonas” stood in stark contrast to the first two Weezer singles “Undone - The Sweater Song” and “Buddy Holly,” both of which were highly popular singles that charted on Billboard’s 200 and Billboard Hot 100 charts.1 Unlike the fly on the wall, day-in-the-life-of subject matter of “Undone” and the ironic Bonnie and Clyde love story of “Buddy Holly”, “My Name is Jonas” announced to the casual fan who came by the record based on the singles that this album was simply not going to be more of the same. This record was something different. Get ready.

The listener was told who was in charge now: My name is Jonas

I’m carrying the wheel

It then goes on to signal that the listener should buckle up because the train has already left the station The price? A ticket costs only your mind Whatever this album was, it wasn’t just More Songs About Sweaters and Dead Rock Stars.

All of which brings us to Pinkerton...

After a two and a half year wait, Weezer fans had been clamoring for the next record from their not-so-new favorite band. But a lot had happened since the unknown and unheralded band released the Blue Album. Success, fame, and fortune all came calling. It was all a bit too much.

So what’s a boy to do when faced with pressures of being the next big thing?

“Tired of Sex” is the opening song of Pinkerton and it’s an intense banger that functions as the siren song of the album. Here is the protagonist – a famous rock and roll star – and he’s living the good life by indulging in the excesses of pleasure that fame and notoriety have thrust upon him. It’s an appealing proposition and should be a source of admiration and celebration, the envy of most “regular” people. This is what a rock star is supposed to do. This is why people sign up for the gig.

I’m tired, so tired

I’m tired of having sex (so tired)

But all is not what it seems. What starts off as some sort of humble brag quickly pivots into a lament:

I’m spread so thin I don’t know who I am (who I am)

This touring rock star is enjoying the fruits of his labor. He’s living out his wild, rock and roll double fantasy but it all just feels shallow and empty. He is literally just going through the motions on autopilot. None of it really means anything.

Monday night I’m making Jen Tuesday night I’m making Lynn Wednesday night I’m making Jasmine Oh, why can’t I be making love come true?

He is embarrassed. This isn’t who he is or the person that he wants to be. He’s ashamed because he knows better. He knows his behavior is unacceptable, but at the same time, he claims that he can’t make himself stop. He’s simply making excuses for acting in this manner. Like an addict, he knows that he has a problem but chooses to ignore it and continue as if nothing was wrong.

I’m beat, beet red Ashamed of what I said (what I said) I’m sorry, here I go I know I’m a sinner But I can’t say no (say no)

But he keeps on doing what he’s been doing. The definition of insanity is performing the same exact task and expecting a different result. Our protagonist finds himself at the intersection of desperation city and crazy town.

Thursday night I’m making Denise Friday night I’m making Therese Saturday night I’m making Louise Oh, why can’t I be making love come true?

He wants to change. He knows he needs to change. He knows he needs to try harder. But he secretly likes this new Don Juan side of himself. He’s enjoying himself.

(What can I do?)

He feels alone and powerless. He needs help. He needs guidance. Finally, he resorts to a higher power. He begins to pray. He begs God for help.

Tonight I’m down on my knees Tonight I’m begging you, please

But he is still selfish. He doesn’t pray for change or insight. He hopes and prays that this encounter tonight will be the one that leads to real love. That is what he asks from God.

Tonight, tonight, oh please Oh, why can’t I be making love come true?

The journey to self-actualization has begun, though perhaps not fully in earnest ye, and with baby steps. This selfish rock star soon realizes that there is a problem and that something needs to change, yet he hasn’t yet discovered that the problem is looking at him in the mirror.

He has set off an epic quest to find love yet he doesn’t realize that he is simply incapable of love at this point in time. He is too cocksure, too caught up in himself, and his travails, his music, and his lifestyle, that he can not fully commit to another person or open up in true partnership.

But the first step to recovery s admitting that there is a problem.

At least the rock star has accomplished this much. 1 - Billboard. Weezer Chart History. https://www.billboard.com/music/weezer/chart-history.

#music #writing #weezer #pinkerton #bloomsburypublishing #333sound #rockandroll #anniversary #pitch #books #rivers cuomo

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pellucidity-is-me · 3 years ago

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Did it Hurt the Pig?

Summary: Remus has a very important question about Transfiguration as it pertains to living things. This is from chapter 23 in my longer fanfiction (Flirting with Ghosts), and I figured it would work as a very sad little one-shot. Link in bio description if you want to read the whole thing.

Wordcount: 1441

Remus loved Hogwarts.

His friends—yes, he had actual, real-live friends—were named James and Sirius, and they each accumulated two detentions before double Transfiguration that afternoon. They were troublemakers, and now they seemed to be drunk on mischief.

Remus had not known that mischief was alcoholic, but he seemed to be a bit tipsy himself. He had laughed so hard in the past couple of hours that his head felt buzzy and his brain felt light. He’d never laughed this hard—not ever.

The Marauders ambled down the corridor, casually bumping into each other and joking as they went, and then took their seats in Transfiguration. They sat next to each other, as usual, and the feeling of being so close and casual with his friends was pure euphoria in Remus' eyes. Nothing could spoil it—though Remus knew that saying such a phrase, even in his own head, was bound to be awful foreshadowing. "That toad of yours—wouldn't it be great if he found himself in the bed of a first-year girl one morning?" asked James with glee.

Remus, who loved his pet toad very much, immediately sobered. He'd been right; it had been foreshadowing. "No. You are not using Bufo to prank people. They might squish him."

"You're no fun," Sirius pouted.

"Least I don't mumble to myself about what an amazing person I am when I fly broomsticks."

James groaned and punched Remus' arm lightly. "You are an awful person, Remus Lupin," he said, and Remus began to feel tipsy again.

"All right, settle down," said McGonagall sharply. Remus stopped giggling (with much effort). "Today we are going to be discussing transforming living things," continued McGonagall: "Watch carefully, now."

She pulled her wand out from her robes and pointed it at her desk. The desk seemed to pulse and twist—less than two seconds later, it had fully transformed into a living, breathing pig. James gasped a little from Remus' right. Remus gasped too, but for a very different reason. His head was beginning to get buzzy again... and laughter was no longer the cause of his symptoms.

McGonagall waved her wand again, and then the pig was once more a desk. "Brilliant," James muttered. McGonagall heard him, but she granted him a tight, pleased smile instead of reprimanding him.

Remus felt a little ill.

"We won't be doing anything like this until the end of the year, when we transform mice to snuffboxes," said McGonagall. "Living transfigurations are extraordinarily difficult. I'd like to discuss the theory, though. Open your textbooks to page eighty-one."

Remus did not move.

"Come on, Rem," said James. He reached over and flipped Remus' textbook open for him. "Are you ill or something? This is so cool!"

Remus did not think so.

McGonagall lectured and wrote on the board in chalk; Remus heard James scribbling notes on a piece of parchment fervently and Sirius teasing James for taking notes like a "dumb schoolgirl". Remus was amazed that he could hear anything, though, given the ocean noises dominating his ears.

The image of the poor pig, his legs folding in, his bones melting and reforming, his whole body turning to wood in the span of a few seconds, the odd liquifying of his pink body... it would not leave Remus' vision.

He vaguely heard McGonagall stop lecturing. "Mr. Lupin, are you quite all right?"

Remus shook his head to rid it of the ocean noises. He realized too late that it had seemed that he had been shaking his head no to McGonagall's question.

"What's wrong, then?" McGonagall asked.

"Er," said Remus. He needed to ask. He needed to ask without giving himself away, but he didn't know how. "Er, Professor..." He tried to come up with just the right phrasing, but the quest was fruitless. It was useless. Remus decided—against his better judgement—to throw caution to the wind.

"Did that hurt the pig?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, and Sirius snickered under his breath. Remus realized that Sirius thought that he was joking; trying to waste time so that the class would have to do less work... Remus decided that Sirius' assumption was better than the alternative, so he let a weak laugh of his own escape his lips. It sounded very forced, much to his chagrin.

McGonagall's features suddenly softened, and Remus hoped with all his heart that she did not realize why he was asking. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course she realized why he was asking! In the eyes of the Hogwarts staff, the fact that Remus transformed into a wolf every month was his defining trait.

"No," said McGonagall slowly.

"How do you know?" Remus said, pushing his luck. He had to know. "I mean, it's got to hurt. Pigs' skin isn't meant to turn into wood. Pigs are very different from desks... their bone structure and all. And desks are inanimate objects. Why wouldn't it hurt? Pigs are... pigs. Not desks..."

Remus mentally slapped himself. Here he was, admitting to McGonagall that the transformation every month was literally torture. He felt his cheeks grow red, and the ocean noises returned with vigor. "Just... just wondering, that's all," he said, and faked another laugh in order to keep his cover in front of his peers. He didn't think that it had worked, but perhaps...?

McGonagall seemed to be thinking very hard. "That... is a good question, Lupin. Compassionate, and with sound reasoning." At long last, she looked him in the eyes, and Remus looked away in spite of himself. "Ten points to Gryffindor." It seemed that all the points that Remus was receiving for Gryffindor were out of pity. Remus felt ashamed, even though he knew that shame wasn't the proper response to earning points for his House.

"I think I can take a few minutes to explain the answer." McGonagall walked up to the blackboard and erased it as she spoke. "There are a few different types of magic, as you've learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There's light magic, and then there's jinxes, hexes, and... curses." Remus noted her hesitation and tapped his finger under his desk anxiously.

"Transfiguration spells are known as light magic purely because they are not harmful in nature. They do not hurt the transformee because they are designed as such. Spell design is a complicated process, as is the process of transfiguration itself. It takes much focus and intention; painful unintended consequences, therefore, are very rare. We will only use light magic in this class, Lupin. You don't have to worry about any of the spells harming the recipient in any way—in fact, I go through all of the incorrectly-transformed animals myself after every class and correct the transfiguration. No animals will ever be harmed in my class... unless a student is not careful and steps on a beetle during our beetle-to-buttons unit in second year. That has, I'm afraid, happened before."

Some of the students giggled. Remus knew that they were laughing at the beetle comment, but he felt as if they were laughing at him... he sunk lower in his chair ever so slightly. He hated talking about—or even alluding to—his transformations. "That makes sense, Professor; thank you."

McGonagall was now carefully studying Remus' face, which was even worse than the previous awkward avoidance. Remus tried to look nonchalant. After a very uncomfortable moment (that was probably less than three seconds, but felt like three hours), James raised his hand. "So there are types of transfiguration that are Dark, and do hurt the subject?" he asked, and Remus froze. He mentally begged McGonagall to avoid the subject. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he would discover himself to be a Legilimens....

"Yes, Mr. Potter, but we will not be learning about such magic in this class," she said. "I don't believe that magic like that is ever acceptable. Most Dark Transfigurations, though, work by... by forcing the recipient to transform without magic... as a biological process, rather than a magical one. It is complicated, and you may research it on your own if you so desire."

Remus winced. I've done enough practical research to last me a lifetime, thanks.

"Thank you for the excellent question, Lupin. Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Yes, Professor," Remus said quietly. "I do believe that I shall be able to transform pigs to desks morally from now on."

The class tittered, and Professor McGonagall allowed herself a forced smile before continuing the lesson.

Remus vaguely wanted to transfigure himself into a pig. The life of a pig, he thought, would be much simpler than that of a werewolf.

#marauders fanfiction #angst #remus lupin #young remus lupin #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #scene from my fanfiction #ao3 #made me sad to write it honestly

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

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For the OTP ask: 8, 9, 16, 53, and 91 (for this one, it could just be a song you have for them, too) :D

*rubs palms together and giggles* Oooo, I'm loving these questions! I get to show how much of a nerd am I for these two nerds! >:3

8. Who tends to worry the most?

I was going to answer this with 'both equally', but the more I think, the more I realize that Solas is the one who worries the most. XD

I mean, come on. We all know Solas is a natural worry wart. It's in the man's blood, and Fane has a tendency to make his dear wolf's blood pressure rise to fatal heights with the shit he does. PFFT!

Fane is a literal battering ram when it comes to battles (this is based on how I've specced him in-game), and he just charges in without caring if he'll get sliced, diced, or scorched. Fane's illness with magic makes it incredibly difficult for Solas to erect barriers on him, so he has to devise other ways to keep Fane in one piece (nitpicking about his armor, constantly asking, 'Are you certain you are ready?', and begging, 'Please control yourself this time, ma'isenatha.') All of that worry comes from the fact that Solas has seen Fane die, has had to guide him to it, even. Fane doesn't mean to brush off that concern and worry, but when he's embroiled in battle he...loses his senses a bit. Dragons aren't meant to fight, and fighting is what Fane does best in his new life, so he has a hard time balancing bloodlust with merciful restraint.

If Fane gets injured (which he does, but only grazes and the occasional gash), Solas won't let anyone else attend to him, fear gripping his mind, memories of blood soaked crystal and decaying scales cracking his mask and rendering him tortured. When Fane sees that, instead of just seeing the nagging, he'll go docile, go remorseful and will say, 'I'm sorry, my sky. I never meant to-- I only--hn.' Once they talk and wind down though, things get right back on track, but Solas is constantly worrying over his dragon--constantly.

Solas worries about everything with Fane--his scars, his nightmares, his battle with his identity--but battle is where he's the least reserved in it. He doesn't want Fane to have to fight, but he knows they both don't have a choice in the matter.

9. Who is more inclined to be jealous or possessive?

Dragons--naturally possessive, i.e. hoards.

Wolves--naturally protective of those within their pack, i.e. touch member of pack, you get snapped at or even bitten.

Fane and Solas are both highly protective of one another. They just go about it in different ways. Fane's more likely to snap and glower at an infringing form, making it known where they can take their 'affections'. Solas is more reserved, but most can attest that his gaze leaves them shivering and near stone with how cold it is if Fane is randomly touched by an unwanted suitor or harassed by a fawning noble. Obviously, Fane and Solas try to keep the respective beasts at bay, worried the other will think less of them for such childish behavior, but sometimes--sometimes--it's extremely hard to keep a polite mask in place due to memories of harshness and filth.

For example!

---

"You're...jealous?", Fane asked, blinking and attempting to piece together what he was feeling now. And he couldn’t. “Of who?”

Solas' eyes fell shut with a rueful chuckle. "Most here. Is that hard to believe? It is petty, I know, but eyes have been upon you since your entrance; each pair a set of daggers. You carried yourself with confidence, with pride, and every single noble within the ballroom responded to your very presence. They whispered, they sought, they undressed." The final word a mixture between a hiss and a growl that was accompanied by a small sneer of disdain before it all relaxed. "My heart knows where your own lies, my dragon, but my mind, too, is being a thorn in my side."

Fane stared down at Solas, shocked and...mesmerized. His sky had been jealous of the looks of fops and prisses? Those who had no chance of ever reaching through to his heart? To his emotions? Those who played with lives as a puppeteer did with strings?

This was...oddly amusing, but only because they were both fools.

Here they were, in the lion’s den, hunting an assassin that threatened to topple an empire, seeking answers to questions they didn’t even know yet, playing a game of macabre chess and deciding who would rise and who would fall, and they were both jealous from nattering nobles who killed for sport or an inconsequential servant girl that would be forgotten in the morn. The ridiculousness nearly made Fane cackle. Was this what court intrigue encompassed? He didn’t see the appeal.

Fane huffed out amusedly. "I love you.", he said, point blank with no room to be denied. “Ar lath ma, ma tarasyl.”, he repeated in Elvhen, lifting a hand to rub at his face and shook his head in disbelief at himself.

Solas’ eyes snapped open at his declaration, a blush stretching across his face and was apparent even in the shadows that embraced them. That swath of delicate pink nearly had Fane cracking, breathing out a steadying sigh through his nose instead. Damn anything that was holy, if poison didn’t kill him, this endearing, foolish elf would. How could he be so blind when responses like that reaffirmed where his sky’s heart lay?

“Sorry, it’s just..”, Fane started before letting out a tiny laugh, massaging his cheekbones in slow circles. “You looked so ashamed by how you felt, even though I just said I felt the same way. If anything, I should feel ashamed because I’m jealous of someone far more innocent than these Orlesian pricks.”

Solas tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “May I know who you were jealous of?”, he inquired.

Fane let out an airy laugh, kneading his brow with two fingers. “The servant girl that just left not even five minutes ago.”, he admitted, face growing hot with shame and embarrassment. He was such a fool. A pathetic, blind fool.

“The servant--?”, Solas began before letting out a quiet, breathless laugh of his own. “Ma’isenatha, you are aware that we are at court, at the heart of Orlais, yes? Appearing gentile and cordial is but a step in a very specific dance. My reactions to her were equal parts genuine and fluid, and I felt nothing beyond that.”

Fane huffed, letting his hand fall to his side. “I know, but it’s like you said, just the sight of another making reaches for someone you fought for, someone you adore and respect is infuriating. I just got you back and to have it taken away again is--”, he tried to explain, lifting his hand back up to rub at his face again. “Fenhedis lasa. A fucking smile sent my mind spiraling. Ridiculous..”

---

Halamshiral was fun! :D

16. Do they enjoy dancing?

Fane is the guy who stands in a dark corner at parties, and glares at everyone who tries to get too close, soooo...no. PFFFT!

However, if it were just he and Solas in their quarters, a light of levity possessing them, then he might be willing to let the other teach him steps that weren't able to be done by massive claws. The Winter Palace is the one time Fane takes the initiative and actively offers Solas his hand for a dance--all grace and poise unlike that of a dragon.

...The finery didn't fall fast enough that night for Solas. *is SLAPPED*

And I like to think Solas secretly yearns for such simple pleasures as a waltz or ginger circle, swaying to the music, time seeming endless once more. He misses what was before, and maybe just a tiny step can make him feel a little less lost. :3

53. Who is the better dancer?

Solas. 100%.

Fane is graceful in battle, able to shift his weight and glide with the flow of blood and chaos. But the more delicate arts--that of dancing? Yeah, no. My boy's prone to step on someone's toes and curse for them because 'A dragon? Dancing at court? Void take me..' Vivienne and Josephine had to let Solas teach Fane how to dance because he was so against the idea that he would lock himself in their quarters and refuse to entertain the two women. Solas has a hard time, but with Leliana's help, they manage to get Fane to see he does have a certain knack for the finer things. *winks*

Honestly, Solas is shocked at the Winter Palace when he sees Fane dancing with the Duchess because...he moved as if from memory, and not the one's of stumbling, cursing, and heavy sighing as legs tripped up and toes were stomped on.

Fane moved like an Evanuris--those attuned to the ancient courts with a charming smile in place to match. *sips my tea* Exquisite~

91. What is their song?

So, if I do like the implications that 'Once We Were' gives, and Solas and Fane like more gentle songs like that.

But me, personally? I adore 'Red Like Roses' from RWBY for these two. It just hits a lot of key points for me about them, but I seriously have to get a playlist together since so many songs make me thing of these two. 'Bad Habits' by Ed Sheeran is one that makes me think of them, too. Mainly Fane, but some parts fit for them together. *urge to compose a playlist intensifies*

Thank you so much for the ask, my friend! These were a lot of fun ones! But then again, all of them are! X3

#asks #ask #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #ngl i'm getting antsy to divulge EVERYTHING with fane #fanfic or no! XD #but i must be STRONG *shakes fist*#*starts to hum 'once we were'*#i love the tavern songs so much ;3;#solas aka mr. old man worry X'D #thank you so much again! <3

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ravens-words · 4 years ago

Text

Tell me how all this (and love, too) will ruin us

For @bamfalexmanes ❤ Elle, I hope you like it

The one in which Michael and Alex have a talk, some truths are revealed and a new hope is born.

This is a sequel of a sort to we burned down our paper house.

Happy Reading!!

"Are you okay?"

Michael looked up quickly, too quickly if the way his vision blurred for a second was an indication, and found Alex looking down at him with a frown of concern.

Michael hated it. He also wanted to put his lips to those three lines that resided in between his brows and kiss it away.

"I'm fine," he mumbled pathetically, looking away before his thoughts became too hard to conceal and showed up on his face. Neither of them would be ready for that.

Alex crouched beside him and Michael's eyes flickered up to meet his. He smiled, and Michael's treacherous heart beat a hard rhythm against his chest. "You're not fine," he told him casually.

Michael laughed bitterly. Of course he wasn't alright. There was an ancient, psychotic alien who looked like his brother's twin living in his bunker. Max wasn't getting any better, seemed to be even more manic now that that they'd found Jones. And Michael had to live everyday with a regret that threatened to choke him alive every single time he saw Alex and Forrest together. When he'd walked away in the middle of Alex's song, he hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd been so sure that it wasn't their time, that they would have time later, that they weren't ready in that moment. He'd known, in his bones, that he and Alex were meant for each other. They'd loved each other through the worst of times, and still do after almost twelve years. Whatever thing he had with Forrest wouldn't last, Michael had convinced himself, but- Alex needed it. Alex needed something light and good and happy and fleeting, just like what he'd had with Maria.

After he had tried with Maria, Michael's belief that Alex was the only one for him had been cemented. Selfleshly, he'd wanted the same to happen for Alex. Michael had desperately needed that reassurance.

It had backfired on him, because of all the things he'd accounted for in the minute it took to make the decision to walk away, he hadn't accounted for the most important one; having to watch the love of his life be with someone else. Having to watch him kiss someone else, laugh with someone else and wishing that it was him.

Jealousy wasn't a new thing to Michael. He'd spent his whole life, it felt like, being jealous. Jealous of Max and Isobel for getting the family while he got bounced around from home to home. Jealous of Max and Isobel when they literally killed people, and yet his life turne out to be the worst out of the three of them. Jealous of Isobel for getting married to the person she loved and building herself a home (before Noah turned out to be a serial killer). And now, jealous of Forrest Long, of all people, for getting to be with Alex in a way Michael had not been in all the years they'd been in love.

"This is about me and Forrest, isn't it?" Even though it was phrased as one, Michael knew it wasn't a question.

He didn't answer. Ashamed and guilty and relieved that Alex got it without him having to say it.

Alex sighed. "I watched you be with Maria for a lot longer, you know," he told him mildly, tone almost teasing.

Michael found himself silent again, because yeah, Alex had watched him be with Maria for nearly a year and had been gracious about it. He had been supportive, even, according to Maria. Michael wanted to do the same, had been trying for a little less than a month with varying degrees of success.

He didn't know how Alex could stand it.

"It's not about you and Forrest." One last ditch effort to be the friend and not the helpless fool in love.

It didn't work. Of course it didn't work.

Alex raised his eyebrows. "Did you really think that would work?"

Michael shrugged. "Figured I had to try."

Alex shifted from his crouch to sit beside Michael, and their shoulders brushed. The touch sent shivers down his spine and he had to fight the instinct to lean closer. Damn, but he missed the closeness, the comfort of it. "Well, now that you have, are you ready to tell me why you're here on your own instead of being inside with all of us?"

"Is it me?" He found himself asking. He sounded like a small child and found himself looking down to avoid looking at Alex.

He felt Alex stiffen beside him And immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't, though. After a few seconds of silence, Alex relaxed and let out a slow breath. "Something that you never managed to understand, Michael, was that at no point in the past eleven years was I ever ashamed of you. It was never about you. It was my father, it was the military, it was me. But it was never you. That is, until you chose to do something illegal on our first date."

Michael looked up at the sky and shook his head as they both laughed softly. He marveled at how far they had come, that they could laugh about something that had torn them apart two years ago.

Once their laughter died down, Alex spoke again. "You have to understand that my father made me live in fear for a really, really long time. He- I was thirteen when I figured out I was gay, and twelve when he did. From that moment on, I lived in constant fear of being myself. The only time I wasn't aftlraid was with you. And we both know how that turned out."

It hurt to hear, because Alex didn't deserve any of it, but knowing that he had somehow helped, that Alex wasn't ashamed of him, was a balm on a gaping wound that had been bleeding for a long time.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alex smiled, reassuring. "Now get up, suck it up and come inside." Though outwardly his demeanor was light, Michael could tell this was a test. He'd never failed a test in his life and he was damned if he was going to start now.

He got up, followed Alex inside and sucked it up.

.................

"Guerin!"

Michael grinned automatically and spun around to greet Alex. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. The man with him was just a little shorter, but was built like a tank. Alex clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hi."

Alex gestured at the man. "This is Bradley Williams, a buddy of mine."

"Hey, man," Michael took over the introduction. "Michael Guerin. Nice-" he trailed off as the man's eyes widened and his head spun around to look at Alex with a speed that had him wondering how his head was still attached. "-to meet you?" He looked between the two men. The man was grinning ear to ear now, while Alex was glaring daggers at him. "Am I missing something here?"

"Yes," Bradley said.

"No," Alex countered, in a way that left no room for argument.

Michael was surprised to see the man back off immediately and wondered exactly how the two had met. It must have been the air force, but it wouldn't explain the evident closeness. The two seemed like brothers.

"Listen, his car is a mess. But h's stubborn and won't admit he can't fix it. Can you take a look at it and tell him he needs to have a professional fix it?" The last part, though addressed to him, was said pointedly in Bradley's direction.

"Sure thing."

The car was a mess. Alex took too much pleasure in being right and processed to give Bradley shit the second Michael confirmed it. Seeing Alex like this, happy and carefree, never failed to make Michael's heart swell with fondness for him. It was seriously a problem.

About fifteen minutes later, Alex got a call and stepped away from them. "You know, this is gonna take a while, so you can just go and I'll give you or Alex a call when it's ready."

"Nah," he said with forced casualness. "I'm good here. Plus, he's probably gonna go back to the base- yup, there's that look." When Bradley pointed the bottle in Alex's direction, Michael's eyes followed and noticed the serious look on his face.

"I gotta go back to the base," he told them, putting the phone in his back pocket. "Let me drive you to the house?"

Bradley leaned back in his chair. "I'm good here, cap; you go ahead."

They locked eyes and after a few seconds, Alex nodded, giving him a wry smile. Michael felt like an outsider as they seemed to have an entire conversation without saying a thing.

Once Alex was gone, the other man turned to him. "Forgive my bluntness, but why the hell aren't you two together?"

Michael's head whipped around and he stared at the man, pissed off and in awe in equal measures. Had he managed to figure out Michael was in love with Alex from spending twenty minutes with them? "What?" He spluttered.

Bradley shook his head. "He told me about you. The way-"

Michael's whole world did a somersault around its axis. "He- he talked about me?"

The older man's forehead crinkled in a frown, but then his features softened and he let out a huff of a breath that could have been a laugh. "Yes, he talked about you. Not much, mind you. He kept a lot of things close to the vest back then, still does, but- everyone in our unit kinda knew there was someone special for him back home, way before he told me."

Someone special. At a time where he'd thought of himself as an afterthought, a dirty secret, in Alex's life, the people closest to him at the time had thought he was someone special.

"Every time he talked to you on the phone, he'd be settled, more- alive, I guess- for the next couple of days. Sometimes, I'd even catch him on the phone with you and he'd have this look on his face and I just knew."

"Knew what?" Michael managed to say, heart in his throat.

"That he loved you. And from what I've seen, that hasn't changed, has it?"

A part of Michael wanted to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business. Another part wanted to get down on his knees and beg him to tell him more.

"What did he say about me?" He found himself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

"That you're smart. Kind. That he- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he could talk about was you." Bradley sucked in a harsh breath, and Michael envied his ability to do that, because couldn't draw a single breath. "He was dying, and all he wanted was for you to know; practically begged me to be the one to tell you."

"That he loved me?" Michael's voice cracked, but he ignored it, eyes on the other man.

"That he'd died, Michael. He didn't want you to keep guessing, I think." Bradley looked him straight in the eye and Michael saw the tears that had gathered there. It made Michael feel better about the tears in his own eyes.

"If something does happen to you, half the town will know before I do and that's because no one would even think to tell me." He remembered saying on the last phone call they'd had, nearly four years ago.

He'd been angry when he'd said that; angry and afraid. The idea that his words had stayed with Alex, that he'd been thinking about him when he'd been bleeding, dying, broke his heart and mended it in the same breath. Not for the first time, he ached for him, for them, for everything they could have been and everything they could have had.

Michael stopped working on the car and sat down heavily in the chair next to him, and Bradley kindly offered him the rest of his beer, eyes forward, probably to give Michael the opportunity to breakdown in peace. But Michael didn't fall apart, he just drank the beer and then stood up to finish the work, not saying a word even when Bradley stood up and walked closer.

"I met Forrest yesterday. Between you and me? I'm rooting for you," he told him with a smirk, patting his shoulder twice before he left, leaving a stunned Michael in his wake.

......

It took two days for Michael to gather up the courage to talk to Alex. When he reached his house, he found him on a lawn chair, headphones in and his head bopping to the beat of a song only he knew. Michael stopped to stare at him, and really, it was ridiculous how far he was gone for the man that he was staring at the back of his head like a lovesick fool.

He took a few steps closer, until he was beside him and when Alex looked up and smiled at him, Michael smiled back automatically. "Writing another song about me?" He asked, teasing.

"No," Alex told him with a laugh. "I think that was a one time thing."

His disappointment must have showed on his face because Alex shook his head. "Not many people have a song written about them, you know, you shouldn't get greedy," he chided and stood up.

He didn't know what made him do it; maybe it was Bradley's words ringing in his ears- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he cared about was you. He wanted you to know; that he'd died.- but the second he was on his feet, Michael pulled him into his arms. When Alex didn't push him away; when he pulled him in tighter instead, Michael buried his nose in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder and took in a lungful of air.

"Are you okay?"

Michael nodded against his neck and Alex's arms tightened around him. He tried desperately to think of something to say, tried to pull away, but found that he couldn't.

"Is this about your talk with Bradley?"

Michael nodded again and buried himself further in Alex's arms.

Alex didn't seem to mind.

They stood like that for longer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to want to let go, so they didn't. Until, eventually, they had to.

"Want to come inside for a beer?" He asked him gently.

Michael wanted more than that. Michael Wanted to hold him until the image of him, bleeding out in Bradley's arms while Michael was blissfully unaware, stopped haunting him in his dreams. He wanted to ask him to sing him the song again, just to hear the rest of it, to be able to appreciate it, to have a reminder that Alex hadn't forgotten about him. Michael wanted to talk to him about the mistakes they'd made and the future they could still have together. But, like he had a month ago, he knew it still wasn't their time.

So he settled for accepting the beer. And being Alex's friend. He owed it to the both of them to try. And he owed it to Alex to back off and let him be happy with someone else since that was what he wanted.

"Yeah." He smiled. "Yeah, I'd love a beer."

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #EJ Writes

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

Text

Hello, everyone! I come bearing a new recap series to fill the void until Volume 8. This came about because a bunch of friends went, “Hey, this book is really bad” and I responded with, “Really? I should check it out!” Now here we are.

Thrilling tale, I know.

The rules for this project are simple:

Each recap will cover a single chapter

Each chapter will be read as time and energy permit

Each chapter will contain typos because such is life

Recaps are a general response to anything and everything I notice about the text. This includes positives, negatives, and the wishy-washy stuff in between. Despite the summarized conversation above, I’m not going into this with the intention of ripping BtD to shreds, nor am I looking to absolve it simply because it’s ~RWBY~. I’m attempting to be as objective as one human individual can be

However, given that there will be criticisms (a lot of them so far)... any rude messages taking issue with that will unceremoniously be deleted :)

Onward!

We open with Sun’s point of view as he wanders the streets of Vacuo in the very late night/early morning. We learn that he’s been back for a month, but it’s “only now that he felt like he was truly home.” Why that is isn’t made clear. There are two actions connected to this thought: getting into a dangerous battle and helping out a stranger. It’s up to the reader to decide which (or both) is what makes Vacuo feel like home to Sun, but either is going to say a lot about his characterization. Is he a Yang, only feeling like things are normal when there’s something exciting going on? Or a Ruby, attaching feelings of self-worth and belonging to his ability to help others? As said, it’s arguably both.

To clarify this situation: Sun is following a group of three who in turn are following a woman. He says that they were “three goons who were up to no good. At least he’d assumed they were up to no good when he spotted them stalking a woman out of some new nightclub downtown.” Which begs the question, which is it? Do you actually know the three are “stalking” her or is this another “assumption”? Are they up to no good or not? Retroactively, their fight with Sun and the narrative connections to the rest of the plot seem to prove that they are indeed baddies... but Sun didn’t know this at the time. By his own admission he’s drawing very firm conclusions (they’re “goons”) based on circumstantial evidence. I’m torn between praising him for taking action - that woman is presumably safe now thanks to him - and acknowledging that this is a problem with our whole cast. All our heroes jump to conclusions like this and have very confident ideas about who is “good” and who is “bad” based on little to no evidence. Really, I take far less issue with this particular situation and its context (Huntsmen in training sees a woman potentially in danger and takes non-disruptive action to try and prevent a tragedy. That’s good) than I do this trend of characters “assuming” things about others across the series.

But enough on that. Sun’s plan to keep an eye on the situation fails as they “somehow noticed him” despite taking extra precautions to keep out of sight. From this he deduces that at least one member, Brown, is a faunus because the faunus are much more attuned to their environment. Both due to biology and growing up trying to keep safe from humans. I find the bigotry part of that explanation to be odd. I’ll admit that I might be reading way too much into this. So far there’s a lot in this novel that’s not obviously bad but did make me pause and go, “Ehhh...” Just because this moment draws a line between the racism allegory and (literal) animal traits. Take a second to swap out the fantasy term of “faunus”: Character, as a black man, is more attuned to his environment because he’s learned to protect himself from white people.” There is something to be said for minority groups being more cautious in specific situations, or being wary of how they present themselves to new people, etc. But in this case faunus are supposed to just be more attuned to things 24/7 because of fantasy-racism, which sounds a lot like an evolutionary, animalistic trait that they... already have? Saying that the character with animal eyes and ears can more easily pick up on someone tracking him is one thing. Saying that the discriminated against character can more easily pick up on someone tracking him because he’s just hyper-aware at all times very much like an animal...that’s “Ehhh.” It’s one of those things I doubt I’d be paying any attention to if RWBY had given us better representation overall. It’s reached a point where the way the faunus are handled is so messy that any statement like this invites at least a dollop of suspicion. But I’ll leave that to others to cry “Yea” or “Nay.”

So Sun is forced to confront these three. They wear masks and “matching silver armbands around their right biceps.” Sun thinks that they’re “just average gas masks” and thus way less scary than the grimm masks the White Fang prefers. All I could think was:

Gas masks are plenty scary, Sun, you’re just watching the wrong TV shows.

These four start the obligatory pre-fight chit-chat which includes Pink calling Sun “kid.” Every time this happens I feel a tiny bit of my soul wither and die. The protagonists’ ages and the implications attached to them have been a thorn in my side since Volume 5. I mean, heaven forbid we acknowledge that these are teenagers often making immature decisions when the text itself keeps reminding us of how young they are.

But I digress.

As the fight begins Sun concentrates to activate his semblance and we’re given a rather strange flashback. Sun, along with his older cousin Starr Sanzang, are moving with their clan after their “previous settlement had become too attractive to Grimm.” Which is its own, massive can of worms labeled with the question “What suddenly makes a home ‘too attractive’?” But we have nothing else to work with there so I’m leaving it alone. The primary takeaway is Sun’s reaction to the move itself. He wants to know why they don’t fight and despite being told that a) not everyone in the clan is as strong as him and b) he has a tendency to be hotheaded (even though that’s presented as familial teasing), he’s not happy with those answers. It’s amazing how much of this characterization makes it feel like Meyers barely read the RWBY wiki, yet he’s simultaneously managing to hit on a lot of the series’ major themes - including the idea that heroes must never, ever retreat. We could easily take Sun’s thoughts and chuck them into any of Team RWBY’s heads during Volume 7 and you’d be good to go. Not standing and fighting when that would likely mean your death? The horror!

This perspective also (for me) says a lot about his semblance itself. This is the moment where he starts working towards it, so given what we know about semblances, souls, and the circumstances in which they’re developed, I’d say his emotional state is pretty important. Sun wants to stay and fight. He’s told that not everyone is powerful like him. He’d need more people in order to defend his home. Then he literally creates more of himself to help him in battle. Problem solved.

The strange part is what kick-starts this development. Sun sees a magical (???) tree that appears to him and him alone. It’s “a desert willow, green and flourishing with white, rose, and violet flowers” and it’s what he focuses on whenever he needs to draw on his semblance. It’s unclear what, if anything, this tree is meant to represent. There’s obvious symbolism regarding a “flourishing” plant in an otherwise desolate wasteland, but we are not (as of yet) privy to whether this tree is a real thing with a real, tangible connection to Sun. It would be easy to conclude that Sun just imagined it despite his own insistence otherwise, but in a story where semblances, magic, and gods do exist? Who knows. I hope this is going somewhere because it’s frustrating to drop something ~symbolic~ into a universe that’s supposed to be governed by concrete, magical rules and leave the reader floundering over how to categorize that.

We come back to the fight where Sun decides that Brown was “both the leader of the group and the most dangerous. Why? Because he was hiding the most.”

Hold up.

How do you know he’s “hiding the most” when they’re all wearing identical masks and doing the same, shady stuff?

Why in the world is the concept of hiding things connected to leadership?

Not going to lie, it feels like a dig at Ozpin. “Oh yes, the most secretive one must be the leader because we all know leaders do nothing but hide things. The two are so intimately linked that I can look at three people who are all acting suspicious, single out the guy who I’m assuming is a faunus based on no evidence, and thus further conclude - since he’s totally hiding that part of his identity - that he’s the leader here. Simple deduction.”

Sherlock Holmes would be ashamed.

More importantly, you know who’s also a dangerous leader who hides things?

Oh, also this guy.

But instead of acknowledging this we’re offered the simplistic explanation that this is the leader of the bad guys because only bad guys hide stuff. Right.

I’m already getting the sense that Sun’s characterization - like Ruby’s - is going to suffer in this book. They should absolutely be written better given who they were when we first met them, but both end up being mouth pieces for the weird themes the story keeps insisting on including. To be clear, I’ve got a lot of issues with Sun in this story so far, but they’re issues that I don’t think should exist. It’s not “I dislike this character” but much more “I dislike this character but that’s only because you’re making them do and say really OOC things. Give me back the version of this character we had before.” There are characters I don’t vibe with and then there are characters who should be on my wavelength but the creators went and changed course somewhere. That’s always disappointing.

(Aside #1: Can we just take a moment to acknowledge how awkward posing and answering your own question is when we’re supposed to be the PoV? That “Why? Because...” is incredibly jarring. I’m focusing on content over prose here, but the prose needs a whole lot of work in places.)

So Brown is apparently a faunus, and the leader, and hiding extra stuff because Sun says so. The two begin fighting in earnest (with Sun’s clones taking on the other two), but don’t worry, Sun has enough confidence to spare:

“Brown had some kind of martial arts training similar to Sun’s – but he wasn’t nearly as good.”

Brown proceeds to knock Sun down and disarm him. Easily.

The fact that Sun can’t land a hit on this guy then causes him legitimate shock. “‘Oh crap’, Sun thought. ‘I’m losing. How am I actually losing?’” I don’t know, maybe because you’re a second year student going up against an adversary of unknown age, origin, and skill? The confidence of all our characters is astounding to me. Doesn’t anyone ever question whether they can win a fight? Or acknowledge that losing one is expected? Both Sun and RWBYJNR seem to have come out of the Battle of Beacon thinking, “We have survived one (1) battle and therefore we are the best ever. Losing? Never heard of her.” There’s a difference between writing a confident character and writing a deluded one. Sun should not be blindsided by the fact that someone else in the world is more powerful than him.

(For the record, the eternal exception to this is Toph Beifong. They really let a tiny blind girl say, “I’m the goddamn best” and made it fact. I am, and will always, be here for that.)

Amidst this shock Sun thinks about Beacon and immediately shies away from those memories. I quite liked that. I wish the web-series did more to acknowledge how traumatizing that battle was (akin to what we got with Yang’s PTSD and Ruby’s nightmares before both were dropped), so I’m pleased to see nods to it here.

Sun is just acknowledging how he probably should have brought some friends along when a copy of Tri-Hard lands nearby. Huzzah! Velvet is here! Sun should be pleased right, especially since he was just thinking about how much he needs help?

“Great. Team CFVY (coffee) was here.”

Ugh. Well this is frustrating to read. What precisely is going on here? Sun is the guy defined by “You should always get friends involved!” Then he ditches said friends to chase after Blake. While working through this decision he finds himself in a situation where he’s alone again largely because his team is mad at him. So he’s coming to terms with how much he misses and needs those friends... only to think a sarcastic “great” when someone actually show up to help him?

He’s written as an asshole here. Velvet and Yatsuhashi save him - the three baddies use a smoke semblance to run off - but “Sun bristled at the implication that Velvet and Yatsuhashi had rescued him.” Can’t we have one character with a bit of humility? The writing attributes Sun’s attitude to a competitive school where prestige is everything. Team CFVY’s unexpected arrival and their subsequent fame seems to rankle... but we’re really going to ignore that they’re here because, you know, their school was destroyed and their headmaster murdered? I know that people think stupid, selfish things all the time (god knows I do), but it’s a bit much to have Sun be so over confident that he gets himself into serious trouble, get annoyed when he’s offered help, and then insist that he never needed that help in the first place. That kind of behavior rankles and for good reason. It’s fine as a flaw for one or two characters, but we’re seeing this across most of the main cast. Is no one able to look at someone outside their team and just go, “Thanks for the assist”?

The one redeeming part of this scene is Velvet practicing her quips. I support her attempts to sound like a cheesy action hero.

(Aside #2: There had to be a better way to deal with the team names other than writing “CFVY (coffee)”...)

As the three chat we learn that the rogue huntsmen Carmine and Bertilak may be involved with these shady characters, the missing people with powerful semblances, and I, who has not read the first book, learns about Gus, someone capable of amplifying negative emotions. There’s... a lot attached to that reveal, but I’ll leave it alone for now. It’s not fair to drag it when I’ve only gotten a passing mention.

Alongside discussing Very Important Plot Points, the group dives into Sun’s difficulties with his team:

“Besides, the guys are still a little annoyed with me for ditching them.”

“To chase a girl,” Yatsuhashi added.

“It wasn’t like that.” Not entirely. “Blake needed a friend.”

“And your team needed you,” Velvet said firmly. “After everything we saw at Beacon, with everything going on in Mistral—”

“They were fine.”

“But you’re their leader,” Yatsuhashi said.

“They’ll come around.”

“Maybe you would be able to regain their trust if you didn’t keep running off without them,” Yatsuhashi added, sheathing his great sword.

Sun narrowed his eyes. “I liked you better when you didn’t say much.”

Sun is, again, written as an asshole! It might be understandable that he wants to ignore all his mistakes, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating for those around him - or the reader. Like admitting that he needs help and then getting annoyed when he gets it, here Sun refuses to engage with the actual problems in his behavior. He won’t admit those mistakes. You ditched your team to chase after a girl. No, no, it wasn’t just about chasing her... Your team needed you. No they didn’t! You’re their leader. Pff what does that have to do with anything? It’s deny, deny, deny. On top of a mean quip at Yatsuhashi. I’m just reading this train-wreck like

I want to re-emphasize here (because I keep getting asks with the accusation) that yes, I do understand that stories need conflict and yes, I do want characters to have flaws. It’s just that lately RWBY feels like all flaws all the time, most of which are never even acknowledged as flaws. Which mean the characters aren’t improving. There are very few moments lately where I feel like our heroes are legitimately kind, or wise, or intelligent, or compassionate, and that’s making it hard to connect with them. Knowing what I do of the fountain scene with Yatsuhashi, Fox, and Neptune makes things even worse. Would it be so horrible for Sun to be happy that his friends came to help? Or not sneer at Team CFVY so much? Or admit that he messed up? It’s the amount we’re getting across the whole cast that’s a problem, alongside rejecting other conflicts that would be much more logical for the story and much more emotionally fulfilling (such as Team RWBYJNR disagreeing about anything). I find it exhausting to watch. And now read.

I did, however, like Sun calling Yatsuhashi out on his own insults:

“Besides, people have attempted [invading] before,” Sun said.

“Back when Vacuo had something valuable, like Dust,” Yatsuhashi said.

Sun whistled low. “Spoken like a true outsider. If you don’t want to turn Vacuans against you, you’ll stop making comments like that.”

Yatsuhashi looked away.

It’s a legit thing to call out. Please don’t imply that our city has no value now that we’re not producing this specific commodity. Sun expressed those feelings in a way that didn’t crucify Yatsuhashi, but let him know he’d spoken out of turn and helped him understand why he, as an individual, should care about changing his perspective (“If you don’t want to turn Vacuans against you...”). I’d say this is one of the better exchanges in the prologue, showing us unexpected sides to each character (Sun isn’t just a laughing goof, Yatsuhashi isn’t the wise Asian stereotype) without them feeling OOC.

We then end the prologue with Sun promising to help CFVY with these investigations. Offering on behalf of his team without asking, that is. I’m sure that will go over splendidly.

As a final note before I sign off, I apologize if these recaps are... bad? Lol. Yeah, we’ll be blunt and straightforward in that description. While working through this I found myself reiterating so much of what I say in the regular recaps + asks, just because these problems seem to be creeping their way into RWBY’s supplemental material too. Doesn’t mean it makes for engaging reading though. In addition, I found myself struggling to articulate thoughts on this prologue simply because I didn’t know what to make of these writing choices. What’s up with that tree? Why are Sun’s thoughts going around in a contradictory circle? What am I supposed to do with all these lines that grind the story to a halt because my brain goes, “Wait what?” The easy answer to all this is, “It’s not a well written book, Clyde” and yeah. From what I’ve read for myself and heard from others, fair enough. But I feel like there’s just enough here - that potential RWBY is known for - that I want to try and clearly lay out as much as I can... even if it still comes out a bit muddled.

It’s summer. I just finished another massive project. There’s a pandemic on. My brain is as fried as my eggs this morning. If you’re okay with the outcome of all that, stick around :D

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Before the Dawn #BTD Recaps

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detectivedreameater · 4 years ago

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Asking Too Much || Anita and Marley

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professoranieves and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Anita shows up wasted at Marley’s to yell at her. CONTENT: Heavy Alcohol Use

Anita was drunk. Sure, she drank a lot before she was painfully dumped by the only person she let get close to her in almost 15 years, but now she really drank. The meaningless hookups actually felt meaningless now. All of her solo activities that she used to love just made her feel empty. Even going home to Mexico didn’t feel right. There weren’t enough mexican beauties to get Marley off her mind. Which sort of explained why after drinking … far too much out at a bar she wound up giving the cab driver Marley’s address instead of her own. The driver was talking to her asking why she didn’t get out of the car yet. For a moment she thought about telling him to bring her to her actual house, but then a rush of alcohol-induced confidence took over and she paid the driver then walked up to Marley’s door. She banged on the door, fully unaware of the time or even if she’d actually be home. But she had some shit to get off her chest.

Marley had felt sick and tired almost constantly the past few days. She didn’t fully understand why, but she did know it only started after her meet up with Dakota, and after her terrible conversation with Anita online. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on her couch, trying to concentrate on a TV show, but it ended up as mostly white noise in the background. And it stayed that way for several hours. Her head hammered and so did the door. That was strange. She sat up, staring at the door. If it was Erin, she’d just come in, she didn’t need Marley to come open it for her. But after a moment, the banging came again, which meant it wasn’t Erin and that was even stranger, because there was literally no one else Marley could think of that would want to drop by at 2am. Groaning, she hoisted herself up off her couch and dragged herself over to the door. “Hold on!” she called out, rubbing her eyes and putting on her glasses-- just in case-- before turning to the door, scraping a few sticky notes off the wood, and opening it. “What do you-- Anita?” startled, she blinked, took off her glasses, as if maybe she were seeing something or hallucinating. “What-- why-- you’re here?” she looked around. Had she come to the wrong place? “Why.”

The reality of what Anita was doing really sunk in when Marley opened the door. She had gone so long without seeing her face, without seeing her body. It was the longest they’d been apart since they first met and instinctively she felt a pull to just wrap her arms around Marley and feel how perfectly their bodies fit with one another. But that wasn’t why she was there because no matter how much she wanted that she knew Marley didn’t anymore. “Why am I here?” She asked, just repeating the words she had heard with a slight slur. “Because - cause I’m fucking angry, okay? That’s why I’m here.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t notice at first, but as soon as she saw the jacket Marley was wearing she stopped for a second. Mostly because she realized she was wearing the charm Marley had given her around her neck still. Fuck. Without acknowledging any of it, she quickly reached up and tucked the necklace into her shirt. “And you’re the reason I’m angry. So I decided to … well I was in the cab and then I was here and, just… fuck - you’re the worst, ya know that? You’re the fucking worst because you said that I was different and then… and well, you fucking lied.”

It became clear the second Anita started speaking that she was drunk. More than that, actually. She was absolutely wasted. Marley could smell it on her breath, and see it in the sway. She thought about inviting her in for a moment, but that stubborn anger inside of her made her close the door so that it was only her frame in it and she looked at Anita through tired eyes, removing her glasses. “You’re drunk,” she said quietly, glancing down, “go home. Tell the cab you gave him the wrong address. I’ll give you cash if you need it.” She straightened up a little, turning back to the little door side table Erin had set up for her with all her important belongings to take out on it were. Her waller, her keys, her badge. She didn’t want to make this last longer than it needed to, because looking at Anita, hearing her voice after all this time, was making her chest hurt and burn with her sorrow. “And I didn’t lie,” she said under her breath, turning to look back at her, holding out a twenty dollar bill.

Anita pushed away Marley’s hand as she tried to give her money. “I didn’t give him the wrong address and besides he already left.” She wasn’t really sure about that part because she hadn’t seen him leave and she wasn’t really in the mood to turn around and look. Regardless, she was already there and even if all they did was yell at each other for some reason this felt better than being all alone or even with someone else. “You did though. Or it didn’t matter enough to mean anything. You never seemed like the kinda person who didn’t fight for what they wanted. So don’t try to tell me this isn’t what you wanted. Yet what do you do? Send me gifts?! Gifts you didn’t intend to even fucking send? What’s that shit? And ok? Yeah, I skipped town. You could’ve called though. If you were worried or whatever. But did anyone reach out to me? No. Not you, and not Morgan.” She was talking so fast and not even realizing what she was saying. In fact she wasn’t entirely sure she was even speaking english by the end of that. Which made sense, she often switched to spanish when she was drunk or overly worked up, and tonight she was both.

Marley doubted that was true, but she wasn’t about to point that out. Anita was mad enough without her being nit-picky like that. At any other time, Marley would have been plenty okay with Anita standing there yelling at her, but as it were, her head hurt and she was beyond exhausted and she’d actually fucking cried-- angry tears-- earlier that day because of Anita. And this was all her fault, and she had no right to feel this way. She pocketed the money and threw her wallet back down onto the table, turning to head into her house, letting the door swing open for Anita to follow her in if she wanted. Which it seemed like she did, if only just to yell. “Would you even have picked up if I called?” she asked, going over to the counter and popping open her pain med bottle. If Anita was here to argue, she’d need it. “Don’t, Anita,” she said in a low voice, still hunched over the counter, “just...don’t. Okay. You don’t know anything about how I feel or what I want or why I did that. Because I don’t know any of those things. So just-- be mad, or whatever, but just stop. Stop saying I didn’t care or that I didn’t want you. Because it’s not true.” It was never a lie.

Anita rolled her eyes, not really at anything in particular just because it felt like the right thing to do. She was tired of hearing Marley say the same fucking thing. Without giving it any thought she followed Marley through the front door into her place, the pain of being back there hitting her all at once. “Yeah, I would have.” She really didn’t know if she was lying about that one. It probably would have depended on the day. “Just… help me understand. I’m smart, and that’s not me being cocky. I have two PhD’s. I’m smart. But this…” she gestured between the two of them, “this I just don’t fucking understand.” It would all be so much easier if Marley just said she didn’t want her, that things weren’t working out because they were too different or because Marley just didn’t like the monogamous lifestyle. Any explanation would be better than what she kept getting from Marley. Anita needed something to wrap her head around.

Marley turned around to face Anita but didn’t look at her yet. Her eyes burned with her struggle to keep the tears away, pressing palms roughly into them. She shook her head. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Anita,” she finally relented, “I’ve told you all I can, all that I--” all that she understood about it, about why she’d done this to them. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she repeated, even if she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She knew exactly what Anita wanted from her, she just wasn’t sure she could give it to her. She wasn’t sure she was enough of herself, enough of a person, to give Anita what she wanted, what she needed, from Marley. She looked up, then, eyes puffy and red, but dry and tired. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

As Anita looked into Marley’s eyes she felt speechless. What she needed she knew she couldn’t have. She wanted things to go back to how they were. When the two of them were together before things just felt right. Anita wasn’t afraid of having to hide who she really was and she wasn’t ashamed of what she was. Now she felt so empty, like she had found something she needed with Marley and not having it anymore left her broken in a way she never knew was possible. “I want you.” She finally admitted, though she practically whispered it. Scared to admit it to herself let alone to Marley. “I made that pretty clear the last time I saw you.” She had, hadn’t she? She felt practically mortified with how much she had begged and pleaded with her that night.

Marley fell silent as she waited for Anita’s answer. As she waited for her to give her something to go off of, something to tell her to make it all better. But the thing was, it wasn’t that simple. It never could be. Because it wasn’t just about wanting her back, or needing her. There was something missing inside of Marley and she didn’t know how to tell Anita that. She didn’t know how to look at the woman she wanted more than air and tell her she was nothing but an empty shell of the woman she used to be. And the truth was that Marley wanted her, too. She wanted her so bad, but at the same time, she wanted something different for Anita. And she didn’t know how to say any of that. “I...I mean I--” she chewed her lip, “you did. You made that-- you did.” Her gaze fell to her feet and she couldn’t keep the tears out of her eyes anymore. “You did,” she kept repeating it quietly, scrubbing the tears away. “I’m not-- I don’t know why. You shouldn’t, I’m not-- I know I--” she shook her head again, “I’m sorry.”

Seeing Marley’s response made everything worse for Anita. Just further proving that this was not cut and dry. She may have been pretty wasted but she could see the hesitations in Marley’s movements and tone. They wanted each other but Marley wouldn’t let either of them have what they wanted. And Anita was once again left wondering why and not getting any answers. Maybe talking wasn’t gonna get them anywhere. Anita took a few steps towards Marley, then with a bit more confidence she reached out and placed her hands on Marley’s hips, pulling her towards her till their faces were close. There was a soft hesitation in her movement, but Anita began to lean her face up to kiss her. Maybe if they could just do what they did best the rest would fall into place.

Marley didn’t know what was happening until Anita was touching her and pulling her towards her and their faces were so close together. And she wanted it so bad, god did she want it. But her entire body seized up when she felt Anita’s cold lips against hers and she put her hands up, pushing her away. “Anita, wait--” she said, stepping back and finding herself bumping into the counter, “we--” shouldn’t. But the word fell short. She opened and closed her mouth a few times but found no more words. “You’re not thinking straight,” she finally said, swallowing every other thing she wanted to say like ‘I missed you so much’ and ‘Please kiss me’. And everything else in between. Every thought that she’d had since last time Anita had been here and everything she’d wished she’d been able to say when she had been. She bit her lip and looked away, body still stiff. “You should...go home,” she muttered. Because Marley wasn’t sure she could say no if she tried again, if she pleaded with her again, if she asked to stay again. And nothing good would come of that. Not tonight.

Even though Anita never thought anything would hurt more than the night Marley ended things, tonight she discovered she was wrong. This hurt more. Maybe it was foolish to think that after all this Marley would still really want her. Maybe it was stupid to think that a kiss or a night in bed might fix whatever had broken between them. All she knew was that she wanted Marley so bad that her bones ached. But as she pushed her away all Anita felt was embarrassed. She took a few steps away, clenching her jaw to stop herself from screaming or crying - she wasn’t fully sure what emotion was gonna take over first. “I’m sorry…” She mumbled looking around awkwardly. “I guess I just hoped…” she let her sentence trail off. For the first time things really felt… over. Marley really didn’t want her, even as she literally threw herself at her. “I’ll leave.” As she turned to the door she felt the soft stream of tears begin to pour out and she tried to get to the door before the tears turned into a sob.

Marley heard the pain in Anita’s voice and she felt herself ache again. She felt her entire body tightening, shaking, racked with a pain she was wholly unfamiliar with-- and yet she still just watched Anita walk away. Let her walk away. She barely even had the strength to close the door, collapsing in on herself and sliding to the floor where she stood, back pressed against the counter. She let out a strangled sob as she tried to keep herself together enough to not just lose it here on the floor, but she could feel her mind slipping away from her again. Why couldn’t she just cut Anita off for good? Why couldn’t she just let Anita go? Why did seeing her like that make Marley’s heart feel as if someone had ripped it straight from her chest? Why did this feel worse than before? Why did Marley suddenly feel as if she was drowning? She wanted Anita and she’d let her walk out the front door. She wanted Anita and she was sure, in this moment, that she had ruined it for good now.

Happy fucking New Year.

#chatzy #chatzy: anita #wickedswriting #asking too much #anita #tw alcohol use

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