#not me cramming it into everything at every opportunity

[jelzorz]

203.

Callum and Rayla get married just after they turn twenty-one.

Honestly, Ezran's surprised they waited so long. Callum's been of marrying age since all the things that went down with Aaravos, and they know it isn't over, they know he'll be back, and if it were Ezran, he'd want to make the most of it of the time they have. The only reason they managed last time was because of the Archdragons, and now there are none left but Zym. There's no guarantee they'll be as lucky when he returns.

The knowledge hangs over all of them, a never-lifting cloud of uncertainty, a promise that this peace won't last.

He tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter. The only thing that should tonight is Callum and Rayla and they are happy and in love. Ez tries to bask in it, in the glow of the candles as the evening sun sets, in the music and the laughter as they dance across floor, but the thought is always there, always present, a clock that ticks and ticks and ticks that he can't unhear.

"You look troubled, Your Majesty."

Ez glances up. Aanya is there, a wine glass in hand, her smile soft but understanding.

He chuckles awkwardly. "Who me? I'm never troubled."

"You're a terrible liar, Ez," says Aanya drily, but she chuckles too and raises her glass. "I can leave you be if you like. You just looked lonely over here and my conversation partner was stolen away." She nods at the floor and Ez bites back a laugh when he spots Opeli waltzing with Soren, of all people.

"No," he says, smiling into his own glass. "Stay. I like having you around. It's just... This all feels short-lived, y'know? I know we like to think we won against Aaravos but we all know we just stalled him. He'll be back in a few years, and what then? What are we gonna do?"

Aanya snorts ruefully and takes a sip from her glass. "I don't know," she admits quietly. "His return affects all of us, and all this work..." She sighs. "I'm scared too," she says after a moment. "I think you'd be foolish not to be. But that doesn't mean we can't let ourselves be happy now. Look at your brother. Look at how happy he is to be in love. Do you think he's not scared as well?" She points a finger at the crowd of dancers and Ez spots them: Callum and Rayla tucked against each other, their smiles soft and full of joy.

Ezran sighs, wishing he knew how to enjoy this the way they are. Wishing he knew how to forget. But then Aanya touches his hand and his breath rushes out, her gentleness a comfort against the shadows hanging over them all.

"What are you drinking?" she asks after a moment.

"What? Oh." He flushes. "Just water. I didn't think... I'm not old enough to drink what everyone else is."

Aanya snorts at him, and Ez blinks and peers into her glass.

He gasps. "You're not either."

"I'm a queen," she says shrugging. "Who's going to stop me? Come on. Let's get you something a bit more fun."

Ez stutters a little. Then he laughs. "You're a terrible influence, Your Majesty."

"Only on some days," chuckles Aanya. "Just because we're monarchs, doesn't mean we can't enjoy yourselves, even if it's just for tonight."

She tugs him away and Ez laughs as he lets her, the shadow growing smaller in his mind for the first time in weeks.

Just one night. He can allow himself that.

[storiesofsvu]

Communication Error

Alex Blake x reader warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort kinda, usual BAU type of situations and violence.

The BAU had been in San Antonio for nearly two weeks already, the team had been called in a little earlier than usual but the case was striking right from the start. You’d spent hours droning over case files, evidence, cold cases and every chance you seemed to get at the unsub he was always a step ahead of you. The final straw was when he broke pattern, kidnapping the daughter of his murder victims rather than leaving her at the scene.

Tensions were running high, press, locals and the upper brass all beating down on the BAU to figure things out quickly and safely. You’d been in close quarters all week, there was not a moment to be had to oneself as everyone was bunking with someone else and everyone was on edge. There had been far too little sleep, an overconsumption of caffeine and definitely not enough food.

It was safe to say everything about the situation was escalated.

It didn’t even matter that you happened to be working the case with your girlfriend, you and Alex had barely had a moment of peace and definitely not a moment of privacy since arriving and no one else on the team knew you were together. JJ and Garcia had been sharing a room up until a pipe burst in their bathroom on the first and now all four of you were crammed together in one dingy hotel room. You were ‘forced’ into sharing the same bed but your subconscious spent the entire time you managed to get sleep fighting itself in a reminder that you shouldn’t exactly be cuddling. Unable to properly communicate over the week lead to both of you being on edge and there was no relief of a little hand hold, a tender kiss pressed to the other’s temple in reassurance or soft ‘I love you’s’ in moments of need.

When you finally caught up with the unsub in a warehouse on the outskirts of town everyone was on high alert, vests on, guns at the ready and attempting to make a plan about what was going to go down. Garcia had found a back entrance into the warehouse, one that it seemed the unsub was unaware of and it was certain you would be going in through there to retain the element of surprise. Problem was it was only big enough for one person to finagle their way through.  

“Wilson!” The local swat team leader called out and your head shot up.

“Yes sir?”

“I’m givin’ you the lead with this, you comfortable doing that?”

“Yes sir, of course.” You glanced over to Hotch, watching as his jaw tensed ever so lightly before giving you a once over and a trusting nod.

“Are you sure about that?” Alex suddenly asked and your brow furrowed at her, unsure if she was directing your question to you, Hotch or swat.

“I have complete confidence Wilson can do it.” Hotch replied, “I’d expect everyone on the team to trust my judgment.”

“This unsub is convoluted,” Alex continued, “he twists things around, he’s incredibly hard to read, and according to the profile he’s not afraid to take anyone out to get away.”

“And she knows all that.” Aaron nodded toward you and you returned the gesture while swat continued to fully suit you up.

“I just think that maybe a more experienced member of the team should be going in.” Alex protested and this time your head shot up to hers, a mixture of hurt and offended drawn across your face.

“Excuse me?”

“This guy, he’s duplicitous, he’ll talk riddles around you to draw your attention away from what he’s doing to get the jump on you.”

“Oh, so you’re not just doubting my ability to do my job, now you’re calling me stupid.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.”

“And for every second we stand out here while you berate me we’re wasting time and losing the opportunity to save that girl. I’m suited up, I know what I’m doing and last time I checked I didn’t need your vote of confidence to do my job.”

You glanced towards Hotch who simply stood his ground, nodding to you once again before you turned back to swat to get your ear piece put in and were quickly guided around the building. There was only a beat of silence before Alex spoke up again.

“Hotch I really think this is a bad idea. She’s the newest to the team, she’s barely worked three full cases, there’s been more paperwork than unsubs—”

“Blake.” He cut in, voice stern, “you’re out of line. Wilson has almost four years of hostage negotiation with NYPD under her belt, not only does she have a very good understanding of what she’s doing, she’s the best out of all of us to go in there. I wouldn’t even put my own skills above hers today. So you can either head back to the cars, or you can join us in having your team member’s back.”

Alex took a deep breath, sucking down any and all responses she had but Hotch didn’t miss the way her nostrils flared, her eyes tense as she bit her lip and shut up. Instead her hands went back to her hips, one already stationed ready over her gun as she tried to control the way her heart was hammering in her chest. While she certainly hadn’t known about your specific role with NYPD and was a little less worried about you being in there alone, she still didn’t want you getting hurt. You’d been in deep with this one, relating a little too much to the kidnapped victim and she was worried about what you might do to get her free. Now all she could do was wait.

She honestly wasn’t sure if it was the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears, or if there really was that much static over her earpiece. She could hear your hushed voice crackling through every so often as you cleared the first couple of rooms, making sure to check in with your team, she faintly heard something else and by the way Morgan’s eyes shot toward the warehouse she was certain you’d found the unsub. This was the part she hated the most, she wanted to be in there with you, or at least in your ear, guiding you through what could very much help you talk this guy down if your own tactics didn’t seem to be working. It was driving her insane that none of them could hear what you were saying, it was clear you had adjusted your radio to attempt to keep the audio button pressed down, pinched between your belt and hip but it still kept cutting in and out.

If you had asked, she could have sworn they were standing outside of that goddamn building all night, the anxiety coursing through her body causing her muscles to tense, nearly aching by the time Reid’s head shot up.

“She’s coming out!”

In reality it had been just over forty minutes. But those forty minutes had been absolutely agonizing as she prayed for your safety while still trying to focus enough to stay sharp and do her job.

The door to the warehouse booted open and the unsub was the first to appear, cuffs on his wrists, hands on his head. You had one hand sturdy on his shoulder while the other one was being clutched by the girl on your side. Swat hustled in, quickly taking the guy down to the ground while they did a more thorough search before escorting him to the car. The team relaxed, the tension surging through them finally beginning to melt away as you glanced around the lot, beginning to lead the girl over to them.

Somehow, you heard it first and your ears picked up that it was coming from behind you, a shot fired from the roof of the warehouse. There was a cacophony of yelling, screams and very sudden nearly panicked rush of movement. All you could think of was making sure that the girl made it out in one piece, shoving her in front of you as you nearly hit the ground, enveloping her in your embrace.

“GO!” Hotch’s yell was barely audible over your ringing ears, “Morgan take the back.”

Gusts of air raced passed either side of you and a rock must’ve been kicked up, your arm began to sting, pain beginning to prickle through your body. You heard another couple of shots ring through the night air and wrapped tighter around the girl.

“He’s running.” Alex’s voice was suddenly at your side, her hand gently resting on your shoulder and you were able to relax, your hand still tightly clutched in the girl’s.

“Then go!” You urged her, waving in the proper direction.

“You’re hit. I’m not going anywhere.” She insisted and the pain in your arm suddenly increased by a tenfold.

“I’m fine!” You assured her, glancing down to see the tear in your shirt, looking to the ground in front of you, you spotted the bullet, still in one piece and nearly as clean as it had come out of the gun.

“No you’re not. You’re bleeding.” Alex’s fingers delicately tugged at the fabric of your sleeve trying to get a better look at it.

“It’s barely a scrape! Go help the team.”

“I don’t care!” She nearly snapped back and when you finally looked up and caught her gaze there was a misting of tears in her eyes, “you are what’s important to me right now.”

“Okay.” You nodded softly, standing to your full height and scooping up the girl with your non injured side to carry on your hip over to the medics.

Alex couldn’t help herself, chewing on her fingernail as the paramedic urged you into the back of the ambulance for better lighting. She could feel her leg shaking and finally succumbed to the pressure, beginning to pace, her feet kicking at the gravel a welcomed distraction until the medic jumped down from the bus. Her head shot up, catching the moment you dropped down to sitting on the back of the rig, an orange juice in your non injured hand.

“You okay?” She asked timidly, approaching you.

“Yeah.” You nodded, gesturing toward the bandage on your arm, “just a graze, no stitches necessary.”

“Oh thank god.” She let out a huge breath, the relief flooding through her body all at once so intensely she had to drop down beside you and you were quick to catch her trembling hand in yours.

“Alex… I’m fine. We’re both fine. We’ve both seen and handled worse.”

She made a meek noise, avoiding your gaze as her fingers tapped a rhythm on her thigh and against your palm. A brief silence over took the back of the rig while she calmed herself and made an attempt at sorting her thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” She finally spoke, “I was out of line.” She risked a glance up at you, “please know that I have never and will never doubt your abilities, you’re incredible at what you do. I was just scared. I guess… I guess I was putting personal thoughts above professional ones, and I had no idea about you being a hostage negotiator.”

“It never came up.” You shrugged, “and I shouldn’t have snapped back either.” You smiled softly, squeezing at her hand, “it’s been such a long week, we’re all exhausted. And I know that’s no excuse…”

“Still a contributing factor.” She finally cracked a small smile and you laughed softly, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“How did two people with careers built on clear and concise communication skills end up sucking at it when it comes to outside of work?” You asked with a laugh, pulling one from Alex.

“I don’t know.” She softly squeezed your hand, “it’s something to work on.” Her hand wrapped around you, pulling your head to her so she could leave a tender kiss on your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The sound of a boot on gravel broke through your little happy moment and both of your heads shot up to find Hotch standing in front of you, a brow raised in your direction.

“If you’d like you can keep pretending the entire team didn’t already know, but in the future I’d hope it doesn’t affect any of our cases.”

“Yes sir.”

“Sorry sir.”

“And I expect that paperwork on my desk by the time we land.” He eyed you for a moment before his lips split into a small smile, “good work today Wilson. I’m glad you have someone like Blake to have your back, even if she does get a bit pushy at times.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst from your mouth as Alex let out a scoff, Hotch turning away with a gleam in his eye.  

_____________

@svulife-rl rl @clarawatson @hbkpop @momlifebehard @itisdoctortoyousir @temilyrights @alexxavicry @evilregal2002 @ladysc @dextur @disneyfan624 @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @happenstnces @whiteberryx @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @emobabeyy @leftoverenvy @daddy-heather-dunbar @regalmilfs4me @scorpsik @riveramorylunar @h-doodles @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @s1ut4nat @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @ara-a-bird @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @nachofriess @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @moonlightjxuregui @gamma-rae-bursts

[hungrykeaton]

Have a belly busting video everyone ;) They seriously make these burritos damn HUGE! Like they are the size of my arm its insane. And I just love watching them make it too because they keep just walking down all the ingredients and asking what else I want on it. And I just keep naming everything my greedy eyes can see. Got to see that burrito grow bigger and taller with each plop of extra ingredient ughhhh.

Also when I was ordering this time the burrito maker kept asking if I wanted extra brisket too and like of course I have to say yes to that. Plus literally everytime I order it someone always mentions how its so big and they can't quite finish it. But they don't know me, they don't know that I'm a greedy hog deep down who is never full. Its definitely meant for 2 or more people but I know that's how much I always wanna shove in my gut. (Also plopping down and watching exercise videos for a bit while eating also is kinda 'fun' for me. Something about the encouraging motivation to keep going and stuff...)

Ugh it just tasted so good too. Like even though its the size of my own forearm unwrapping it and chowing down on it was delicious. I just wanted to keep on stuffing it down more and more with each bite. Even though each just made my big gut swell up bigger with burrito and fat.

My gut's gotten big again I think... I wasn't trying to blow up too big again but I may have messed up because it feels so big. I had to get a bigger wardrobe already and we're not even done with December yet! I'm getting nervous my big gut is gonna make me look like fucking Santa by the end of the year...

But I just want more, more burritos, and burgers, and just more FOOD all the time around me. Just let me lean back and gorge myself so that there isn't a literal inch of room left inside of my massive ball gut. I just wanna eat and gorge and watch movies and TV like a mindless bottomless pit. Unable to stop cramming the food in my mouth which only makes my belly even bigger.

I can't stop eating, can't stop getting fatter. I just want bigger and bigger portions each time. Always ordering the most, eating it, and asking others to finish their plate too. I just can't stop filling my gut with food, it needs more it always needs more. It sometimes feels as though something primal inside of me to just feast and eat at every opportunity. To keep asking for more food, to keep trying to eat more and push more inside of me. I NEED more inside of me. Doesn't matter if we just ate, lets get another burger so I can keep forcing food down into me. Hey are we going to the arcade? They have pizza there right? Just every where I go addicted to eating and feeding myself.

It's not even hunger anymore. It's just something more than that. Because I'm definitely not hungry after eating an entire gut busting burrito. But still I want more. I want more cookies, or pasta, or burgers, or pizza. My gut is groaning with all that food crammed in it and I'm patting it just saying I wish I had more. Why? Why do I want more?! Why can't I just stop? My gut won't let me stop eating until it feels like its going to burst. Until I literally am gasping for air because my GUT cannot physically stretch anymore.

Also going to see Buttonspop again too tomorrow and I think we're gonna have another food filled time that's going to really put the strain on my new pants...

[neostrayteez]

PLAY MY WAY

PAIRING. mark lee x female reader

WORD COUNT. 5.9k

SUMMARY. you never met a guy you couldn’t score and church boy Mark is no exception, but he may end up surprising you.

WARNINGS. smut, profanity

PLAYLIST. “serial lover” by kehlani

ONLY WAKE ME UP IF YOU CAN TAKE THAT SHIT UNDERSTAND YOU’RE ENTERING AT YOUR OWN RISK

The moment you saw Mark, you knew you had to have him.

Not because he was cute, which he definitely was. And not because he laughed at all your jokes, even the bad ones. But because he was a good little Christian boy, yet there was something in his eyes that told you he would burn down everything he believed in for the right girl.

Mark thanked God for everything - the food his mother spent hours preparing, the clothes his father paid for, even the goddamn sunny weather when rain was expected. It was annoying and made your eyes roll back in your head.

You, on the other hand, despised everything about religion. Especially its misogynistic rules on what you could and couldn’t do with your own body. Sitting through a sermon on chastity (or any subject, for that matter) was far worse than sitting in hell beside the devil himself, you mused.

So, when you excitedly asked to go to church camp, your parents could hardly believe it. A whole week of preaching and bible thumping? Maybe one message would finally get through to you.

Little did they know, you were a girl on a mission.

First, you wanted to know if Mark actually believed the bullshit he so fervently said. Secondly, and much more importantly, you wanted to know if getting him between your thighs would be as much of a fun challenge as you hoped.

From the moment camp kicked off, you had every innocent excuse ready to be near Mark. You needed a prayer partner, because you weren’t very good at asking God for things. You needed a peer to counsel you, because you were struggling in your faith, but the older leaders were too intimidating.

Mark was all too happy to be everything you needed.

You were careful not to be too clingy, avoiding and ignoring Mark in between your moments together, creating a push and pull dynamic that definitely caught his attention, because Mark would start searching for you when you weren’t leaning on him for guidance.

And by day four, you had him.

Mark moaned as he slid inside you, fingers digging painfully into your hips.

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself stretching around him, and tightened your fist in his hair, your arms around his shoulders. “Just like that, baby,” you purred, nibbling at his ear. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

Mark braced a hand on the wall behind you and groaned, “So good.”

If you had told Mark that morning he would be having sex in a tiny closet crammed full with craft materials and weird stuffed animals staring at him, he would have laughed in your face. But there was no resisting you.

Mark was hooked to the sound of your laugh, to the twinkle in your eye when you smiled at him. He knew deep down you didn’t give a shit about God, but he would eat up any opportunity to be near you, to feel even the slightest brush of your skin against his.

When you took him by the hand and asked him to follow you, Mark’s body was already moving before his brain could comprehend what it all meant.

You had kissed him with a passion Mark wasn’t familiar with, because he’d never known it. He’d kissed girls before, little pecks here and there, but this was something entirely different. You were kissing him like there would be nothing left of him when you were done.

Mark had groaned when you palmed him over his jeans and he didn’t stop you when you began unfastening his belt. The taste of you on his tongue was too addicting; he didn’t want it to end. The warmth of your body against his was more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d tried. Just the feeling of your breasts pushed against his chest as you kissed him was enough to get him hard.

The moment Mark sheathed himself to the hilt inside you, he knew he was fucked. Literally, but also in every other definition of the word.

You knew the chances of an orgasm on your part were slim, but you didn’t care. You were getting off in other ways. You wanted Mark to come and you wanted it to break him.

The closet was dimly lit. Your naked ass was propped on a cabinet against the wall, your skirt hiked around your waist as Mark tentatively thrust inside you again, your thighs hooked on his hips. You found purchase in his shoulders as you tucked your face in the crook of his neck and let a sound of pleasure escape you.

“Fuck,” Mark said, his voice low and raspy in your ear. The heat of your breath on his skin sent a shiver down his spine. He moved slowly inside you, drawing his hips back to push in again. He was trying to savor it, make it last.

You smiled, a little smug and even more surprised. You expected him to go hard and fast, too fucked out by the vice of your body. A pleasure he had never felt before.

Mark snapped his hips harder and liked the noise you made when he did. So he did it again and again, until the cabinet beneath you started to creak with his movements. He shifted his footing, cursing his pants pooled too snugly around his ankles that threw him off rhythm.

“Mark,” you whined, grazing your teeth at the base of his shoulder. You felt his body tensing under your hands and you smoothed them down his back to calm him.

Mark lifted his head and tossed the hair out of his eyes, staring into your face and wondering what the fuck someone as beautiful as you saw in him that you would let him be inside you like this.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. The look on his face was something you hadn’t seen before. You didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t the lust you’d come to expect from boys that got to touch you.

It was more like reverence.

Rather than get into all the feelings rushing through him with the same intensity his pulse was pounding through his body, Mark said, “You promise you’re on birth control?”

You snorted. “Mark, I would not be letting you hit it raw right now if I didn’t have an IUD inside me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“My doctor was nice enough to numb my cervix before putting it in.”

You assumed, since Mark was still sinking his cock in and out of you at a languid pace, that the sudden need for conversation was to distract himself from how close he was and you wouldn’t hold it against him.

Mark bottomed out inside your wet, tight sex and stilled. He wanted so badly to kiss you, but he was a coward. “No, I mean, me,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Am I hurting you?”

You blinked. Tilting your head, you asked, “Do you want it to hurt?”

Some boys did. You knew that. But Mark shook his head immediately.

You dragged your nails down his spine, getting ahold of his hips and drawing him flush against you, chest to chest, nose to nose. Kissing the corner of his mouth, you whispered, “It’s deep. And tight.”

“Fuck,” Mark huffed, smashing his lips on yours. He couldn’t resist anymore.

You closed your eyes and let yourself feel him, whimpering into his mouth when he started thrusting into you again, smooth but hard. Mark swallowed every sound you made, holding you to him so tightly it was almost painful.

This was what made life worth living - the toe-curling pleasure of him fitting so perfectly inside you, completing you and making you whole again. His cock dragging against your sweet spot almost rivaled the high that came with knowing you had conquered another boy.

Mark moaned into your mouth and broke from your kisses. His gaze fell to your swollen lips. They were parted, endless soft noises of pleasure rolling off your tongue with every stroke of his cock. He shivered at that, knowing he made you feel good.

You grabbed Mark’s arms for dear life when he began fucking into you like he would never get the chance again. A victorious grin spread across your lips when his groans pitched higher and higher, his pace jarring you on the cabinet as he lost himself to the euphoria that was your body.

“Come for me, baby,” you crooned in his ear and Mark shattered in your arms.

He released inside you with a mangled cry, a groan catching in his chest, hips smacking into you messily to empty his load until he was totally spent.

Mark’s mind went blank except for pleasure. He couldn’t think and he sure as hell couldn’t breathe. The high took over every inch of his body and ruined him, making him shake down to his very core.

You snickered quietly, tempted to tease him for how hard he came, but held your tongue. Mark slumped against you, burying his face in your breasts, hands braced on opposite sides of your hips as he panted for oxygen. You kept running your fingers over his hot skin, soothing him, and whispered, “My sweet little virgin no more.”

Mark was relieved you were still holding onto him, even as he went soft inside you. He wasn’t ready to be parted yet. From this feeling. From you.

Get it together, he told himself and finally staggered out of your arms to begin fixing his clothes.

Mark couldn’t meet your eyes, because he’d realized that thanks to the intensity of his climax, he wasn’t sure if you’d finished too. He did shyly ask if you were alright and you told him you were fine. He didn’t need to know you were fighting a giggle at his expense. The boy was so fucked out. Mark was seeing you - and probably his life - though brand new eyes.

It was all a lie. He didn’t get struck by a bolt of lighting from heaven for having sex. Though whether or not he would burst into flames when he walked into church remained to be seen.

After finding your panties on the floor, slipping them on and adjusting your skirt, you sauntered out of the closet without a word and went about your day. You didn’t like to linger and began the long walk to your cabin for a well-deserved shower.

You weren’t surprised that instead of afterglow, there was awkwardness on Mark’s part. It was to be expected for someone who had surrendered their precious virtue. What did surprise you, however, was that you kept thinking about Mark after you left him. That wasn’t like you. You assumed the attraction to him would go away once you’d gotten what you wanted, but no - you found yourself eyeing him from across the way.

Wanting him.

No one had ever looked at you the way Mark did. Other boys focused on your body and all its power, but Mark stared into your eyes. He kissed you recklessly, driven within an inch of madness. Like he was fighting for his life and only you could save him.

Get a grip, you told yourself, the low monotone of another preacher humming like static in your ears as you replayed the memory of Mark fucking you in your head. It made the evening sermon easier to get through.

Mark, despite being at the other end of the row of chairs, could hardly breathe with the heavy tension in his chest. He wanted to stand up and shout at the top of his lungs, “What are we?!”

But he already knew. Out of the two of you, he was the only one thinking about that closet and the secrets it kept inside. You had already moved on and Mark felt totally discarded. He fell asleep that night to a fantasy of you sleeping in his arms.

Ever a loner, you kept to yourself. You had two more days to get through of this stupid camp, but you were satisfied. You’d accomplished what you came there to do.

Sitting at one of the tables outside, the pages of your bible that you had never opened flapping in the wind, you played on your phone and nearly jumped out of your skin when someone slid unannounced into the spot beside you.

“Jesus Christ, Mark,” you exclaimed, setting down your phone. The anger swiftly left your face when you realized how close he was to you and goddamn, why did he smell so good? Your heart was dancing in your chest, much to your annoyance.

Mark had been watching you from afar, catching himself smiling at the way you tucked your hair behind your ear as it swept up in the breeze and how you kept nibbling on your lip as you concentrated on your phone. He decided, at the sight of you, that he wasn’t happy with being discarded.

And he didn’t like that he was falling apart at the seams while you went along like nothing happened.

“I think we should pray together,” Mark said under his breath. You didn’t come to him anymore, for prayer or guidance or advice. Mark felt invisible now and for someone that had been inside you, that seemed unfair.

The anger instantly returned to your face. You rolled your eyes and focused on your phone again. “I think you should suck my dick,” you deadpanned.

If you had one, Mark probably would. He’d never felt about anyone the way he felt about you, but he persisted. “What we did was wrong.”

Like hell it was, you wanted to say. If it was wrong, why did it feel so right? Why were you craving for it like an addict after a high?

You didn’t look up and said in the most disinterested tone you could muster, “Give me one non-religious reason that having sex with me was wrong.”

“We’re not married.”

“Marriage is a piece of paper used by the government for tax purposes.”

“We don’t even love each other.”

“Love and sex are two different things. They are not mutually exclusive.”

Mark knew he would lose this argument, if he hadn’t already. You would have an answer for everything, because you were a girl set in your ways after years of experience. You were the total opposite of him and yet, you were what Mark wanted.

And what he wanted to be - free.

“I’m thinking about you,” Mark confessed in a soft whisper, because it rebelled against everything he’d been taught. “Constantly and in very bad ways.”

That made you finally lift your head and look at him, lips pulling into a devilish grin. “Glad to be of service.”

Mark scowled. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s fucking hilarious,” you shot back, turning toward him more directly. He was already wilting beside you. You knew exactly how a boy looked when he wanted to fuck you. “You’re having an existential crisis about getting your cherry popped, aren’t you?”

Rather than get angry or annoyed, Mark looked sad. His expression sank and he asked, “Didn’t you? Don’t you feel even the tiniest bit of shame?”

That made you bristle. They always resorted to shaming after they had their way with you. You wouldn’t relent. “No. Why should I?”

You expected him to quote the bible. You expected him to rant about purity. You fully believed he would chide you for stealing his virginity. You were prepared for that. It would bounce off you like arrows on a wall, because you’d heard it all before and you would never let a boy’s words hurt you.

Instead, Mark sighed, “Because it’s supposed to be a sacred thing between two people.”

Your eyes flickered. Your mind scrambled for a witty retort, but for the first time in your young adult life, you came up empty. That’s when you realized you were looking at Mark differently.

This wasn’t purity culture talking. It was just a boy wanting to be loved.

At your silence, Mark seemed to gather he had you on the ropes and he leaned in closer, close enough to kiss you, but he didn’t dare. Not out in the open like this. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want to kiss you until you fell in love with him.

“I took advantage of you and I’m sorry,” Mark started.

Anger reared its ugly head again and you glared at him, snapping, “You did not take advantage of me, Mark. I’ve been trying to fuck you since the moment I met you.”

Mark’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

You smiled at getting the upper hand again. “What if I told you that after you filled me up, I got in the shower and touched myself to thoughts of you, and came so hard I screamed your name?”

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat. He really was an idiot to think he could ever beat you at your own game. “...Stop.”

“No,” you said, staring him down. “I’m trying to save you from a lifetime of being made to feel guilty about sex. About intimacy. They want you to feel guilty about being a goddamn human. Don’t you get that?”

Mark opened his mouth to answer. To tell you that you were winning. You were shaking him down to his foundation.

Something that felt so good couldn’t be bad.

“Mark!”

Both of you turned to see one of the youth leaders, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Given how close you and Mark were to each other, you should have known it would draw some unwanted attention.

“That’s my cue,” you said, packing up your stuff and leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.

Mark hung his head. Being close to you made him feel whole again. You’d taken a piece of him and it went with you whenever you parted.

“Jezebel,” the leader hissed as you walked by.

“In the flesh,” you retorted proudly.

But the moment you were hidden in your cabin and sitting on the edge of your bed, tears pricked at your eyes.

It’s supposed to be a sacred thing between two people, Mark said. You were thinking about the way he’d looked at you. It hadn’t left your mind since you left that damn closet with him.

For once, you felt like a thief. You’d stolen something precious from him. Mark just wanted a connection with you, a connection with the person he was intimate with.

But a connection was what you’d learned to avoid most, because boys always ended up changing their mind once you’d given all you had to give.

Except Mark. You’d given him your body and he still wanted more. Boys weren’t interested in your heart or your mind, but Mark was. You thought about all the times you talked with him. Even though you had ulterior motives for it, Mark listened to you. He never interrupted or spoke over you.

Mark cared.

I’m thinking about you - constantly. Mark had said that too. It would seem both of you were in the same boat about each other. Confused and lonely boats adrift at sea, passing in the night.

You skipped dinner and feigned stomach problems when the evening service rolled around, because you didn’t trust yourself to lay eyes on Mark and not burst into tears. You’d hurt a sweet boy that didn’t deserve it, who deserved much better than the likes of you.

The counselors didn’t argue. One look at you curled up in fetal position in your bunk and staring at the wall was enough for them to leave you alone.

It was nice being the only person outside while everyone was in church. You sat on the front steps of the cabin with your arms around your knees and watched the beautiful sunset, enjoying the quiet and trying not to think about Mark. To no avail.

You wondered if he noticed your absence and if he cared. If Mark came looking for you to ask if you were okay, you would probably crumble. It was hard accepting someone cared about you after all you’d ever done was take care of yourself.

Yes, Mark noticed. Yes, he felt like dying. He regretted confronting you that afternoon, but he’d wanted to apologize. It felt empty and worthless now, honestly. Like all he’d done was make things worse.

Mark asked one of the girls in your cabin about you and she told him you were refusing to get out of bed. That told Mark all he needed to know and it made hope spark in his chest that maybe you were down bad for him like he was for you.

The next morning, you were deemed well enough to attend the early service. Unfortunately, because you’d spent all night thinking about Mark - or trying desperately not to think about the feelings you were growing for him - you fell asleep barely ten minutes into it.

Turns out, youth leaders got really peeved when someone was caught either sleeping or playing on their phone during a sermon. If they only knew you’d had sex too. You sat through a stern scolding, which you gleefully ignored, and then you were sentenced to an hour of solitary time in the chapel.

Hurt me some more, you thought with a chuckle. So, you sat on the front row, leaned back and made yourself comfortable, and zoned out. Once again, enjoying the peace and quiet of being alone.

At this point, you wondered if they would hold a gun to your head to try and make you talk to God.

Toward the end of your delightful punishment, a familiar voice called your name.

You opened your eyes and sat up sharply, gathering your things. “What do you want, Mark?” Your tone had an edge. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

“You.”

You glanced up at him as he approached you, hinged on whatever he said next like your heart depended on it.

Mark looked like he hadn’t slept a wink either. “I just want you,” he whispered softly.

You smiled. The first real smile to grace your lips in years. “I’m all yours.”

Back in that same closet, you cried out when Mark shoved you against the wall and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You liked this hungry, impatient side to him. The one that couldn’t go without you for one more second.

Maybe you were his god now.

Mark cradled your head, kissing you deeper, making you moan a little. You would have been content to kiss him for the rest of the day, but you knew time was of the essence. People would come looking eventually.

“Mark,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when he latched his lips to your neck, his hands now palming your breasts over your shirt. “We don’t have long.”

Mark seemed determined to kiss and suck every inch of your neck, in a silent competition with the boys that came before him, but he should have known he’d already won.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Mark growled in your ear. “Like you did for me.”

“Then fuck me.”

Mark spun you around roughly, crowding your back, and kneaded your breasts, kissing down the column of your throat. Your eyes fluttered closed and you moaned softly, rocking a little to brush your ass against his crotch. He was grinding against you, searching for friction, but stopped to unfasten his pants.

You bent over the cabinet, lifted your skirt and shimmied your panties down around your thighs, not getting a chance to take them off completely because Mark was on you again, wrapping his arms around your waist in a vice grip and spreading your legs with his knee.

Mark groaned when his hand cupped your sex, running his fingers between your slit and feeling your arousal. “Do you always get this wet?”

You chuckled at the shock in his voice and answered honestly, “Definitely not. This is all for you.”

“Fuck.”

Sweet little sounds fell from your lips as Mark played with your entrance with two fingers. His hard cock followed, having been rubbing eagerly against your ass. You gasped and grabbed the edges of the cabinet when he impaled you on his length, your pussy fluttering and stretching around him.

Mark had only a string of curses to say. Any other words escaped him. The heat of you knocked the wind out of him, just like the first time.

Your legs trembled as he bottomed out, immediately drawing back to sink into you again slowly. You bit your lip to hide a smile at how hard he was inside you, but how gently he moved.

Mark felt you relax once you’d adjusted, hyper aware of every little move you made. He slipped his hand into yours and said, “Put me on your clit.”

That was definitely unexpected, but you did as told. Steering him down, you helped his fingers find your bundle of nerves and he rubbed at it curiously.

“There?”

“Yes,” you sighed in pleasure.

Mark was salivating at how sensitive you were to his touches, thrusting into you eagerly for good measure. “It feels good?”

“So good.”

“It’s making you tighter,” he said, stroking his cock inside you deep.

You taunted, “If you really wanna feel how tight I get, make me come.”

Mark swallowed loudly. Pressing a kiss beneath your ear, he said, “Tell me how to do it,” with a tone that left no room for argument.

“When you feel close, slow down,” you told him, brushing your hands over his arms affectionately, coaxing him. “Edge yourself for me. Until we come together.”

With a nod, Mark kissed your cheek, which felt both intimate and possessive, and released your waist in favor of your hips.

You were too fucking tight and warm. Mark was humiliated at being so close to orgasm already when he’d only just begun and the sound of his hips colliding with your plump ass turned him on so bad he kept biting his lip to stifle a groan. He was ready to sell his soul to you just for the chance to empty himself inside you again, but he wanted to feel you come.

Mark stilled, body trembling a little with restraint. You smirked, knowing he was close to finishing.

You purred, “Good boy. That’s it.”

Mark’s jaw went slack and he moaned as you started rolling your hips, grinding back against him. You knew exactly what you were doing. There was no thrusting. You weren’t pushing him back to the edge. Your pace wasn’t fast enough. But your pussy clenched on his cock, so wet with arousal the insides of your thighs were slick with it.

You giggled when Mark reeled a hand back and slapped your ass. He just couldn’t resist. You wiggled your hips from side to side to make your ass bounce for him, working yourself on his stiff cock.

“You like being balls deep in me, baby?”

Mark groaned. Girls weren’t supposed to talk like that. But fuck, it turned him on.

“Say it,” you hissed, throwing yourself back on him, sending a loud, wet slap echoing through the tiny closet.

“It’s good,” Mark said hurriedly, wanting to please you. He squeezed your hips in his hands to the point of bruising and watched you take his cock. “You feel so fucking good. I can’t… fucking…”

That made you fuck him harder, arching your back.

“Fuck!” Mark snapped, folding himself over you, pinning you to the cabinet and throttling his cock into you, drilling your pussy at a brutal pace.

Your eyes rolled back, your toes curled and you moaned at the top of your lungs for him. The angle was just right. He was hitting your sweet spot, making you suck in a breath and beg him, “Don’t stop, Mark. Please, don’t stop.”

Unfortunately, hearing you moan like that and beg him to keep pounding you made Mark’s cock twitch with warning. Mark let out a mangled groan, stilling inside you abruptly, because he was there - again. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he stammered, kneading your clothed breasts. “I was close.”

You steered his fingers to your clit again and made circles with your hips with him sheathed inside, trying not to lose the edge he was bringing you toward. “I’m close too, baby,” you assured him. “Hang in there a little bit longer.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He rolled your clit with his fingertips, peppering kisses on your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat on his tongue. He was pressed so tightly against you and locked inside you.

He could feel your labored breaths, just like his. He could feel your racing pulse beneath his fingers. It moved at the same furious pace as his own. Your skin was hot and sticky with sweat. His too. He could feel it running down his back.

It hit Mark like a ton of bricks. This was what intimacy felt like. Tangled together with another person, not knowing where he ended and you began.

And Mark knew then and there he didn’t want to live without it. Nor did he ever want to let someone tell him he couldn’t have it.

Mark lifted you up, your shoulders against his chest. He cradled your jaw in his hand, tilting your head so he could kiss your cheek and the corner of your mouth. You sighed at the affection, both of you still moving hungrily but gently in tandem with each other.

“You were right,” Mark said breathlessly. “There’s nothing wrong about this.”

You smiled. Not from victory this time, but acceptance. Maybe he was right too. Maybe sex could also be treated as a special thing between two people. There was a connection between you and Mark, and you were done fighting it.

Mark desperately wanted you to say something. Deep down, he hoped that he was more than another quick fuck for you. Though to his credit, there was nothing quick about this time.

“You were right too,” you finally whispered, making Mark’s eyes flicker. “Maybe it should be treated with more respect.”

Mark turned your head and smashed his lips on yours, kissing you with such intensity your heart stopped beating in your chest for a moment. At least you thought it did. It was rapturous and made your legs weak.

If not for Mark holding you to him, you would have fallen to your knees.

Mark broke from the kiss, but held you in place, making you stare into his eyes as he took you, as he started thrusting hard and deep again. Your mouth was open, panting for air, because you knew you weren’t in control anymore.

You had surrendered to him.

And Mark knew what to do now. His body followed instinct. He lost himself in your eyes, no thought in his head except how perfectly you wrapped around his cock and how he wouldn’t stop until you came for him. On him. With him.

You’d broken him. He was ready to break you back.

“Mark…,” you choked out, scraping your nails over the cabinet. “I’m coming.”

Music to Mark’s ears. He tightened his grip on your neck, making sure you knew that you were his now. His breath was hot on your cheek, rapid like the pace of his cock slamming into you. He pinched your clit with his fingers, feeling your walls pulse around his dick.

You squirmed. You couldn’t help it. Your body arched into him involuntarily, warmth spilling over between your legs. His touch on your bundle of nerves teetered dangerously toward overstimulation, but it was that perfect cock hitting your sweet spot that finished you.

“Come with me,” you barely managed to say before crying out in ecstasy, your core tightening and your legs shaking.

Mark kept burying his cock inside you to the very end, his hips smacking into your ass. You could hear him grunting and swearing past the ringing in your ears, his thrusts turning ragged with how tightly your cunt gripped him.

“Holy shit,” Mark growled, struggling to keep his hold on you as you writhed. Then with a shudder, Mark came, bottoming out and releasing with a moan that rivaled yours, painting your walls with his release.

As you drifted back down, you undulated as best you could, kneading every drop out of him. You let the cabinet support your weight, catching your breath while Mark went soft inside you.

Mark clung to you, but at this point, you weren’t surprised. And you kinda liked it.

Okay, you really liked it. Finally, you felt like you could belong somewhere. Tangled up with Mark.

With a kiss to your temple, Mark stepped back, his cock slipping out of you, and you sighed at the loss of him, feeling both of your releases dripping from your folds.

Mark’s eyes were on your sex and seeing his cum mingle with your juices made him want to kill any man that dared lay eyes on you. He tried not to think about how he would walk out of there like nothing happened, but you would be carrying the evidence between your legs.

It should not have turned him on the way it did.

The two of you dressed in silence, occasionally stealing glances of each other, but there was no awkwardness this time. Instead, tension settled over the room.

Where did you go from here?

Mark was the first boy you’d fucked a second time. You weren’t usually one for encore performances. He was also the first boy you couldn’t get off your mind. And given what Mark had said to you - to say nothing of how he looked at you - the feeling was mutual.

“What’s wrong?” you asked sweetly, though you had some idea.

Conflicted emotions were colliding in both of you for totally different reasons.

Mark had fully dressed, but made no moves to leave. He stared at you, wishing he could put into words how you made him feel.

“I want to hold you.”

You blinked and your heart clenched in your chest. For a moment, you studied him. Cautious. But you knew from the start it was a losing battle. “Hold me,” you said, reaching for him.

Mark closed the distance between you and swept you up in his arms. You closed your eyes and tucked your head beneath his chin, breathing him in. Mark’s hand was lost in your hair, the other resting at the small of your back.

You didn’t realize how hard you were holding onto him until it was too late to stop.

“Maybe we could see each other again,” Mark said in a low voice.

You fought the tears as they burned your eyes.

Mark tugged at your hair, searching your face. “You could teach me more about intimacy and being human.”

You allowed yourself to smile at him, appreciating his efforts to diffuse the tension. “Okay.”

“And I could teach you about trust and commitment?”

Two things you staunchly avoided, but you recognized the soft lilt in his voice, framing it as a request and not a demand. Too many people had tried to force you to see the error of your ways and they were met with resistance.

You would never let anyone conquer you, but maybe you could make a little window in the walls around your heart so Mark could sneak inside from time to time.

Maybe he’d make a home there.

Either way, you wanted to watch him try.

“Alright, Mark. You win this time,” you whispered, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

Mark grinned and kissed you back.

END.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Omega helping the reader try to plan the reader's wedding to whichever Batcher of your choosing and the batcher is in the other room overhearing everything.

Wedding Planning

Hunter x Reader

Summary- Now that Hunter has popped the question, you and Omega start planning the wedding! Little do you know, Hunter overhears and falls a little more in love. This is a part 2 to 'Marry Me?'

Part one right here! And Part Three right here!

A/N- Trust the process, romantic fluff near the end <3. Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you don't mind I took this opportunity to make a sequel to my most popular fic! To understand parts of this fic, you will need to read part one!

Word Count- 1,498

Your ring rested heavy on your finger. It wasn't anything fancy, not that you needed it to be, it was just a new feeling. While you hadn't had any jewelry allowed on Kamino- now that you had an engagement ring, you'd never go back.

"Omega wants you to finish putting her to bed, Hunter." You called to Him, entering the cockpit. His face lit up, you didn't know the real reason quite yet.

He nodded and headed back to her 'room' to put her to bed. You smiled, continuing to turn to Crosshair and Wrecker.

Though you couldn't hear them, the two people you loved most began their 'good-nights.'

"Holding up okay, kid?" He asked Omega, pulling her blanket up.

She gave a quick nod, "I... I missed you." She leaned closer, Hunter pushed back a piece of her hair.

"I think I missed you more..." She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment.

With a deep breath, Hunter started. "I know it's late, but I have to ask you something."

She found a new type of energy at his words, slightly sitting up. Much to Hunters dismay.

"What?" She was giddy, knowing it was good news from Hunters body language.

"How would you feel if I asked," Your name felt unreal on his lips, he was still getting used to having you back at his side, "to marry me?"

Her eyes grew wide, almost as big as her grin. She shuffled quickly, the blanket pooling at her waist. "Oh my gosh, yes! Please ask her!"

"Shhh, shh. It's still time for you to go to bed." He regretted asking so late, but he was eager to pop the question.

"How am I supposed to sleep after you've told me you're going to propose!"

Hunter gently guided her back into bed, pulling the blanket back up. "I know, I know. Can you keep the secret until tomorrow?"

She gave a vigorous nod, the covers resting at her chin.

He leaned down, pressing the ghost of a kiss on her forehead. Much like a father would. "I'm going to ask her tonight, but you need to try and get some rest. Promise you'll try?"

With a smile, she agreed. Even with the news, she was still exhausted.

You frequently thought back to the day Hunter got down on one knee in the middle of the ship for you. Your heart warmed every time, fidgeting with your ring.

"It's so pretty..." Omega commented. Just two weeks later you all found yourselves on Pabu. Rested and resupplied.

You were both crammed into her closed off space. You ignored the gunman seat, choosing to lay with her on the floor.

She had a grasp on your hand, analyzing the band. The twinkle in her eye matched the gem. "Thank you, Hunter has pretty good taste, don't ya think?"

She giggled, letting you have your hand back. You gave another glance at the ring you'd been staring at for days.

She rolled over, facing the ceiling, arms sprawled out. With a light sigh she began, "When will you have your wedding?"

You leaned back as well, one of your arms overlapping hers. "I...I guess I haven't thought about it too much. I'm content just finding an officiant tomorrow." All you needed was Hunter, who cares if you had a fancy wedding?

Apparently Omega, as she jumped up, "What! No, we have to have a ceremony by the shore! It'd be perfect!"

You laughed at her reaction. "This is no laughing matter!" She pointed a finger in your direction, "This is serious!"

"Omega, I have Hunter. A huge wedding will not change my love for him." She humphed and settled back down.

"What's the point of marriage if you don't have a wedding!" To be frank, Omega had never been to a wedding. Only reading about them in the books Nala Se allowed her, or hearing about them through her travels.

"I think marriage shows our devotion to each other. That we'll never part." You craned your head to look at her, she rolled her eyes at your confession. This caused you to let out another smirk.

Now, she was really getting annoyed. Giving your lips a swipe with your tongue, "Ya know, maybe having a small ceremony wouldn't be bad. But, I would need a maid of honor. Know anyone?"

Her smile reappeared fast, "Are you asking me to be your maid of honor!"

"I couldn't think of anyone better..." She shuffled to throw herself on you, giving you a big hug.

You squeezed her tight, just before a loud gasp came from her, "What?"

"The dress!" She yelled, "What will you wear! We have to see if Shep knows someone who can make you one!"

Her energy was contagious, you were starting to get excited too. "I want a ballgown dress...Oh and I could have off the shoulders lace, maybe even a train, but not too long. I'd hate to trip on it." Okay, maybe you had put a little thought into a wedding.

She was practically bouncing on her heels, now on her knees hovering over you. You still laid on your back, day dreaming about dresses.

"What color do you want your dress Omega?"

"I get to pick?" She questioned.

"Of course you can, sweetie." You could see the gears turning in her head. She was going to think on what style she wanted for a while.

You sat up, leaning against her side. "How would Batcher fashion flowers? Think she could learn to drop them? Cause I would certainly need a flower girl for the wedding."

"Yes, of course! I'll start training her!" She was excited to teach Batcher a new trick. You knew they could do it, but Omega didn't want to take any risks.

She raced out, completely missing Hunter. Who was leaning against the steps of the gunman room.

You let a breath leave you, slumping against the wall.

"Is she wearing you out already?" You jumped at the voice, immediately being comforted by the recognition of who it was.

"Hunter, when did you walk in?" You weren't bothered by it, just surprised.

He had a smug look. "I was just checking the fuel, then I heard you and Omega talking about weddings?"

You felt flushed, like you were caught doing something you shouldn't.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, I think you'd look beautiful in any dress." He stepped forward, about eye level with you. He reached a hand up, taking yours in his.

"You're such a charmer." You smiled, your head leaning back to hit the wall.

Hunter stepped up, joining you on the floor of the room.

You scooted closer to him, taking his head in your lap when he layed down.

"What kind of wedding do you want?" You asked, brushing your hands through his dark hair.

He closed his eyes, basking in your touch. "I just want you to be happy. I don't care what we do." You figured that's what he would say. You lowered your head and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Omega's ideas didn't sound too bad... A ceremony on the shore." He commented.

You continued to pet his hair, "Yeah, that does sound sweet. Who would we invite? I mean, I don't know too many of the natives yet." It was true you tended to keep to yourself on the island.

With his eyes still closed he responded, "If you just want it to be us five, I wouldn't mind."

"Well we'd have to send Echo a message, oh and of course Shep, Deke, Mox, Stak, can't forget Phee, also-" You ran out of fingers to count on. Opting to rest them back in Hunters hair.

He had a grin on his face, "We don't need to figure out the guest list quite yet. We can get married any day you want.." He was ready to bend at your will.

"Can..." You sucked on your teeth, changing your mind about asking.

"Hmm?" He pressed on.

"You don't have to... but," Why was this so hard to ask! "Can I wear your bandana?"

He opened his eyes, baring into yours. You struggled to read his expression.

"It's okay, it was dum-" You felt stupid for asking.

"If it would make you happy, I would be glad to let you." He reached a hand up, rubbing your side to soothe you.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He moved his hand to untie the cloth. "Here, try it on."

You snickered, gently holding the fabric. "What if I wore it on my arm?"

You tried to show him, but found it difficult to tie on your upper right arm.

He noticed and sat up, taking it into his hands. He took his time, smoothing it over your skin and tying it expertly. He only pulled away after giving you a kiss.

"I like it." You expressed.

"I love it." He stared, but not at the bandana- at you.

"I love you too..."

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I hope it's as good as part one!!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @dangraccoon @knight-of-flowerss

[qqueenofhades]

For the history questions, what historical period has given you the most inspiration for your writing/muses?

I feel like it's a cop-out if I say "hmm, all of them," and this will end up just being a long recap of all my various projects over the years, but a) fuck it, this is my blog, I can talk about my own stuff if I want to, and b) there have indeed been Many, both fic and original. I usually pick settings for historical/historical fantasy AUs that I already know and want to write about, so:

The Lightbearers (Once Upon a Time) and Starlight & Strange Magic (Timeless) are both 19th-century Victorian England/Europe/steampunk, one in the 1850s and the other in the 1880s, with lots of magic and misadventure and so forth. You can tell that I was really into steampunk around 10 years ago (it was Formative, okay) and there were plenty of opportunities to do fun things with the historical setting and real-life personalities (the scene of Flynn breaking into Buckingham Palace to spy on Queen Victoria and William Gladstone remains a favorite). There is also my massive The Swan and Crossbones series (OUAT/Black Sails, two fics, 800k words), which is set in the 18th-century Caribbean, Golden Age of Piracy, and pre-Revolutionary America and is a retelling of Treasure Island + family saga + multi-generational/multi-character/multi-source material historical fiction, wherein I both wrote 800k words and did a shitton of extra research in the middle of getting a PhD. Don't ask me why I did this either, but I still re-read them, especially The Rose and Thorn (the second installment in the series) for my own pleasure.

My All Souls Timeless trilogy, following the source material, involved general historian/academia shenanigans and time travel to Elizabethan England, which was lots of fun to research and write about, even if I otherwise tend to think that the Tudors are often overdone. One of my most popular fics and best shorter-form (only 65k words...) historical/period pieces is deo volente (lux aeterna) for The Old Guard, which takes the crusades as its general starting point and thematic thread to explore religion, faith, immortality, power, war, violence, love, queerness, and other such things. Another popular fic of mine that spanned 600 years of history (starting in the 14th century) and explored various periods in detail is my Sandman fic and in the waking world we wait and want, with a particular emphasis on queer history. (You will find that crops up often in my stuff, regardless of the setting.) We also have why draw me to that promised land (Shadow and Bone), set in the 1980s Soviet Union (my boast for the accuracy of this fic, based on my previous studies in Russian/Soviet history, is that someone told me they learned more from this fic than an entire semester of a university class, which is not entirely good because I then had many questions about their professor, but there you have it).

When it comes to original novels, I started off also 10+ years ago with medieval England, with the The Lion and the Rose series and others. I am fond of this one because it was what got me into medieval history in the first place and because even now, it still sells fairly steadily and gives me a couple bucks in royalties every month. My newest book, The Empire of Bones, is based (loosely) on my fic The Key of Solomon and basically has everything I possibly wanted to cram into a fantasy historical setting, from anywhere and any time at all. Thus we have the Christian-era Roman Empire, an Islamic Carthage, the Byzantines, Imperial China, Russian Jews and Ukrainian Cossacks, the Mali Empire, Celtic Britain, so forth and etcetera, etcetera. So as noted, if it looks interesting, I will find a way to throw it and the kitchen sink in somewhere, and I have the issue that whenever I read a book about a new place or period, I go "hmm, I should figure out how to write something gay about this." Alas.

[wexhappyxfew]

How about “you can kiss me, you know” for Kennedy and Bucky if you think it fits them? 💜 I can’t wait to see what you cook up from these!

HI SWEET ANON!!!! i must say, upon receiving this prompt - my entire world shifted on its axis a bit so THANK YOU!!!!! the way this prompt fit them was SO INSANELY WELL. it just seemed to scream KENNEDY X BUCKY to me. and i just. ate it up. truly. this was a JOY and a TREAT to write and just. safe to say - bucky's POV of kennedy farley is one of my favorite things ever and just - THEY DESERVE THE WORLD !!!!!! they deserve all that is good and well!!! <3333 THANK YOU AGAIN ANON - positively *obsessed*! kennedy x bucky girlies this is for YOU! :D

you found me

(a/n): POV: we're in Bucky's POV, opening scene is when everyone is getting letters from home and he hasn't gotten a single one. that one post about the way the show seemed to portray bucky not getting letters left me reeling and just. do with that what you will. and also. yeah. kennedy makes bucky's mind got scatter-brained at every given opportunity lmao. COME AND GET IT !!!!!!!! THESE TWO JUST. INSANE. INSANE INSANE INSANE. (this prompt was everything) cue: you found mehhh, you found mehhhh, lying on the floorrrr...... (don't mind my horrible puns, it's in the title lmfao, i couldn't help it, but it's a kennedy quote so haha!)

The place was changing him.

He knew that much.

He could tell when he woke in the morning and went to bed at night, and his mind was an even deeper and darker place than it had been 12 hours earlier. Seeing the women the way they were, the men, the food situation, the general health of each and every person crammed in that bunk room, seeing the new guys coming in day in and day out, walking in circles convincing himself he wasn't crazy.

It was changing him and he couldn't wrangle in that change in any way that would be manageable.

And seeing those letters.

Goddamn, it made him a little crazy inside - those words, the smells, the feelings, the evident love and care that were in each and every one.

Something deep in his chest hurt a little more than he wanted when mail call would come and peoples' names would be read out and they'd get their letters and be reading it with such gratitude and genuineness in their gazes.

It usually made Bucky snippy, a little more irritated in a way he didn't want. And without fail, Buck could usually get a whiff of that the second that he grew quiet and withdrawn.

Curse his customary loud mouth!

"I think you were right," Buck said as they walked side by side, kicking up dust, grimacing at the slightly bitter chill of early-morning air racing across the open patch of brown dirt and sand their barracks were on, "we should've made a run for it while they were out chasing those Brits." Should've, could've, would've. Bucky bit back his lip and glanced sideways at Buck a bit before looking forward a bit with a shake of the head.

"Maybe, but I can't help thinking you were right. Better to play it safe." Bucky answered quietly back, a worn tone to his voice, sudden agitation lingering in his throat, "The hell am I rushing back home for?" It grew quiet for a moment.

What the hell was he so hellbent on getting out of here for anyway? A life? A home? A girlfriend? He shook his head.

"Other guys get letters. You get letters. Bessie gets letters. Hambone gets letters." Bucky said, "To get a letter, you need someone to get it from." Bucky watched as he kicked a stone forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the cool wind back again, blowing up his neck and across his face, "Guess I never set that part up right." Buck looked over at him slightly.

"That's just this place talking. You're tired."

"I am tired."

"You'll have plenty of time for that when you get out." Buck said, his ever-present tender tone, his voice a pleasant escape from the world around them, so hopeful and yearning for a future outside of this.

"You'll set it up right next time." Bucky wished he was a little more like that.

"They're only gonna know this me. Not the old me." Bucky said quietly, with a sigh. "Me before I got here. That's if we even get out."

"We'll get out. And this you will be the one worth knowing." Buck said - this you will be the one worth knowing? Would this Bucky be worth it? Knowing him? His tendencies, his way about looking at life like it were some sort of rock to throw in the water on the side of a river? Like hazardously tip-toeing around something without taking that extra care to see it through? The Bucky who lost all composure when Buck had gone down, when men went down every day, when Kennedy had come in looking more ghost than waist gunner.

"You sure about that?" he asked Bucky, glancing over at the man with a stern look in his gaze, "I wouldn't be convinced."

"Farley seems convinced." Buck said and it took all of two seconds for Bucky to freeze.

Farley?

Listen, Bucky was a fan of Kennedy Farley, always had been, always would be - even if she was a Red Sox fan - but he had lost the point where Farley was connected to the conversation.

"What's Farley gotta do with this?" Bucky asked, turning to look at Buck with a slightly standoffish look in his eye, "I don't think she needs any sort of convincing. She just….thinks what she thinks and does what she needs to do from there, you know? Don't get me wrong, Farley's a good someone to have in your back pocket - hell, we're in each other's by this point but-" Buck stopped and looked to him, placing his hands on his hips, giving Bucky a look, stopping Bucky in his rather rambling attempt to cover his ass - for whatever reason, he wasn't sure.

"You know what I'm talking about, Bucky," Buck said, his voice quiet, "don't tell me you're confused." Bucky looked at him.

"Cut the crap, Buck." Bucky said quietly, watching as Buck smiled the slightest bit.

"You can't keep your eyes off her, Bucky," Buck said quietly, "and here you are saying you got no one." Buck stepped forward and gently patted his shoulder. "She's been there the whole time."

Bucky followed Buck into the bunk room and immediately let his eyes become drawn to her there at the table in the center of the room, her ginger hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes looking more tired than they had been in days, and her nose bright red - still fighting off that damn cold everyone had seemed to catch.

Bucky had paused a bit in the threshold, his body locked up in a way that he was sure even a fire couldn't melt and briefly caught Buck's gaze back at him as he went to lift himself onto a bunk.

It was pretty quiet in the room for one and going directly over to Kennedy, and asking her just to talk real quick would probably make things more obvious than needed.

And a sudden bit of jitters hit him as he stood there, eyes locked on Kennedy, hands shoved in his pockets, heart pounding. With the way the sun seemed to be hitting her from the windowpane that they had stood by those few weeks in the middle of the night, he couldn't help but seem to swallow all his thoughts and words into a pit in the middle of his stomach.

"Sir?" Bucky blinked quickly to find the group at the table looking up at him, the familiarity of Margie's voice hitting his ears as he glanced at her, sat at the table, flipping through a book - a mixture of mild confusion and concern contorting her face.

"Uh," Bucky started, clearing his throat awkwardly and then looking to Kennedy, "can we talk?" His voice came out slightly hoarse, muffled and choked as he asked her and he knew he needed to get it together quick or he'd look more like a clown than anything.

Kennedy gave him a weird look - she was always giving him weird looks, admittedly, if she wasn't, he'd probably be more concerned. But then she nodded, placing down her own book in her hands and got to her feet, a slight smile on her face.

That smile was enough to send him into a new dimension, he was sure of that - and he wasn't sure of a lot of things - the war, the future, even right now. He was sure of that smile though.

And Kennedy.

"What's up?" she asked him, coming around the table and looking up at him.

Words, words, words.

"Not here." Bucky said quickly, not missing the slow smile rising on Buck's face from somewhere in his goddamn peripheral that was enough to make him squirm, "The library?" Kennedy eyed him.

"Sure." she said, vaguely suspicious sounding. She slid past him and it seemed it got his own legs moving as he caught Buck's eye again - who winked enthusiastically. Bucky gave him a look, briefly catching Margie's second of growing suspicion before following after Kennedy to the library at the corner of the building.

Stepping inside, it was empty and if anything - quiet. Bucky could get a wrangle on his thoughts and hopefully not sound like a fool in front of Kennedy.

Kennedy turned to him as he slowly shut the door behind him, her eyes running over him worriedly, stood with her arms folded across her chest, a quiet look on her face that was beyond enough to make his insides warm.

He'd seen Kennedy Farley as a more stripped back person of herself out here and to say it made him yearn for that time back in Thorpe Abbotts everyday, made him go a little crazy. If he hadn't been so….just chasing after anything, so blinded by the alcohol and the women and the music. If he'd just taken a moment to focus and see Kennedy Farley had been there all along. With that laugh, that smile, her comforting words, her willingness to put herself all out there just for the hell of it.

"You okay?" Kennedy asked him, her eyes searching his face, a small smile darting out with a chuckle, "You look a little pale."

"For Chrissake, the sun don't ever come out, Kenny," he said, his nervous chatter slipping out as a small smile graced his presence and it seemed to echo in Kennedy's smile back to him, "no, no, I'm fine, serious, just. Needed to talk. To you."

"Yeah." Kennedy said, watching him, slightly confused, "We….sorta established that back in the bunk room."

"Right." Bucky said, his brain malfunctioning in every improper way that a brain could in a moment like this, "Need to talk. Yes." Kennedy laughed slightly, before simply smiling that gorgeous grin.

"So, what's up?"

Two feet between them felt like the farthest they'd been.

"Not much, just…..with Buck getting that letter and all. From Marge…." Bucky started, his voice steady for once. Confident.

"Marge." Kennedy echoed, "Seems like a sweetheart. The two of them."

"Yeah," Bucky choked out and nodded, placing his hands on his hips, "yeah, just….thought a lot and. Talked to Buck about things and just. This. Where we are. It's…." Kennedy watched him, the previous bit of light-hearted joking in her eyes dwindling away as she watched him.

"What's going on, Bucky?" Kennedy asked, her voice serious in a way that made his words pull themselves together - because that's what Kennedy deserved. None of his stumbling, mumbling, jumbling self.

"I just…." Bucky started and then couldn't help but slowly reach out and placed his hands on her shoulders, slowly moving in small circles near her clavicle and towards her shoulders, squeezing gently as they stared at each other, her face so close to his, he could see green specks in her brown eyes, "Getting downed. In that plane. And having you show up. All those talks we've had. All those nights. I just. You've helped me to realize a lot of things about life that wouldn't have fucking come to my attention if I hadn't talked to you." Kennedy stared at him, slightly taken aback.

"And…..Kennedy, I just," Bucky started, holding her gaze, his eyes on her lips and her bright-red nose and her eyes and back to her lips again - God, if he could just get a taste right here, right now, "even when the war ends, I don't…. I don't want to stop knowing you." A moment of silence stilled around them as Kennedy let out a small breath and slowly nodded at him.

"Me either, Bucky," she said, and then tilted her head, "what's going on, Bucky, seriously. Are you running a fever? Did someone say something to you? You're gonna live through this, ya know?"

"I know!" Bucky exclaimed, his voice louder than wanted as he looked back to her and shook his head and sighed, "I know, it's not….it's not that. It's….it's more. Us. You and me."

"What about you and me?" Kennedy asked him, a small smile growing on her face before gently bumping his shoulder with a first, "We're good, you know that. You and me." Bucky watched her, the corners of his lips growing upwards into a grin.

"I know that." he said with a slow nod and smile that got her grinning wider.

"Then what's got your mind racing?" she asked him, stepping closer to him. Bucky swallowed.

"You." he said, confident as can be - he was always confident looking at her, at them. Her back hit the wall next to the door, their faces intermingling in front of one another as they continued staring into each other's eyes, her slightly lower than him but all just the same.

"Me?" she asked, as if to spur him and his pounding heart on, "Highest honors, Bucky Egan. What did I ever do to deserve lingering in your mind so much, huh?"

"A lot," admonished Bucky, verbalizing his thoughts for once, "everything you do. Even just standing there like this. You make me crazy, you know." Kennedy's eyes flitted to his lips and she sucked in a breath as she met his gaze again.

"Well," Kennedy whispered, slowly reaching up to wrap her fists in balls of his brown A2 near the collar, smiling slightly, "if you must satisfy such a need and displeasure, you can just kiss me, you know."

Everything around Bucky practically dissipated in his peripheral vision, his hands freezing on her shoulders, acutely aware of the death grip she had on the front of his A2, along with that look in her eye.

Watching her, knowing she was watching him back, suddenly made him realize what words had just slipped from her mouth. Kennedy Farley's mouth. He must've pulled quite the 'slap-in-the-face' sort of look because Kennedy smirked, rather confidently, and pulled him slightly closer, her warm breath fanning his face, that look in her eyes making him feel like ice next to fire.

"When were you gonna tell me you wanted to kiss me, huh?" he whispered, voice low, briefly noticing her cheeks bloom to a light crimson, enough to make him chuckle as he found himself now, stepping closer, caging her practically against the wall with his broad-shouldered form.

Months ago, if you told him, he'd be standing there, inches from Kennedy Farley, he would've laughed. He really would've. For it seemed that what it was worth, Kennedy Farley wanted nothing more out of him than simply a friend and a leader. And suddenly, she was standing right there, her eyes on his lips, his hands slowly creeping towards her neck, brushing the skin beneath her jawline and he felt the collar of his neck grow hot.

"When were you gonna tell me?" she whispered back, looking up at him; enough to make his mind feel quickly scattered and Bucky couldn't seem to help it.

Bucky heard those words from her lips and didn't think twice, as he leaned down and engulfed her lips with his own, a groan leaving his mouth as she pulled him towards her even more so, kissing back with just as much urgency as he had to her.

His hands were pressed into her rosy cheeks, her fingers were into his hair and he could feel every inch of her lips on his - kissing back in a way that did make him crazy. He didn't know how fast things were moving when a whimper left her lips and he slid his tongue into her mouth, this slow, sanguine pull inside him making him yearn for all of her right then and there.

It was desperate, maybe a little bit messy, but Bucky had never wanted someone so bad that made him so nervous like a schoolboy.

He had never wanted like this.

He couldn't help it when his hands moved to her waist and a moan left her mouth as his lips trailed to her jawline and then to her neck, nibbling at each and every soft part of her skin that was flush with the feel of her underneath his lips. She was groaning quietly in his ear, enough to make all of his senses suddenly….something he hadn't felt in quite some time, as he pulled back briefly only to capture her lips in his again.

And for a moment, they had to pull back, he had to pull back or he wouldn't be able to control himself, gently pressing his forehead against hers, the two of them panting like some sort of other worldly creature.

Being so close to her, intoxicated by her touch and her being, her felt crazed by what the feel of her lips on his had been. Her hand slowly trailed up to the side of his slightly stubbled face, her fingertips making him shiver and an almost desperate, groaning noise leaving his lips just at her touch. It was like fire - good fire - and how fire was good he would never know because though it could keep you warm, it always brought some form of destruction with it all. But her touch, her flame, the fire, it made him completely undone.

"I feel insane around you," Bucky whispered softly against her lips before deeply pressing a kiss against her evidently swollen lips and pulling back, "you know that?" He couldn't open his eyes, he felt drugged under her touch and simply her, but he heard her let out a quiet laugh, her hands gently tapping along the sides of his face again as she did so.

"Didn't know I had that sort of effect on you, Major Egan." she whispered quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. Bucky let out a quick laugh, before squeezing his hands against her hips again that were so deeply pressed against his own and he sighed, a pathetic sigh.

"Longer than I thought actually, Kenny," he whispered quietly back, "way longer than I thought."

Kennedy giggled - she giggled.

Bucky's brain actually stuttered a bit at the thought of Kennedy giggling - like that - because it seemed the last thing she'd do. But it sounded so adorable and he was the only one that had heard it and for a second, he felt like the luckiest person to be standing there right now.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and found Kennedy and her big, deep brown eyes already staring back at him - catching that brilliant gaze that watched him back - slightly giddy, soft and enthralled all at once. A sight he'd probably remember until his death bed.

And he couldn't help but grin and bring up a hand to cup the side of her face, touching her skin, her hair, her. He felt like had was under a spell and she was the culprit in every right way that she could be one.

"I can honestly say much of the same," Kennedy whispered quietly, her eyes growing squinty for a minute as she smiled and laughed, "you always looked at me different, Bucky, I knew that." Bucky watched her, his smile seemingly plastered on his face and he couldn't fight it down.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered back, leaning closer, their noses brushing, his other hand escaping up under her shirt to her bare skin, caressing her softness, "Different, huh? You noticed?"

"And you're admitting to it?" she whispered back with another chuckle, "Bucky Egan, you are really surprise after surprise, aren't you." She chuckled and he couldn't help but watch her eyes again so close to her.

"Nah," Bucky whispered, "just….." He watched her smile. "I always thought about you, ya know. And I wasn't lying. Back when I heard Silver Bullets took a hit and it was Margie. I thought of you." Bucky grinned wider.

"I'd think of you at night, too. Sometimes I wondered if I could try and find you at night, just to talk to you," Bucky whispered, "but I'd shove it out of my mind. Didn't think you thought like that. About me. About us." Kennedy watched him, a small smile lingering on her lips.

"You could've come and found me," Kennedy whispered back to him, her thumb brushing his cheek, a grin poking out, "would've been better than….I don't know, wrestling with some fucking nightmares, ya know?"

"I'll be honest, Farley, I probably would've kissed you way sooner then if I had done that," Bucky said with a winning grin, "a helluva lot sooner. Coming and finding you." Kennedy watched him, her eyes shining as she let out a laugh.

"You found me." she whispered back and Bucky couldn't seem to help the grin on his face as he came to cup her cheeks.

"I'd see you at the flying club," Bucky whispered, softly pressing his lips to her nose, "dancing and drinking and twirling and singing….." Kennedy watched him from right there across from him, inches from his face. "I've always liked you, Kenny."

"Always?"

"Always." Bucky said, "Back when you were my waist gunner - you always had that confident look in your eye, I knew you could probably shoot better than the rest of the guys, and you sure as hell were one tough nut to crack and I…you're just always in the back of my mind, ya know?"

"John Egan." Kennedy whispered, reaching up to loop her fingers into his hair and trace down the sides of his face, "I don't deserve you."

"You're telling me," Bucky whispered, "I don't deserve an ounce of you, but here we are and I feel like the luckiest man in the world. Fuck." Kennedy watched him and continued this gentle touch along his head, with the most genuine, soft look in her eyes.

"Telling my parents that the man I'm in love with is a Yankees fan-" Bucky's heart pounded. She continued talking, but he missed whatever else she had just said. His thoughts honed in on her first sentence.

That word.

"What?" Bucky said quietly, looking at her fully, his smile gone, his eyes bright, "What'd you say?"

"I'm gonna have to tell my parents that you're a Yankees fan - and my brothers! They're gonna-"

"No, no," Bucky whispered quietly, a smile growing on his cheeks as he softly pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, "the other thing. The other part of that." Kennedy stared at him and then let out a soft chuckle.

"I'm in love with a Yankees fan."

"Who is me?"

"Who is you."

"And who you love?"

"For quite some time." Kennedy whispered, her eyes glossy, "I don't tell people about much more than what you can see of me, much less what's inside of me. You know more than what my mother might know." Bucky chuckled against her lips and pressed another kiss there, holding her there so deeply and strongly, he didn't want to let go.

"What I'm trying to say without it sounding all over the place," Kennedy whispered as he pulled back, "is that I'm in love with you and that I love you." Bucky watched her, smirking, so widely, so genuinely, so proudly, that if they weren't here, he didn't know what he'd do with words like that. He had a few ideas, but he was so focused on her right now that he couldn't think straight.

"I'm really fucking in love with you, too, Kenny," he whispered, his free hand on her bare skin on her back pressing against her and making a small whimper escape her lips as he sighed pleasantly, "and I really want to kiss you again. For a while." Kennedy stared at him - her face was glowing, he swore to God, and she smiled. His heart pounded.

"Then kiss me, Major," she whispered against his lips, "kiss me hard."

And he did just that.

[ilguna]

☼ drowning in love (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; you promised Johanna you'd support her with anything she needed when she came back from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, they shower together, torture mention.

wc; 1.6k

–

“I’ve changed my mind.” Johanna says, you tilt your head at her, unamused.

The two of you are currently inside of, what must be, the smallest bathroom you’ve ever seen. You thought that when the medical team of Thirteen said they had a private bathroom, they meant something bigger. You weren’t expecting it to be the same size as the bathrooms in the Capitol, but at least half that. It isn’t, though. Everything in here has been crammed to ensure that every inch of space is used.

Johanna’s sitting on the toilet lid, hunched over in her towel, arms wrapped around her abdomen to make herself smaller. You’re standing directly in front of her, your kneecaps touching hers because there is nowhere else to stand in here. You’re lucky that there’s even enough room for the two of you to shower together in the first place.

“Babe, that’s what you said ten minutes ago, you can’t keep changing your mind.”

She shakes her head, staring at the floor, “I’m not ready.”

“You’re going to have to do it either way.” You tell her, “If you don’t do it with me, then the nurses will do it, and they don’t really care about your feelings.”

She meets your eyes, “They’ll sedate me.”

“And then you miss out on an opportunity to start the process of healing. You can’t keep pushing it back. What will you do when the rebellion’s over and we’re no longer in Thirteen? There won’t be anyone to sedate you.” You raise your eyebrows.

“You will, if I put up a big enough fight.” She says, you think you can see a smile hinting at the corners of her lips. She’s not entirely joking, though. She knows that you don’t like seeing her in pain.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll be right here.”

“Except, I don’t want to go in there alone. What if—what if I have an episode?” She asks, you watch her shudder.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” You ask, “You know I will.”

“What if I attack you? Like Peeta did to Katniss?” 

“You won’t. They didn’t use tracker jacker venom on you.” You say, “And the doctors would’ve caught it by now.”

Johanna begins to bite on her bottom lip, face contorting while she thinks. She knows you’re right, but she doesn’t want to admit it. She just wants to find a way out to avoid having to face the water. And you understand why, the issue is that you won’t be putting up with sponge baths for the rest of your life. 

Her eyes dart to the door momentarily, possibly planning an escape. She won’t make it far, not with you standing in front of it. She wouldn’t be able to pull it open before you have her on her ass again.

“Johanna, the water can’t hurt you.” You slide down the wall, taking her hands in yours, “You know you’ll have control in there. You’ll be able to move the shower head off to the side if you can’t handle it, and change the temperature if it’s too close to what they used in the Capitol.”

She presses her lips together, “I don’t want to freak out, (Y/n).”

“You won’t. I’ll get in there with you. You’ll be safe with me in there, you know I would never let anything happen to you, not when I’m right there.” You squeeze her hands.

She nods.

“It’s only a few minutes, we’re just getting your body washed. You’ll feel so much better once the grime is gone, and you’re washing away their touch.”

“Okay.” Johanna breathes.

“Okay.” You echo, letting go of her hands as you get back to your feet. 

You slide the glass door open, leaning in to turn the shower on. You can feel her hands grip around your wrist when the water starts. And without you even saying anything, she begins to take deep breaths in through her nose, and exhales through her mouth. A technique she was taught by the head doctor, it looks like she’s paying attention after all.

You guide her hand to the water slowly so she can feel the temperature, adjusting it the way she tells you to. She goes on the hotter side, staying away from the warm to cold range. You’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.

“Alright,” You hold your hand out to her.

“Can you go in first?” She asks.

“Johanna, if you run out of the bathroom, I’m going to be pissed.” You tell her.

“I won’t. You’ll be closer to the water.” She says, “Please?”

You watch her for a couple of seconds, gauging whether or not she’s telling the truth, and find that she is. You pull your hair up, figuring that you’d rather accidentally get the ends wet than your whole head. You then take off District Thirteen’s jumpsuit, and the underwear underneath.

You keep a hand on Johanna when you open the glass door, backing inside a few steps. This forces her to her feet, where she uses a shaky hand to release the towel, letting it fall to the floor.

“It’s only a couple of minutes.” You remind her, “One step at a time.”

“I know.” She breathes, “I don’t think I can get my face wet.” 

“How about we do your collarbones and down?” You ask, “Does that sound okay?”

She hums in agreement, coming into the shower. She slides the door shut behind her, and you watch her begin to take deeper breaths. You reach back to feel how close the water is, and find it only an inch further back.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask her, “You have to face the water.”

“Just my back right now.” She closes her eyes.

You move her around, slowly backing her into the water, watching as her face twists at the anticipation. When it begins to rain down on her back, she jumps slightly, a shudder running through her body. You can see the goosebumps rise on her arms.

You step closer, placing your hands on her hips, watching her face. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to focus on not freaking out. She moves slightly to allow the water on her shoulders and down her sides.

“Do you think I’ll be better by the end of the rebellion?” She asks.

“If we keep working on it, it’ll be a step in the right direction.” You tell her, “It won’t happen overnight Johanna, as much as I know you wish it would.”

“I wish he’d chosen something else.” She mutters, eyebrows drawing in, “The District borders will finally be down and we won’t even be able to see the ocean. Finnick makes me so jealous when he talks about how beautiful the beach is. And all we’ve got are fuckin’ trees.” 

“That’ll be our goal, then.” You say, she opens her eyes, “To go visit Annie and Finnick on the beach.”

“That could take years, (Y/n).” She says.

“Good thing we’re gonna live for a while.” You smile, she lets out a laugh, “Ready to turn around?”

She nods, you let go of her hips, allowing her to turn around to face the water. She lets out a breath, hesitating.

“I didn’t take you as a beach person.” You say, hoping it’ll take her mind off of the shower water, and instead put her somewhere else. She doesn’t move for a second, before stepping forward. You place your hands on her hips again.

“Yeah, well, neither did I. Finnick talks about the summers there, how he and his family would jump off the docks as kids. The water is cold and refreshing. The sand is warm, and sometimes too hot to walk on with bare feet.” She murmurs, reaching over to grab the bar of soap on the shelf, you smile slightly. “They build sandcastles and play games. It’s like a picnic we have at home, but on the beach. And the best part is the sunsets apparently.”

“I think Finnick just wants us to move there.” You laugh.

“Probably.” She agrees, “I wouldn’t mind, Annie and Finnick are our best friends. It’d be nice to be close to torture them often.”

“I’m sure it’s an option.” You say, “Even if you’re not ready to see the water, I’m sure they have houses away from the water.”

She pauses, “You’d move there with me?”

“Where else would I go?” You laugh, “Do you think I’d stay in Seven?”

“Well, no.” She says, carefully rubbing the soap over her skin. It’s still tender from the scabs that have recently fallen off. “I just thought you’d be more against it.”

“We’ve lived in Seven our whole lives, I’m sure it’ll be okay if we move somewhere new for a while.” You tell her.

“That’s true.”

You lather her back in soap, so it’s less effort for her. She rinses the scentless bubbles down the drain, and then steps out to dry herself off. You get rid of the soap that she’d accidentally gotten on you, before shutting the water off.

When you step out, you’re able to see Johanna wiping her eyes, sniffing. She looks at your briefly, eyes already turning red.

“Hey,” You pull the spare towel around your body, before pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms around you, letting out a sob. “It was so easy, you didn’t even think about it.”

“I know.” She places her forehead on your shoulder, “I know, I’m afraid it won’t be like this every time.”

“It can be, though.” You press a kiss to her cheek, squeezing her tighter, “And I’ll be here with you the entire time, I promise.”

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

For You - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Thirty-One of Pedrotober: SAG Awards Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Rating: Y'all got your spice it's time for fluff. No warnings.

Word Count: 924

a/n: 37,566 words later, here we are. I simply cannot believe how quickly this month has gone, the same way I cannot express how thankful I am for this challenge, for the people it has brought into my life over the past thirteen months, and for the opportunity to explore it in my own way. Pedrotober has, above all else, proven to me that I'm capable of this. Of writing. Of balancing everything so precariously and working tirelessly to do the things I love for the people I love. You know exactly who you are, and this is for you.

He's never been prouder than in this moment.

Applause echoes through the room, following his steady lead, and he's standing to press a kiss to your cheek before you slip from his grasp. Lights are flashing, surely no brighter than the smile illuminating your face as you walk past the photographers and to the center stage. Someone claps him on the back, but his eyes are locked on you.

Frankie had seen every moment that led to this one. The early mornings, when he'd bring your coffee to your desk and ensure that you ate something for breakfast. The long days spent cramming in the tasks required for your job, just so you'd have time in the evening to work. The missed meals and the sleepless nights, the aching shoulders and the endless pacing down the hallway as you tried to pinpoint the smallest of details until it was perfect.

You make it up the steps without tripping in your heels the way you feared you might, even with a bit of tequila in you. There's someone waiting for you at the top with a trophy that is probably far heavier than it looks, and you accept it with a grin, a deep breath, and a glance back at him.

"Wow," you begin breathlessly as the crowd dies down, settling back in their seats. "Wow, I don't even know where to begin because I absolutely did not expect this."

He listens. Hangs on every word of your speech because he knows you're telling the truth. That you didn't expect this. That you'd simply been honored to be nominated for your work and to be here despite all the negativity swirling in your mind. The thoughts he's had to dispel from your consciousness with careful dedication and love until you're finally convinced that what you do matters.

The audience laughs lightly when you take a moment to pause and simply look at the trophy in your hands. "I'm sorry, I just never thought I'd be here, so I've completely neglected to make a list of who to thank, but I wouldn't be here without my incredible family and my astonishingly supportive friends who get me through each and every day. And, most importantly," you continue, finding him again in the crowd, "I'd like to thank my husband, Frankie. I wouldn't be able to do life without you, and this? This is for you."

You feel the emotion well in your chest when he winks at you, a quiet reassurance that he's with you now the way he has been all along. The reminder of the final words of your speech, the ones that you've held in your heart through every painstaking moment coming to life on your lips.

"And before I leave, I just want to add that to anyone out there feeling defeated, to every 'other.' You are my family and I love you. Keep going. Keep waking up every day and doing what feels right. This is proof that you can get there. That you will get there. Thank you."

The overwhelming sound of the crowd follows you off the stage, but it's not long before you're tucked back in Frankie's waiting arms. He meets you in the hallway before you can even make it back to your seat, tugging you against him and swinging you gently back and forth as the statue in your hand rests against his back. "I'm so incredibly proud of you," he whispers against your ear.

"Thank you." You shift to look up at him, one hand running along his forehead to push back a stray curl that's fallen out of place. "I meant what I said."

He shakes his head. "No, Carino. This is yours. You're the one who put in the work and made this happen. Not me. You."

The kiss you place on his lips is soft, and you stand on your toes to press just a bit closer. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Frankie," you tell him when you pull back, your lips resting just a breath apart. "Do you realize that? There wouldn't have been a project to work on if you hadn't encouraged me. If you hadn't challenged me to dedicate myself to my dreams." He's staring at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly parted, but you continue. "I wouldn't have been able to survive while working on this without you being there every moment of the day, making sure I stayed sane even when I felt like throwing something at the wall and calling it quits."

A laugh rumbles in his chest. "I would've just fixed the wall."

"Yeah," you breathe out. "You would've. So yes, Frankie. This is for you." To make your point, you hold the statue between you, holding it out for him to take. When he hesitates, you reach for his hands, wrapping his fingers around it until yours are closed over his. "Thank you for being there for me every step of the way. For encouraging me to keep going. For loving me and letting me love you in return."

He's speechless, words inadequate to express the way his emotions are rolling through him in a neverending tsunami, so he kisses you instead.

And later, when the ceremony is over and your colleagues wait to congratulate you, you can't help but feel the same kind of love wash over you. Pounding in your chest when you overhear him telling someone that he'd pick you every time anyway.

Because you'd pick him, too. Always.

[fleckcmscott]

Silver Dollar

Summary: An outage in Gotham provides the perfect opportunity for a special night.

Words: 4,629

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This story was prompted by a request from @iartsometimes! 💜 It's probably a little tamer than intended. 🤭 Thank you for the request! Also, much appreciation to @sweet-nothings04 for low-lighting visibility tips. 😂 🌃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The graffiti plastered bathroom plunged into darkness.

Arthur stiffened where he stood, blinked into the blackness. His vision did not become clearer. Grumbling, he tucked himself into his pants and stepped back from the urinal. The handle took two tugs to flush. He fumbled for the sink, gave his palms a rinse shorter than the Gotham Department of Health recommended. Paper pharmacy bag in hand, he opened the exit's steel door and headed northwest. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring, August sun.

Gotham had gone crazy in record time.

People spilled out of luncheonettes, crowds crammed shop doorways. Traffic lights refused to light and pedestrian signals refused to signal. Horns blared in the building pandemonium. A passenger yelled out of a taxicab and flipped the bird, while the driver pounded the steering wheel. Chaos repeated block after block. The Stutton Cowboy on the center billboard ("Price is good. Flavor is everything.") no longer waved. His cigarette hand hovered over his mouth in shock.

Arthur was prepared. Whether due to bad writing or an unpaid bill, he'd spent his share of evenings smoking in the dark. This was something he was good at, an event he could take the lead in.

Bumping a fleeing college kid who had a bottle of vodka hidden under his arm, Arthur shouldered his way into the nearest grocery. Squeezed by a couple of oh lords, maneuvered through murmurs and gripes, and ran through a mental inventory of the drawers in 4A. The day dimmed as he neared the rear aisles. When he arrived at the Home Needs section, he crouched between an abandoned cart and a baby stroller.

He squinted at the battery rack. AAs for the radio, Ds for the flashlight. Maybe some candles, just in case...

An ever-expanding line of shoppers accelerated the beads of sweat on the young cashier's forehead. Handwritten receipts and totals by calculator took twice as long. Arthur sidled to the next line, overseen by a matronly woman wearing a paisley wrap dress who did all the math in her head.

"I'm gonna need a drink after today," she said as he approached the counter.

It took a moment for him to realize she was looking for a kindred spirit. A rapid blink, a subtle nod. "Yeah. Me, too." He eyed a row of bottles on the shelf behind her. That'd make his reply believable.

She followed his stare, stretched to grab a green bottle with an art nouveau label, and put it on the counter.

Vermouth. He wasn't familiar with that word. It sounded exotic, like a fine imported thing. It was a screw top instead of a cork, which he tended to frown on. Uncorking a bottle together was romantic, whereas this was akin to opening a liter of seltzer. He was about to decline it when the price tag froze him. At $14.99, it was more expensive than any wine he'd ever had.

Maybe it really was a fine, imported thing.

"Is it good?" he asked. He picked it up, studied the back as if a connoisseur.

"One of our best sellers."

He gave the matron a one shoulder shrug, half-commitment about to go full. "I'll take it."

~~~~~

Y/N strode the hallowed halls of Gotham City District Court. On the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen, the granite behemoth belied the civil servants who were paid far too little to deal with far too much.

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she ambled down the checkerboard floor towards the clerk's window. Rita, her favorite, was working today. Rita returned every call, always helped with a combination of sarcasm and cheer.

"And what did you bring me today? she asked when Y/N plopped her canvas bag on the counter. Rita stopped watering her shaggy spider plant and walked to the window.

"A motion to continue the Caruso case and a dozen new filings. You can send the invoice for the filing fees to my office." Y/N split the stack of folders into three slim piles and pushed them through the gap under the glass. "How did your bowling league do last night?"

"We're one game away from regionals! I'm trying to convince my husband to-"

A loud pop echoed down the corridor, bounced along the linoleum, ricocheted off horsehair plaster. The air conditioner's hum devolved to a grinding whir. Bright fluorescents gave way to dingey emergency beams, crisscrossing through dusty, recycled air.

Hand on hip, Y/N looked up. "Did you misplace the electric bill?"

"Great. Judge Harkness is in the middle of a jury trial on the fourth floor. He hates taking the stairs." The clerk covered her face, glanced at Y/N's folders through parted fingers. "I'm not sure when I'll get these processed."

"That's all right. I just wanted them off my desk. I haven't seen the surface in six months." She retrieved a business card from her purse, pushed it to join the files, a gesture repeated every visit to Rita, a reminder to reach out. "Don't forget to update me on your tournament. And don't let His Honor forget who actually runs this place."

When she arrived at Dube & Ellis after a fifty-two-minute walk - all subways stations were cordoned off - she was sweltering. Polyester didn't breathe and it comprised seventy-two percent of her wardrobe. That Terry had done exactly the wrong thing by drawing back the vertical blinds on each and every window was typical. "There's not enough light in here! The whole city's out!"

She unbuttoned her collar and dropped in her chair. Normally her Sanyo desk fan would rattle and grate. Now she'd give her whole paycheck for a hint of its cool breeze.

Power outages had been a feature of many seasons in Missouri. Tornado season and sticky season, window season and squirrel on the transformer season. One night a drunk driver had slammed his Studebaker into a utility pole three houses down. It'd crushed Mr. Walter's front porch and left the road without electricity for two days.

Her mother had instructed them not to open the refrigerator unless they knew what they wanted. Shut the doors to the hottest rooms and placed rolled towels at the bottom to keep air from seeping in. Though she'd loved how the sun filtered through her lace curtains, she'd kept the drapes shut. They'd lit candles at night. She'd done needlepoint in her favorite chair and watched her husband play cards with their daughters until bed. A real family affair.

Daubing beads from his brow with a handkerchief, Phil stood in the center of the room. His expression said keeping them there any longer would be an OSHA violation. He wasn't wrong. The office had become the least relaxing sauna on the east coast.

"You've all put in a lot of work today." He spoke in the voice of a grandfather and daubed again. "I know it wasn't easy. I guess there's no sense in us staying any longer. If the power's not back tomorrow-" A gulp here, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Enjoy a long weekend. My wife'll be glad to have me home. I think."

Y/N stole a glance at her watch: 4:42 PM. A whole eighteen minutes early. Though it wasn't a lot, she got how hard it was for a workaholic like Phil to give them five. Offering a soft smile, she went to him and stuck out her hand. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly before he accepted.

She gave his arm a collegial pat. "We're as caught up as we can be, so feel free to stop sweating."

~~~~~

The next morning's breakfast: cornflakes and blueberries. Y/N gave the milk a good sniff before pouring. With the microwave, toaster, and stove out of commission, oatmeal, toast, and eggs were off the menu. (Not that Arthur complained about the latter.)

They'd discussed how to use what was left in the fridge and freezer before it all went bad, but salads wouldn't work for every meal, and they were only two people. The Caswells across the hall, the neighbors who'd gotten their mail while they were in Missouri, had a grill. Y/N gave them a package of ground beef and a bag of frozen vegetables.

Arthur let his spoon clatter in the kitchen sink and rinsed his bowl. (It was a good and joyful thing that the water - and therefore the toilet - still worked.) "You know, I should go the children's clinic."

"Do you have a gig?" She sipped her orange juice.

"No. But it's boring hanging around all day without the TV. They hire me a lot. I'll go for free."

She rose, rubbed the small of his back. "That's so sweet, Arthur. And very kind."

"You could come with me." He paused, pressed his lips together. She'd seen him on street corners but hadn't witnessed the entirety of his performance. Even with her unending support, he suspected an all-out clown show would be the one place she'd feel out of place. He dared a glance her way.

And found a wide-eyed expression of approval. She cupped his hips, planted a wet kiss to his cheek. "You couldn't keep me away."

In the cab downtown, excitement bloomed in him, unfurling in a great wave of nervous joy. Knuckles intertwined, he hugged the prop bag on his lap, thighs jiggling. "Do you think they'll mind me just showing up?"

"No." She shook her head, placed a soothing palm on his knee. "They'll be happy to get a break in the monotony. It's a medical facility, they'll have generators, but the staff are going home to no power. They could use a laugh. The kids definitely could, too."

The Philomena Children's Clinic was squat for Gotham. Five stories of alternating beige concrete and polycarbonate windows, shaped into a squared-off U. Moss hung from the side of the porte-cochere, green clumps littered the pavement. Cartoon animals played on the entrance doors, giraffes and bears in happy acrylics.

When he checked in unannounced, Gertel the receptionist had a snotty face, but he'd learned not to take it personally. She liked order, worked eight to eight, even on holidays, and her only hobbies were the anagram puzzles in the newspaper and Harlequin romances. She was a tough egg to crack. The most he'd gotten was a pinched smile, a thin line of conceit.

Once he'd procured visitor badges for Y/N and himself, he went to the staff room to change. White base, blue triangles at the eyes, exaggerated red grin, bald wig with green curls, patched brown pants. He'd skipped his checkered suit jacket for a white lab coat, a long ago find from the secondhand store.

Rather than congregating in the common area, the kids remained in their rooms. The change put a limitation on his usual song and dance. Without those trappings, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He hesitated in the doorway of 201, thumbed a flat balloon in his pocket. When the little girl watching Sesame Street gave a small wave, he wiggled the worry from his shoulders and stepped forward.

Stephanie showed him a picture she'd drawn, all crayon streaks and misshapen house. In turn he crafted a balloon hat, put it on her head and told her to get well soon. A youngster next door, no more than five, told Arthur all about Misty, his golden retriever, and how much he missed her.

When Kevin, swallowed by an oversized robe, IV drip drip dripping, started to cry, Arthur's chest hollowed out. The boy hadn't seen his mom in two days. Being alone in a hospital was hard, a fact Arthur had lived. He plucked a prop handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressed it into the boy's tiny hands, pushed the corner of his mouth up with his thumb. "You'll see her soon," he said, words carrying a conviction he hoped was right.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Y/N chatting with an RN at the nurse's station. He went into the corridor to eavesdrop, knelt beside a girl in a wheelchair smothered with pink and purple stickers, Heather plastered across the side panel.

"It was nice of him to come," Linda said. "A lot of their parents can't afford the cab fare to get out here, with the subway out and all. And if they're not working, they aren't getting paid. He's always excellent with the children - sometimes he's just like them. Do you have any at home?"

Heather leaned in, prodded his shoulder. "Who's that lady?" she asked, pointing at Y/N.

"That lady?" He grinned from ear to ear. "That's Mrs. Carnival."

The girl gaped in astonishment. "She's not a clown?"

~~~~~

Stolen sheets hung from the railing at both ends of the fire escape. A forest green acrylic blanket obscured the front. A floral comforter, retrieved on tiptoe from the bedroom closet, covered the wrought iron platform. Two wine glasses and vermouth stood on the steps. All that was left was to tune the radio to easy listening, which Arthur did, treading lightly to avoid a stubbed toe.

Nodding, he smiled at his handwork. Well, at the blurred shapes he could detect in the dimness. He looked skyward. With the sun below the horizon and the usual light pollution gone, the night was sparkling.

Candlestick in hand, he eased the bedroom door ajar and sidled through. Gold flickered through the dark, a softening glow. Y/N was an unmoving lump on the mattress. Leg dangling out from the sheet, her half-slip a line on her thigh. Though sleep now came easier, her ability to nap stoked an ember of envy. Midday snoozes happened only after a bit of afternoon delight. She'd tired early, around quarter past six. If he let her doze any longer, she'd be locked in a daze brewing coffee at 2:00 AM.

Hot wax stung the web between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, shook his hand, shoved the candle on the nightstand. The edge of the mattress sunk under his weight. He grasped the cotton sheet. Dragged it from her shoulder. Revealed the lace trim of her ivory chemise. A brief mumble fell from her mouth, a wet sucking sound. Her fingers curled into the pillow. He pulled the sheet down further. It puddled to the floor.

Stretching one arm, she rolled back to wince at the candle, then at him. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

That jolted her awake. "I slept too long."

"Mabel called earlier."

"What did she want?"

"She said the blackouts were on the news. I let her know we're all right."

A tender caress to her calf, which felt like silk in his palm. Images of the romantic evening he was about to have with his wife played in his head, a loop that made his stomach all aflutter.

Y/N boosted herself on her elbows. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The look that means you're up to something," she said, brow arched to her hairline.

Part chuckle, part scoff, he laughed. She read him too well. While it made surprises harder to hide, it pleased more than it annoyed. He stood, offered his hand. "Come here," he said. She accepted, pausing long enough to blow out the flame. He led her to the fire escape and sat on the comforter.

Halfway behind the glass door, she clutched her arms over her chest. "Arthur, I can't go out like this."

"No one'll see you." He gestured at the impromptu walls. Besides, he was six feet away and her form was barely more than a shadow. "And without all the lights, you might be able to see the stars. The way you did back home. Like you told me in the park."

A beam bloomed across her face, what he imagined might be a faint blush. Bent at the waist, she slipped into the half moon's light. One hand on the doorknob, a lifeline in case she reconsidered. Her fingertips relented one by one. First the pinky, last the middle. She settled to his left, knee pulled to her chest, the other leg folded under.

Arthur shuffled closer so they were hip to hip, reached behind her for the wine glasses and bottle with the art nouveau label.

Y/N snagged it from him, squinted at it. "Vermouth?" She held the bottle while he twisted the cap. "My mother used to drink this before bed in the summer. And she rubbed it on Mabel's gums when she was teething. Whiskey, too."

When he brought the goblet of garnet colored liquid to his lips, his nose wrinkled. The liquor smelled like an overgrown garden. He dared a small sip, anyway - and bitterness coated his tongue. He winced, sputtering. "This taste weird. This was supposed to be wine."

"It is, just a different type." She drank long and deep then drank again. "This one's not bad. Strong on the cloves but it'll get the job done."

A news bulletin interrupted the animated notes of Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass. "In what authorities are calling a historic event, Gotham's five boroughs remain dark tonight - including McKean Island. We're assured safety measures are in place and the maximum-security wing remains in lockdown. Though the extent of the damage is unknown, we're happy to report that crews from Pennsylvania and New York are on their way to our fair city to lend a hand. Police Chief Miles O'Hara and Mayor Thomas Wayne are urging calm and-"

"That's enough of that." Y/N flipped the off switch. "You know the best part of all this? Wayne Tower is just as dark as everywhere else."

Unable to stop a chuckle, Arthur shook his head. She wasn't one for holding grudges, but the ones she did carry lived in the lines of her palms, plain enough for any flimflam psychic to read.

But he didn't want her to talk about that, not now. And he knew of a guaranteed method to distract her, to bring her back to where he wanted. He refilled her drink and clinked their glasses.

Second helping swallowed, she inched her bottom forward to lay on her back, arm tucked beneath her head. "It was wonderful to see you work today. Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Well, you come to my standup shows." Only a month ago, she'd recorded his performance and given him tips over Thai. He stretched out next to her, set his still full glass on the steps. "The girl in the wheelchair asked who you were. She was surprised Mrs. Carnival isn't a clown."

"As surprised as everybody was that I married one?"

A hitched laugh. He fiddled with his trousers' belt loops. "I guess."

"There's a magic wand." She pointed at the skies. "By the moon, to the right."

Arthur hummed a contented hum, let his eyelids flutter shut. The street was peaceful, as still as he'd ever heard it. With most shops and restaurants shut down, the list of leisure options fit on a postage stamp. It was a moment to capture, preserve, like swirls in a vase.

A breeze rustled the sheets, blew across them, carried Y/N's natural scent straight to his nostrils. Warm and spicy, like roasted vanilla edged with musk. He breathed deeply, needing to fill his lungs with her anew. Sighing happily, he turned to her.

Silver gleams turned her skin to gossamer, dusk smudged her features. Feathered brown locks merged with the vines on the bedspread's pattern. Her breast threatened to fall out of the armhole of her lingerie.

Christ. They were outside. He hadn't planned on getting aroused. But the longer he looked at her, the harder he got.

Y/N sipped, balanced her stemware on her sternum. "Thank you for tonight, too. You're always so thoughtful." A simple sentiment but exactly what he longed to hear. An affirmation, a pledge to love him further.

But before he could respond in kind, the glass between her breasts began to tip...

He caught it, a splash hitting his wrist, crimson droplets landing on her collarbone. He set it on the step, bent to seize her lips. An unpleasant earthiness covered them. He licked it away, coaxed back her sweetness.

Gigging, she broke away. "Was this your plan? To get me out here and ply me with drink?" The hand on his shoulder dragged to his cheek. The breathy voice she adopted shot straight down his spine. "To take advantage of me?"

It wasn't but he didn't have to tell her that. He nudged closer, his erection grazing her thigh. "Maybe."

A slow smile of pleasure. "I like that plan."

Her palms snuck under his t-shirt, forced it upwards as she explored his body. Nails swirled at his abdomen. It grew taut, stuttered at the sensations, her tickles and temptations. When she reached his pecs she gave a firm pinch. At his displeased grunt, a wicked laugh left her, bawdy and amorous. A clear sign of what they were up to.

His thumb followed her chemise's ribbon strap. His hand fell to her side, skimmed her rounded hip, the delectable curve of her leg. Her half-slip had a daring slit. He slid through, drew lazy circles on her inner thigh.

She shivered. "You're not making it easy to be quiet."

Fingertips traced her panties' elastic leg. Heat emanated from her core, luring him nearer and nearer. Her swallowed whimper rushed him there. Slick and wet, the nylon gusset clung to her vulva.

He'd grown deft at touching her, even in the dark. He trailed a careful stripe along her labia. Inner lips were a prominent line through the fabric, her clitoral hood a plump ridge. Light and rapid he flicked his nail across it. Her pelvis snapped up, held. Millimeter ruts chasing his scrapes, fingers digging his back.

A shudder racked him. His forehead pressed to hers. "If we had more room, I'd taste you." She pressed her lips together, a squeal trapped behind them.

The same breeze that'd carried her scent could very well carry her hungry little whines around the block. So he captured her mouth with his. It started off tender and shallow but was soon all encompassing. She raked through his hair, tugged and tugged again. His tongue sought hers, caressed, collided. Teeth bumped with a muted click.

Sharp gasps. Her neck, her breasts, her entire being arching into him. Desperate push-pulls. He pressed on, strokes licks of fire on her clit. Mewling built in the back of her throat. He heard it in her shallow pants, felt it in how she gripped his bicep. Her thighs trembled, vulva throbbing in his hand.

"Ah!" She squeaked, a strangled, undignified sound.

Snorting, he shoved her sweaty face into the crook of his neck, caught the cries she couldn't stop. (Long ago, she'd offered to visit his apartment on her lunch break - with the explicit promise she could be quiet. He hadn't taken her up on it. Phew!) Her grip on his shirt tightened. One leg went straight, the other knee brushed his cock. Stillness punctuated by tremors. He kissed her temple, slowed his caress to a languid pace.

Legs akimbo, she blinked at him. Signaled silence with a finger to her lips. She balanced on her knees, shed her panties, patted the spot where she'd lain. He scooted over immediately. When he tried to sit, she pushed him to lie on his back. Moving to straddle him, she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He made no move to stop her.

Y/N braced herself on his chest, reached between them to press him to her entrance. She began to ease herself onto him, ease him inside her. But he told her to stop.

A strap fell down her upper arm, loosened her camisole to accentuate her cleavage and reveal a breast. Her nipple poked out, its dusky brown a tantalizing contrast to her white skin. Moonlight sculpted the apple of her cheek in whirls of silver. The stars shone about her head, caught in her tresses like sequins on an evening gown.

A pleasant fuzziness swept through him. Nearly three years and he was still drawn to her like a magnet. He'd bet his life that'd be the same case in twenty.

She cocked her head. "What is it?"

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Lowered the other strap. "Perfect," he said, smiling as his heart swelled. "You look perfect."

Teeth pressed her lower lip in a shy smile. When she bent to kiss him, her nipples dragged up his chest, prickled his flesh. She shifted the angle of her pelvis forward, the angle that rubbed her clit on his public bone. The one that left his black curls a matted, wet mess.

A sensuous thrust, her hips rolled in a seductive circle. "I want you to come," she whispered, and licked his bottom lip.

One foot braced on the grate beneath him, which bit even through the comforter. He bucked into her, into that heady stretch of her slippery heat. As if testing their connection, she raised up until he nearly flopped out, until only the glans remained. Then her walls encompassed him once more. Clutching, grasping. A steady rhythm. Relentless motion that bewitched and bewildered.

He cleared his throat to keep from crying out, channeled the urge to groan into grabbing the baluster behind his head. Her pinky brushed the strong sinew of his neck, her tongue followed his collarbone. Tightness in his loins spread to his abdomen, crawled through his limbs.

A burst of light, white and pulsing, formed behind his eyelids. Fire rippled through his veins, a scarlet flush of satisfaction. He bit the inside of his cheek, permitted one weak whimper to escape. She held herself in place while he finished, in the way she knew he liked. Stroked the tension from his dimples until they melted into a smile.

Slack and sated, his arm dropped to the ground. He puffed out his chest and cheeks and huffed. On a swift peck, she began to push herself up.

Just then, the Caswells' glass door creaked. Sluggish steps, like a hiker stuck in the mud. Y/N ducked on top of Arthur, held her breath. A hurdy gurdy voice called from inside. "...should have added it to the list last week. Where are you going? Louie L'Amour's about to start on GPR!" The rattle of a far-off rotary phone. "Oh, I bet that's your mother. She's called every hour!"

"I never said you have to answer it!" A resigned sigh, the click of a lighter. Arthur could almost hear the man deflate.

"The heat must be getting to them," Y/N said. "I think he'll be out here awhile."

Arthur murmured into her hair. "If you weren't so sweet, we wouldn't be in this jam." A playful swat to her bottom.

Laughter tickled his neck. She lifted herself a couple inches, pulled up the straps of her camisole. Careful to remain discreet, she grabbed her panties, clambered off him, and duck walked towards the living room. One foot beyond the threshold and she scampered out of sight.

He zipped his trousers, straightened his shirt, stretched as he stood, stuck a hand in his pocket to appear nonchalant. He grabbed the radio and headed inside. The rest he'd retrieve ten minutes later, when the neighbor would be forced to answer to his mother.

As he entered, Y/N emerged from the bathroom. His feet stumbled to a stop, his brain blanked. She'd shed her clothing and now stood nude before him. His stomach again went all aflutter.

"Let's repeat all that as soon as we can.” She curled her fingers around his wrist, not giving him a moment to resist. “By candlelight. In our bed."

~~~~~

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[prettyboysdontcry]

Late June

I’m still standing in the doorway. Corvid hasn't technically invited me in, and I'm terrified of them doing so, as I've become painfully aware that the only furniture in the room I could plausibly sit on is the bed. Not that that's stopped them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, rummaging through a clear plastic bin of what appear to be fabric scraps. Crunchy electric guitar and whiny vocals are still leaking from the busted speakers of their iPhone 6, shoved into the back pocket of their jeans. It's not awkward yet, so I take this opportunity to take in my surroundings.

At first glance around Corvid’s bedroom, the namesake is obvious. The room is warm and dark, a perfect opposite of Claire’s, and it’s exactly how I would imagine the slightly more human version of a crow’s nest.

It's messy and cluttered, but in a comfortable way. Every shelf and corner is crammed with shiny, colorful treasures. There's fabric hung in every upper corner, draping down from the ceiling to meet the outstretched limbs of the dozens of potted plants. The bed, which takes up the majority of floor space, is just a thick mattress on the floor, a nest of soft-looking blankets and well-loved stuffed animals. I find myself admiring Corvid’s lack of shame about these sweet childhood comforts, as well as, with heat rising in my face, wondering how comfortable the bed really is.

My eyes continue their ascent, from the bed to a large curtained window, and still higher to several haunted-looking clown figurines, pots of trailing pothos and ivy, and a wealth of camera paraphernalia that sit on shelves which appear to be made from scavenged wooden planks. Based on our earlier conversation, an image of Corvid and Claire digging through a dumpster for the shelves and their occupants takes shape in my mind.

The ceiling and walls of the room are each painted a different color, but those colors are nearly invisible under overlapping art prints, photographs, band posters, and cardboard signs. A few words jump out at me from this collection of media: “Black Trans Lives Matter,” “I got it at ReRun,” “Car Seat Headrest: Teens of Denial,” “We The People Protect Each Other,” and, somewhat notably among the others, “Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.” As I skim the walls, I realize it would take me hours to process every word on every piece of paper. I shake my head, making a mental note to talk to Corvid about each of these wildly varying interests later, and continue my scan of the room.

The closet from which Corvid retrieved the fabric scrap bin is wooden, claw-footed, and painted a sunset orange, chipped from what looks like years of abuse. On top of it are stacks and stacks of plastic bins and baskets just like the one they have in front of them now, each full of a million colors of fur and fabric, beads and string, paint markers and bottle caps and rolls of film. Shoes are piled by the door, on which are hanging a dozen or so jackets and hats, a bike helmet, a gas mask, and a pair of ski goggles. A garland of small disco balls, a string of multicolored paper cranes, and pink and orange twinkle lights are draped around the room. The rug is circular and colorful and threadbare. A lamp on a low bedside table casts a dim yellowish light over the room, making everything look soft and lived-in, warm and welcoming. Everything about the room feels exactly that. Exactly like Corvid themself. It’s immediately comfortable, somewhere that I know I never want to leave.

My musing is cut short as Corvid suddenly shifts their focus from the fabric bin back to me. They slip the long hair behind their ear with a pinky, reintroducing me to the mischievous shine in their dark eyes. They lift up a few scraps from the bin to show me.

“Here’s what I got. C’mere, get a look at your options.” Their voice jolts me back to reality, and, knowing that they’ll have to drag me back out kicking and screaming from this wondrous room, I accept the invitation into the crow's nest, settling beside them on the scratchy rug.

[fabiansociety]

i started playing yakuza 0 in August last year, and I've been playing my way through the entire series ever since. it's been a wild ride — a lot of nonsense plot has flowed through and out of my brain, a lot of janky combat, a massive amount of characters i've come to love, and hundreds of warmly empathetic substories that have pressed themselves into my brain. it feels like i've crammed an entire found family into my life, speedrunning through decades of character growth, major triumphs and minor failures. what it all means, in retrospect, i couldn't quite say. the series hasn't had a consistent point of view, except for an increasing melancholy of how life's narrative opportunities narrow with age and poor decisions, of the ways that childhood trauma lives with us forever, the ways that young men are brutalized into something useful for the powerful men at the top—but that's all a shadow passing over the true landscapes of the games, the long period hanging out in arcades or pool halls or drinking in a favorite bar, or singing karaoke alone or with someone. of watching kamurocho and sotenbori shift with the years, of the new cities we've visited and the food we've eaten. i remember the takoyaki place on the corner that got replaced with a gelateria much more than i remember any of the yakuza heavies that have driven the plots of these games, and that may actually be the point?

it's so weird to not have another yakuza game to immediately start playing. i've gotten so used to opening the next game as soon as i finish the previous one that it feels wrong to just be… done, for now? like, what am i to do with myself now? these games have been such a major part of my leisure time this last year. i've still got Ishin, but that's not really the same thing. the faces will be familiar, but the people will be strangers.

it feels right that the man who erased his name was the only one of these that i've actually 100% completed, from achievements to in-game trackers. they've lowered the bar for completion substantially with this latest game, and frankly it feels like an act of grace for people who have played through the entire series. i'm never going to get good at virtua fighter 2, no matter how many times it shows up, so it's nice to not have to get good at everything in order to round everything out. i've already taught myself mahjong for this series, is that not enough? LADG says, yes, it's okay, you've done enough, and i appreciate that tremendously, here at the end of this loooong road.

i spent *50 solid days* this last year doing nothing except playing yakuza games, that's ridiculous. i read every single nero wolfe book in significantly less time than that! this is the problem with doing this sort of run-the-board project for a video game series, it just takes so long to get even a basically thorough experience. running through the entire MCU, including all the D+, Netflix, Hulu, Freeform, and ABC shows, only takes 424 hours, by comparison. you could watch all of it in less time than in took me to get from Y0 to Y4. i read all the nero wolfe books a couple of years back, and i was ripping through those at a book a night. video games are massively more decompressed as a medium, which makes them much harder to approach. i've loved doing this, and really valued the experience, but how do i even begin to recommend someone approach this, when so much of the specific pleasure i get is from seeing these characters and locations grow and change over time? how do you even begin to read a work of that scope? what is even meaningful out of that time to convey to another person? and yet it is meaningful, having lived through it, in the way living in another city is meaningful. i can tell you what i did there, and the important things that happened to me, but the only way to really get it is to move there yourself, and that's a lot to ask of someone.

stats under the cut, if you're curious about just how much time i've spent on each individual game

yakuza 0: 115:45 started 8/10/22, completed 9/7/22

yakuza kiwami: 66:24 started 9/9/22, completed 10/10/22

yakuza kiwami 2: 73:20 started 10/10/22, completed 10/30/22

the majima saga: 2:49 started 10/18/22, completed 10/26/22

yakuza 3: 103:20 started 10/31/22, completed 2/20/23 (with a break from november to february)

yakuza 4: 124:14 started 2/20/23, completed 3/17/23

yakuza 5: 168:17 started 3/18/23, completed 4/27/23

yakuza 6: 76:05 started 4/30/23, completed 5/20/23

judgment: 114:29 started 5/22/23, completed 7/16/23

yakuza like a dragon: 131:31 started 7/16/23, completed 9/2/23

lost judgment: 131:10 (shocking how close this is to YLAD) started 9/17/23, completed 11/4/23

the kaito files: 12:59 started 11/5/23, completed 11/10/23

the man who erased his name: 75:17 started 11/11/23, completed 11/27/23

total time, across the entire series: 1195:40

i benchmarked these against the completionist starts on HowLongToBeat, and i was actually under par that way until about yakuza 4, when my times suddenly got much longer than estimated. what changed? mahjong. i learned how to play mahjong, and that was great (mahjong rules), but it's added dozens of hours to my games, easily, and even with that LADG is the only one of the games where i managed to complete the in-game mahjong objectives. y4 has four separate tournaments you can climb your way to the top of, one for each main character, and i never even got close, but i spent a lot of time trying!

[tgmsunmontue]

Lonely Nights 3/4

Set in 2009, Bradley is ~27 and Jake is ~23. Hangster PWP. AU where Bradley went to the USNA and has a better relationship with Maverick, however DADT still exists. This 100% fits in with the much longer Nepo!Baby-Bradley fic I am currently writing (the angsty one).

Part 3 is just PWP. 3700 words long.

PART ONE PART TWO

                He’s pretty sure he’s never before been this fucked out. Every muscle in his body feels like it’s carrying extra weight, like he’s pulling-Gs while laying in bed. Never felt like this because of sex, which he guesses says a lot about some of the sex he’s had previously. Jake has shifted, is almost dozing on his chest and it feels so softly sweet and he enjoys it, knowing it’ll be gone soon enough. His fingers are playing with Bradley’s hair, wrapping a curl around a finger and then releasing it, tugging it gently and then going back to wrapping it around a finger.

                “I need a haircut before I report back.”

                There’s something easy about talking to someone who knows what his life is like. Of course he’s had hook-ups with guys in the service before, regular hook-ups, when he’s been at sea for months on end and there’s a mutual arrangement with one person. But it’s never been soft despite that. Hurried and hard, a race to the finish line and to clean up and get back to where their absence won’t be missed or commented on. Everything with Jake feels luxurious, the amount of time they have, the bed, the space to move around in. Not a fucking rack where you can’t even sit up.

                “You mean I won’t be seeing these beautiful curls again?”

                “Nope. And I’ll shave.”

                “Oh.”

                Bradley can’t even begin to parse that tone of voice; Jake sounds surprised or maybe disappointed and part of him needs to know which it is. He’d almost shaved it off before he went out, not sure if it would be a help or hindrance.

                “What?”

                “Well, you wear that moustache very well.”

                “Yeah, you like it huh?”

                “Maybe.”

                Bradley grins, that’s definitely a yes.

                “I grew it on a dare, wasn’t planning on keeping it past my leave.”

                “Well, as I said, it suits you. Not many men can wear a moustache and have it make them sexier, but you’re definitely one of them.”

                Bradley grins again, his cheeks are getting sore from smiling so much. He feels something warm and squiggly in his chest at Jake’s comment and squeezes Jake to him, presses a kiss to the top of his head. He wants this suddenly, this sweet domesticity, resting together, the easy humor between lovers, none of which he’s ever experienced before. He doesn’t want to let it go, part of him furious that he’s going to have to anyway.

                “So… Round three. You wanna fuck me?”

                “Guh.”

                “It’s okay if it’s not your thing, just feeling very generous right now.”

                “I… yes. Please.”

                “Don’t need to be nice to me baby, I already offered.”

                “I’m not being nice, I just… I’ve never… before.”

                “Really?” He’s surprised, because while Jake clearly likes sex, and bottoming, most guys have tried both while they figure things out. Part of him wants to tease Jake about needing to be able to say it before he can do it, but he remembers all the times when he couldn’t talk. Where a subject change was his best friend. At least he’d tried to cram in as much as possible before he went to USNA. He’s an equal opportunist, which has served him well the last ten years.

                “I grew up in the rural south, there weren’t exactly a lot of opportunities to get my dick wet.”

                “Hey, hey baby… no need to get defensive. I’m just surprised. You’re gorgeous all over and clearly some people are idiots.” And bigots. And there are stupid laws and policies which they have governing their actions now which he’s just going to ignore. Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t harass, don’t pursue.

                “The opportunity never came up. I’ve… taken what was on offer.”

                “Well, consider it offered.”

                “You’re staying right, I don’t have any energy right now…”

                “Baby, I’m glad I gave you the impression that I could go again right now, but yeah, round three. Later. After some sleep maybe?”

                “Mmm. Sleep. How many nights were you planning on staying here?” Jake asks, and Bradley hears other questions. Already said he was staying for three nights. Wonders if he can maybe have this, as hidden as it would need to be.

                “I booked in for three nights. I’m reporting in at o-eight-hundred on Monday.”

                “Oh.”

                “What?”

                “I’m… the same. Except ten hundred.”

                “Right. Pensocola?”

                “Yeah.”

                Bradley kisses the top of his head again, because he suspects now that Jake is probably a rank below him and that is a careful line he also needs to toe.

                Fuck it all to hell and back.

…             …             …

                He wakes up, instantly alert, heart pounding, there’s a body in bed beside him. He turns his head and immediately feels the tension drain out of him. Jake. He’s never woken up in bed with a guy before, and he guesses he’s getting a whole lot of firsts this weekend and he guesses he’s going to give Jake a couple of firsts as well. On that note he stretches, his body a little stiff from the unaccustomed activities last night. He shifts, moving away from Jake and grins at the disgruntled snuffle Jake makes.

                He brushes his teeth the best he can with the corner of a washcloth and some hotel toothpaste, and it alleviates the worst of the fuzz. He runs the shower and uses the john while it warms up. He washes himself thoroughly and then again, paying particular attention to his ass. It’s been years since he’s been fucked, but he knows how to stretch himself and he’d like to give Jake some of the same treatment he’d given Bradley. He’d also like to have recovered a little before he has to sit in a car and drive three hours.

                “You’re taking forever in here, are you jerking off? You know I’d do that for you right?

                Bradley laughs, sticks his head out the shower door to grin at him. Jake is standing there looking rumpled and a little grumpy and a lot gorgeous. Bradley doesn’t think he’d ever tire of looking at him. Also the man has no shame, standing there naked taking a leak and he wonders if it’s a guy thing, a Navy thing or a Jake thing or some combination of all three. He goes back under the spray and wonders if the stall is big enough to actually fit both of them. Unlikely.

                “I’m not jerking off, but it is definitely adjacent to jerking off…”

                “Really now? What are you doing in there… oh.”

                Bingo. There’s Jake’s lightbulb moment and Bradley tries to see his face through the glass panel, but the water and steam make it undiscernible. Shame. He rinses off and quickly sluices the water off his body best he can before stepping out, grabbing a towel to dry himself. Jake is brushing his teeth, watching him in the mirror and Bradley quirks an eyebrow, a thought crossing his mind. He hangs the towel up carefully, taking his time before moving to stand directly behind Jake, pressing himself against his back. He glances down and there is definitely a bite mark on his shoulder. He kisses the side of his neck, nips the back of his ear, then moves around to the other side, trailing little kisses across the back of his neck. He maintains eye contact the whole time, watches Jake watch him in the mirror while doing a shit job at brushing his teeth.

                “So… How do you want me? Want me to sit on your cock and ride you? Or you wanna fold me in half and rail me, see if you can come twice while you fuck me?” Bradley asks, his voice low in Jake’s ear and he can’t help laughing when Jake makes a choking sound and spits into the sink.

                “You’re kind of an asshole huh?”

                “Little bit. Think you like it.”

                “Hmm. Maybe.”

                Bradley grins into Jake’s neck, because that’s another yes right there.

                “You ever been rimmed?” It’s Bradley’s turn to choke and he swallows roughly, shakes his head, unable to form words. “Hmm. I’m also not a person to offer something I don’t want to follow through with.”

                Bradley doesn’t need to ask if he’s sure, pretty sure he’d get a pissy reply if he did. Jake’s obviously grabbing the opportunity Bradley’s offering him with both hands and he’s not going to deny him something he wants to try. Something Bradley himself has also never done to anyone and he’s sure as fuck curious.

                “Come on, I need some space. I’m gonna shave so I don’t give you beard burn.” The look Jake gives him is teasing, eyebrows quirking up and he has very expressive eyes, playful and Bradley hooks his chin over his shoulder, slouches a little to press his chest against his bare back. “You ain’t making this easy for me darlin’.”

                “Don’t want to be easy…” Bradley replies, and he grinds his semi-hard cock against Jake’s ass.

                “I don’t think there’s anything easy about you, now come on, let me shave.”

                Just to be contrary Bradley runs his hands over Jake’s side, fingers feather-light and Jake squirms away, turning to give him a glare. Bradley steals a kiss then, anticipation starting to build in his gut and yeah, he’s done with doing anything to slow down proceedings.

                “Don’t keep me waiting too long… might start without you.”

                He gives Jake a challenging look in the mirror, and they don’t know each other well enough for Jake to know if he’s joking or not. He goes back into the room, puts the lube and condoms within easy reach, tries to ignore the worst bits of the sheet and goes back into the bathroom to grab a towel. Jake’s eyes follow him and he’s about halfway done

                “You have a really nice ass…”

                “Always like an appreciative audience… Anything else you like? ”

                “Plenty.”

                Bradley is surprised at his own response, can see his face flush in the mirror and has to look away, leaves Jake to finish shaving. He lies down on the bed and takes the opportunity to check his phone and flick out a few quick messages. Checks the movie times for something he wants to maybe do later. Depends on whether he gets a better offer, and he feels like he might; but it’s still good to have something planned so he doesn’t look… boring? Desperate? Lonely? Horny? He doesn’t even know himself. He looks up from his phone then to see Jake watching him and he reaches over and puts his phone on the side table, his eyes tracking Jake as he moves closer.

                Jake lies beside him and starts kissing him, gentle but with intent. They don’t talk, not properly, just quiet hums of appreciation and it’s communication enough that they’re both enjoying what they’re doing. Bradley lets his hands roam, enjoys the feel of Jake’s hand on his own body. They have no time restriction and knowing that allows him to savor it more, enjoy the novelty of making out and exploring another body, rather than trying to race toward the end goal. They make out, time passes and doesn’t. His body is getting slicker with sweat as they continue to move against each other, their whispered non-conversation encouraging. Yeah, good, oh, fuck, mmm.

                “Roll over…” Jake murmurs, hands soft as he guides him. Bradley goes, pull his knees under him and despite it all he feels himself tense up. “Uh… relax I guess?”

                “Easy for you to say,” Bradley mutters, feeling all sorts of exposed. Vulnerable he realizes and maybe that’s another reason why he’s likely never done this before. Jake’s shifting then, blanketing him, letting his full weight rest and it forces him onto his stomach, having to awkwardly push his legs back out from where they were trapped beneath him for a brief moment. Then Jake is kissing at the nape of his neck, across his shoulders, his hands running up and down the length of his arms, hips grinding only ever so slightly against his ass. Oh.

                He does force himself to relax then, lets himself just lay there as Jake effectively worships him, placing kisses all over his back, hands and fingers running over the same skin, alternating between soft-gentle-whispers and harder strokes, like he’s trying to massage the tension from Bradley’s shoulders. It works. Jake isn’t in any rush either, and Bradley can feel his cock is hard, bumping against the back of his thighs as Jake moves. Bradley’s own cock is making a valiant effort at getting hard, as squashed as it is between the bed and his body.

                “You all good?” Jake asks then, voice low in his ear and cock now nestling in the crease of his ass and Bradley wonders if he’s forgotten or maybe changed his mind.

                “Yeah, all good baby…”

                “Mmm…”

                Then the heat of Jake’s body is gone and he turns his head, looks over his shoulder to suddenly realize he doesn’t need to, Jake is moving his legs, spreading them so he can kneel between them. He gets one of the pillows and gives Bradley’s hips a double-tap and he lifts up, let’s Jake position him. Then Jake’s hands are on each of his ass cheeks and pulling them apart and now, now, it’s more arousing than embarrassing. He groans, hides his head in his arms and tries not to grind into the pillow too shamelessly.

                Then there’s a swipe of tongue

                Oh.

                Oh fuck.

                He sucks air into his lungs and it’s tiny breathy inhales, like he’s in pain and trying not to cry, except it’s not like that at all. It’s the pleasure end of the bell curve but it’s almost coming all the way back around, too feathery light maybe and he grunts, wonders if it’s bad etiquette to shove his ass back in Jake’s face. Then he feels pressure on his knees, a silent request and he shifts again, pulls his knees back up beneath him and it’s only seconds and Jake’s hands are back, his tongue swiping up Bradley’s ass and he mutters Jake’s name into his arm along with a few curse words. There’s no method or technique, Jake just trying pretty much everything and repeating anything that makes Bradley gasp or twitch. Broad swipes of tongue, sharp pointing little stabs, swirling spiral of movements to and away that drive him to distraction. He’s hard now, the need to come building and he wonders if he could come from this. Hopefully one day he’ll get to find out. Jake pulls away and he chances a look over his shoulder, releases a shuddering breath. Jake’s lips are swollen, chin shiny with spit and he looks very fucking pleased with himself. Two of his fingers are just massaging over Bradley’s hole and he reaches for the lube, passes it back to him.

                “I wanna try them all if that’s okay?” Jake asks, and his accent gets thicker the more he’s aroused and a part of Bradley likes learning these little tells, even if he’s never going to be able to use them again after this weekend.

                “Positions?” Bradley clarifies, pushing against the breech of a single digit, well lubed.

                “Yeah…”

                “How about we start with three and then… reevaluate?”

                “Which three?”

                “Well, you coming twice… that a normal thing for you?”

                “Uh, yeah. Most of the time. I can stop at one, it’s fine…”

                “Bet the second one is always better though.”

                “Maybe.”

                “I wanna see if you can come twice. That okay?”

                Jake snorts, mutters of course under his breath and slides a second finger into his ass. Bradley grinds back, hides his amusement at the fact that this guy has trouble saying yes to things. He’s got a couple of things he wants to try, nothing rough or bad, but he’s curious. And he’s sufficiently distracted Jake from asking about which three positions they’re going to try. He loses himself in the sensation of being ever so carefully stretched, Jake’s far more gentle than Bradley is with himself, and it’s all sorts of sweet. He lets Jake work a third finger and more lube into him for a few minutes before he moves deliberately away and stands.

                “Lie back baby, I wanna see your face…” Bradley says, and he means it, wants to watch Jake’s face as he pushes his cock into Bradley. The thought of it makes his skin prickle. He gives himself a quick shake and stretch and then moves back to the bed, appreciates the view of Jake lying there, watching him with a hand on his cock, holding it almost too tight. Bradley reaches for a condom and makes quick work of sliding it on and lubing Jake up before he straddles Jake’s hips.

                “Okay?”

                “You’re askin’ me darlin’?”

                “Sure am… come on now baby.”

                He bears down, clenches his jaw at the stretch and waits the discomfit out. It eases away and he takes in a couple of deep breaths. He watches Jake’s face, the clench of his jaw, the fact that he doesn’t appear to even be breathing as Bradley slowly sinks down. Then his mouth falls open and he’s sucking in a deep breath and Bradley feels a wash of smugness envelop him.

                “You okay?”

                “Yeah baby… just… getting used to it again.”

                He rolls his hips slowly, closes his eyes and sucks in a deep long breath. He can feel Jake’s fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs and it’s grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed. He opens his eyes again and smiles slowly, feels fucking decadent as he continues to roll his hips, savoring the sensation and he feels Jake shift, trying to get some leverage that Bradley has denied him by effectively pinning his hips with his own, Jake’s cock now trapped inside his body. He laces his fingers with Jake’s and then moves them so they’re effectively pinned beside Jake’s head, just above his shoulders, Bradley’s hands holding him in place.

                “This okay?”

                “Yes,” Jake gasps out, and his hips jerk up against Bradley’s ass and he pushes back before actually pulling away, finally giving Jake some space to move his own body, which he takes advantage of immediately by pushing his cock back into Bradley’s body.

                “Yeah. I want you to fuck me now okay baby?”

                It takes a couple of false starts but they get a rhythm going and then it’s hot sweat-slick skin, pulling apart to immediately come back together, breathy groans and praise about how good it feels, none of it making anymore sense than good, yes, more, fuck, right there, come on baby… Bradley doesn’t come as easily when getting fucked, but he still enjoys it. Definitely enjoys the blissed out look on Jake’s face as his entire body undulates beneath him. Still fucking gorgeous.

                “You think you can come like this?” Bradley asks, pushing down a little firmer on his wrists, his teeth tugging on an earlobe, ass clenching.

                “Yes. Please… yes.”

                “Never said you had to hold back baby, you come when you’re good and ready…”

                He guesses he should have expected the immediate sudden increase of movement, Jake fucking into him with the sole aim of coming and he holds himself still through it, thighs beginning to burn, Jake’s wrists under his palms, nails digging little crescents into his skin. His breath is coming faster, cock definitely hard and working toward coming, but not yet at the place Jake is at and Bradley really has his hopes pinned on him being able to get it up again pretty soon.

                “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.”

                “Mmm… there you go.”

                Bradley lets him catch his breath, he already knows Jake was pretty useless after two orgasms yesterday. He takes off the condom, does a perfunctory wipe with the towel. Notes rather pleasantly that Jake is still rock hard, like he hasn’t just come. He also doesn’t shy away from Bradley’s hand on him at all, no complaints of over stimulation. He keeps his hand busy, stretches out his legs and ruts his cock against Jake’s thigh while he maintains the handjob on Jake’s cock.

                “Oh my god… that was… yeah.”

                “Glad it has your seal of approval baby. And I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but you can’t leave me hanging like this baby… I know you’re feeling all fucked out, but just think about pushing through,” he jokes, referring the god-awful drills they make everyone do at the USNA.

                Jake’s shifting then, moving to push Bradley onto his back, grabbing another condom, more lube and Bradley lets out a disbelieving laugh. He can’t seriously just switch back on like that, that’s inhuman. But he is. Jake is sliding his cock back into him and not quite folding him in half, but he’s got Bradley’s calves on his shoulders and the angle is fucking fantastic and just what Bradley needs. His hands are on Bradley’s hips, holding him firm as he fucks into him.

                “Would never leave you hangin’ darlin’, come on…”

                Bradley can’t help his arching body, it’s subconscious desire to get closer to the driving pressure that Jake’s cock is providing and he reaches for his cock, wraps a hand around it roughly. Fuck. He’d thought that he was in control here, but apparently not; Jake has flipped the tables, his apparent need to make Bradley come, and come while he’s getting fucked by Jake, his sudden and most intense desire. Bradley is more than okay with this.

                “So good… fuck baby…”

                “Bradley…Bradley… oh fuck…”

                His name sounds broken, a desperate gasp in Jake’s mouth and he comes to the sound of his own name being cried out, his come splattering over his stomach. He ignores it, Jake is almost sobbing and he feels certain he’s close again.

                “Come on baby… still round three.”

                That gets him a hiccupy laugh and slap to his thigh, but Jake is shuddering, his entire body going tense before it’s then deflating like the strings holding him up have been cut. Bradley’s legs fall from his shoulder, achy from being so pleasantly abused. Jake falls/lays on his chest but immediately pulls back, expression on his face making Bradley laugh.

                “Gross.”

                “Yeah. I definitely need another shower.”

                “Sounds good… you can go first.”

                “So generous of you. Don’t front, I know you just want a nap…”

                “Mmm…”

                “Have that nap. I’ll go shower. Again.”

PART FOUR

[gingerteaonthetardis]

MSR prompts you say? This is a bit weird but, an autopsy record has more than the autopsy on it. Mainly Mulder and Scully being ... well themselves. (Basically Mulder interrupts Scully mid Autopsy and she forgets to turn off the recording.) -disappears into the ether-

thinky!!! i had so much fun writing this, i hope you like it even if you don't really go here and i don't really know what i'm doing. <3 thank you for prompting me and for always being an incredible friend.

click here to read on ao3!

click here to send me another prompt!

warning for: lame ass gag names, brief objectification of a corpse, mulder being a sentimental dweeb (but what else is new), msr being sickeningly in love

-

for posterity

-

He finds it in a dusty box, crammed in beside VHS tapes and manila folders and a million other memories, and he can't help himself.

He presses play.

A static hiss. A crunch. The rush of movement through still, cloistered air.

He hears the recorder clicking into place, suspended over the gurney. He's seen it there before, hanging like a pendulum, poised to hear every word she speaks from every possible angle.

"11:32 p.m., August 1st."

Like so.

"Begin autopsy on unidentified white male, weighing… 198 lbs. in extremis. No immediately visible cause of death."

There's a puff of breath near the recorder, and he can picture her blowing it out between her full lips. Balanced on her tip-toes, leaning out over the body to get her closest approximation of a top down look.

"Subject appears to be between the ages of thirty-five and forty, and healthy. That is, he's in good shape."

He pops a potato chip between his lips with a crunch. She sounds flustered. Interesting.

"Uh, really good shape, actually. Well-developed pectorals, abdominals, and whew, that inguinal ligament—wait," she says, voice slipping out of its even, prim cadence, "what the hell am I saying?"

He snorts.

She sighs, and it's tinny but familiar. "Okay. Get it together, Dana… A visual examination of the epidermis shows multiple tattoos, relatively fresh. The newest, on the upper left thigh, is—" and her words go the tiniest bit muffled as, he assumes, she leans in close to the appendage, "—still slightly scabbed. Certainly less than two weeks old. It's in the shape of a… a reindeer head? A moose? Huh. How… cute."

Charmingly, she says it like being cute is an infectious disease an otherwise appealing corpse has been tragically inflicted with.

"Artifacts left at the scene suggest that the subject had some sort of fixation on body modifications, or perhaps needles in general. However, the extensive tattooed area makes it difficult to determine if injection of some kind played a role in his death, as initial findings suggest. I'll have to look beneath the surface. Beginning with a Y-incision…"

His nose wrinkles, and he's quite certain the next bit will put him off his chips, so he hurriedly presses the fast-forward button, zipping through a few minutes of audio.

It resumes on a splat.

"...heart weighs 520 grams, no signs of aching or breaking," she cracks to herself before clearing her throat. "Appears healthy."

He's always suspected she's like this when he isn't around for autopsies, looking over her shoulder and going green as a Painted Parakeet with car sickness, pitching theories at her like he's playing for the Mets. When she goes in alone, she tends to leave the morgue with a kind of tranquility about her—a counterintuitive freshness that even the stale scent of latex and bitter iron can't hide. Her smiles are a little brighter.

Perhaps, he considers, it is simply the opportunity to reconnect with what makes sense to her: anatomy, the body and the story it tells. Everything connected, with clear delineations of where each piece belongs along the way.

There is so little ambiguity in the arrangement of a person's organs. Mysteries cannot help but stumble forth to reveal themselves.

But it's equally possible Scully just likes her own jokes. Her achy breaky jokes.

"This is interesting," she interrupts him, as she so often does when he's on a roll. She doesn't even have to be physically present to do it. Her undercurrent of genuine excitement pricks at his ear. "There's some cirrhosis of the liver, atypical for someone who bears no outward signs of extreme alcohol usage or any of the other usual physical risk factors. Perhaps the subject was participating in regular steroid use, or—"

On the tape, a door swings open and closes on an exuberant thunk.

"Whoa! I didn't know we were getting a celebrity in." His voice crackles out from the speaker. "Or that Steve Reeves had so much ink."

"Steve Reeves is about seventy, Mulder."

His own startled laugh sounds very, very young and—he winces—tinged with an arrogance that can't be tamed, even by his partner's dry replies.

But past-him is too intrigued for self-consciousness. "You know who Steve Reeves is, Scully?"

"I have two brothers." Her tone has gone cool and inscrutable, the loss of her previous lightness palpable in a way that only a voyeur could sense. But she was always so careful with him, back then. "Do we have an ID yet?"

"No, not yet. Prints are still being processed. But the name given at the motel check-in desk was clearly false."

"Let me guess, 'Steve Reeves'?" Listening hard, he can practically hear her eyebrow twitching upward, the faint lift at one corner of her mouth.

"Try 'Mike Hawk.' Jeez, what's that a tattoo of?" he adds distractedly. "A Rorschach test?"

There's silence for a second on the tape, and he suddenly remembers this exchange. Vividly. "Oh my God," he mumbles, abandoning his chips in favor of rolling over on the couch.

He sets the recorder down cautiously, like it's a holy relic, and stares at it, grinning with his chin propped on crossed forearms.

"I don't get it."

"Don't get what, Scully?"

"Why would that be an alias?"

"Why would the name 'Mike Hawk' be an alias? Mike Hawk?" His words are tinged with an obvious grin. Probably smug, as is his wont. Some things never change. "Mike Hawk."

There's a snapping sound as Scully removes her gloves. He recollects how they caught on her fingertips, causing a bit of a struggle as she spoke. The beginnings of a blush had seeped into her cheeks, the sting of embarrassment her fair skin couldn't help but betray.

"Why do you keep saying it at me? It's a perfectly ordinary-sounding name, Mulder."

"Didn't you just say you had two brothers? Mike Hawk, Scully, come on. Known associate of the dirty devil Mike Hunt?"

"I think Mike Hunt was in my sixth grade class."

On the recording, he can barely speak with the effort not to laugh. But there was another feeling, too, in that moment, one he remembers well: a pulse of intrigue, of fascination, which used to catch him off guard. He never knew how to cope with the reminder that Scully the woman—a shadowy mystery, perpetually out of his reach—existed in cohabitation with Scully his partner, the woman he saw every day.

This was the person who threw wadded up bits of paper at his face when he fell asleep with his mouth open; who wore men's deodorant on the road just so, in a pinch, they could share. Back then, Scully using any word—even unknowingly—to acknowledge her own sexuality felt like sudden, blazing exposure to the Lost Ark. It was a miracle his face hadn't melted clean off.

But it was a line they'd taken so much care not to blur, even then.

Now, he listens as it all begins to deteriorate over a puerile joke.

"Listen, Scully, listen to the sounds. Mike," his past self says, stretching the syllable, "Hawk."

"I am listening! You sound ridiculous! What am I supposed to be hearing?"

"You're supposed to be hearing 'Mike Hawk'!" He chuckles quietly to himself. "I can't believe this. The smartest woman I've ever met doesn't know about Mike Hawk."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," she casually replies. "I did see you in a bathrobe once."

The words are so perfectly clear, and suddenly all the noise—the shoe-shuffling, the rush of water as she washes her hands, even the background hum of the refrigeration units—seems to stop.

An interminable second passes in which he wonders if the recording got cut off. But, no.

That's just how long it took him to put the pieces together.

He closes his eyes, picturing it: the pert angle of her stubborn chin, the smirking tilt to her lips. Sparkling amusement, tinged with an adorable hint of triumph.

His grin grows. Scully really does like her own jokes.

"Scully!" his recorded voice bursts out, suffused with delight and bafflement. There's a thread of horror there, too. And desire, but that's more or less a given.

Her voice is thrillingly deadpan as she pronounces, "Gotcha."

"I don't believe it!"

"Mulder, has anyone ever told you that you're endearingly naïve?"

"You little—you just wanted to hear me say 'my cock' over and over, didn't you?"

She clears her throat, a demure little ahem.

"That would be very unprofessional of me."

In sync, both his past and present self laugh, one compressed and crunched by time, the other ever-so-slightly roughened by the same.

"That's not a denial."

"No," she replies. "It's not."

God, he can barely believe this conversation was recorded for posterity. This, of all moments. The moment when he realized maybe Scully enjoyed their flirting. That maybe, when he pushed, she could be counted on to push back.

Even now, belly down on the couch in the privacy of his own home, his stomach clenches at the memory.

She's always been the better actor, between the two of them. He's convinced she could get away with anything, and she more or less has. But the warm undercurrent of invitation on that recording is unmistakable.

"Scully." Closer to the recorder now, he goes low and flirtatious, even as he cautiously asks, "Are you coming on to me?"

He doesn't hear her answer this time around; instead, his ears catch on the rattle of keys, the click of the lock in the front door. When he glances up from the little black box, there she is in the open doorway, auburn hair catching the light.

She's holding the brown bag of takeout in one arm and her purse and keys in the other, and before he can think, he's pressing the pause button on the recorder, shoving it under a pillow, and going straight to her.

"Mulder, what are—?"

Wrestling the bag out of her hands, he stoops his shoulders and catches her lips in a long, hard kiss.

She doesn't expect the force of it, but she's got the legs of something seaborn, unbending against his tide. She accepts the assault with parted lips, mouth already curving like she's laughing at one of her own jokes.

"You must be really craving that Pad Thai," she whispers.

"Nope." He isn't even embarrassed by his own breathlessness, how hurriedly he dives back in to breathe her air. "Just you." He feels the muscles move as her eyebrow jumps toward her hairline, same as ever, and it's like all the blood drains from his brain.

It's hard to help her shed her coat with one hand holding noodles and the other in her hair and the bulk of her back pressed to the door—but he likes to think he makes it work.

"Hey," she murmurs, freeing herself enough to drop a kiss on his chin, "this have something to do with what you just crammed between our couch cushions? You weren't digging through my old cassettes again, were you?"

His eyes light up at the reminder of that particular discovery. "I didn't even know they made erotic audiobooks, seriously. A whole avenue, Scully, a whole dimension of pornography I was completely ignorant of until you opened my eyes! But," he stops, shaking off his momentary distraction, "no, that's not it."

He pauses for another kiss, lingering again because he can.

"It was an old audio log, an autopsy you did on one of our cases."

"An X-File?"

He and the takeout make it to the couch, Scully only a beat behind, pausing to kick off her little heeled boots. She's been breaking them in, claiming she'll need them if they're going to be chasing lights together again.

"No, it was a case we took on as a favor to someone. I can't remember now… What was his name?" He snaps his fingers. "Ben… something. Ben Dover? Or was it Mike Hunt?"

And Scully—well, she just wouldn't be Scully if she wasn't immediately hip to his bullshit, attuned to it like a sniffer dog to a suspicious scent. Her gaze narrows, and he grins at the way her eyelids flutter in an attempt not to immediately and violently roll her eyes. She's had a lot of practice, but he truly is a hazard to her ocular health.

Her smile, though. She can't help herself. It spills out at the edges, softening the corners of her mouth, even as it carves her laugh lines deeper.

She smiles more now than she ever did back then, and he treasures each one. The twist of her lips always feels like he's pilfering extra helpings from some great cosmic store of joy. It's an untold pleasure to watch the wrinkles form, knowing how hard-earned her smiles used to be.

Now, she's happy. She gives them out for free.

"I remember that case," she sighs, flopping down beside him on the couch, kicking her socked feet up on the coffee table. "God, we were young."

"I was 'endearingly naïve,' if I'm to take your word for it."

"Did I say that?" Her lips quirk in wry amusement. "Doesn't sound like me. I must have been in love."

"Yeah," he agrees, stealing another kiss. "Must have been." She softens against him.

He's about to steal something else—second base, if he's lucky—when there's a muffled sound from under the pillow. The distinct sound of his own voice saying, "Mike Hawk" over and over again. Their disturbance of the couch cushions must have started the tape over.

Scully's snorted giggle parts their lips. Her eyes dance like sapphires under the sun. "Did we ever figure out the victim's name?"

"You don't remember?" He sits back, shaking his head. "Wow, Scully, you really love 'em and leave 'em. I thought you had a thing for the guy."

"The dead guy?"

"Yeah, who else? Don't try to deny it, it's all on the tape."

She just shrugs. "Well, if I did—which I can neither confirm nor deny—it's only because I had a lot of tension back then… for some reason."

The grin he's wearing is probably so goofy, and hell if he cares.

Someone once called him one sorry sonuvabitch, but all Fox Mulder knows is that he's lucky. So ridiculously, obscenely, deliriously lucky, sitting next to the girl of his dreams, his once and future partner—twenty years later, on a couch they bought together, in a house they call home.

Twenty years, and she still flirts back.

"The guy's name was Eric," he finally says, because he can't not. Especially when it's the truth. "Eric Shunn."

Scully's laugh is so loud and uninhibited it rings through the house. And he has the distinct pleasure of letting it go on a while before silencing it with his lips.

[achaotichuman]

*Slides in asks* okay but like Modern!AU but like Lucien as a Hot Motorcycle guy riding down the coast with his hot artist boyfriend Tamlin.

Sorry but I'm a motorcycle lover and imagining Lucien riding A Harley, wearing all those leather and gears is making me 🥴🥴🥴 and the gloves, don't get me started on the gloves 😭😭😭

Ngl I have never written a Modern!Au before, and I know nothing about motorcycles, but first time for everything right? One hot man with motorcycle and hot boyfriend coming right up!

"Do you need a ride home?" Tarquin asked. Tamlin looked up from his music sheets to see the younger man packing up his guitar, preparing to head back to his place.

Tamlin glanced around at the others, Kallias was sitting on the couch up against the wall with Viviane beside him. Both knee-deep in papers and books. Eris and Cresseida were sprawled over an armchair, practically covering each other as they jotted down notes. They were at the recording studio, today they were supposed to be recording some vocals for a song they had been working on for six months now. But it seemed most of Tamlin's friends were taking the opportunity to cram in extra study time. Considering exam seasons were coming up it was now wonder why everyone could only think about their courses.

It still made an irrational part of Tamlin angry. They had started this group to record and eventually put out music, not to study.

Tamlin himself was pursuing a bachelor's degree in environmental science. He desperately wanted to help with the protection of their natural world. It was dying, slowly but surely, dying. He was pursuing this path out a need to do something. To help. To do his part.

Still, he was trying to juggle what he really, truly wanted to make his life. Music called to him at every given opportunity. Never in a million years would he give up his hope to one day help restore at least some of the earth they had lost, but he still hated that his friends were just... seemingly no longer interested.

Even Tarquin who had picked up his things and was preparing to walk out the door, had only played a few chords today before burying himself in notes and studies.

"No, I'm fine, thanks for the offer though. I might take you up on it next week." Tamlin said, returning his eyes to his music sheets.

"You sure? Everyone's staying here for the night, you'll have to catch a taxi if you want to get home." Tarquin pressed.

Tamlin sucked in a breath. Everyone was staying here tonight, because their recording studio, was also technically classified as Eris' basement that he let them use from time to time. Eris mostly came down to listen and watch the show when they were using the studio. Every now and again Tamlin could convince him to play a melody, but those were rare occasions.

Their entire band wasn't here at the moment. Thesan and his soon-to-be husband were buried in their own life. Bron and Hart were on a back-packing trip around Europe. And the second eldest Vanserra brother Silas was on vacation with his girlfriend. So at least most of the time they were busy when they were at the studio.

Still, it felt like they had stopped playing for the most part. Maybe he was being a little dramatic, but he loved playing in this group. The idea of losing it broke him more than he cared to admit.

"Yeah, I've already got a ride, he'll be here in a couple of minutes." Tamlin snatched up his phone and quickly checked the time, already 5, he should start packing up his things as well.

"Who's picking you up?" Kallias asked, not looking up from his notes.

"Lucien." Tamlin said, beginning to pack up his sheets.

"Ooohhh" Cresseida whistled from her seat beside Eris, "Hear that Eris, Lucien's picking him up."

"Yes I heard Cress." Eris hummed, "Believe it or not they have been dating for some time now."

Viviane huffed, "Dating since they met more like it."

"Hey!" Tamlin said, "We were good friends, its just... recently it became more."

"As if," Kallias said, "I remember when I first saw you two at a party together. Lucie practically had his hands all over you, and you glared at anyone who dared to try and get his number."

Eris let out a loud 'hah'. And Tamlin's face couldn't have been hotter.

He couldn't deny the truth in their words though. Tamlin had always felt strangely possessive over Lucien, and Lucien had never held back from touching Tamlin like he owned him. That had just always been their relationship, they stuck so closely together one might think they were joined at the hip.

It was also Lucien who warned Tamlin against dating Rhysand. Tamlin hadn't listened, too charmed by Rhysand's flirtatious personality that he never saw how the man gaslighted and manipulated him. Nearly talking Tamlin out of thinking Rhysand had cheated on him.

Six months, that's how long it took for Tamlin to leave bed without sobbing every time he passed a place that reminded him of the bastard he once called his lover. A year it took for him to look at Lucien, the man who had stuck by him the entire time and finally realize what had been beside him all along.

And how he was teased for not realizing it sooner.

A message popped up on Tamlin's phone. Lucien. It read 'Outside, ready when you are.'

Tamlin quickly grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder, "Alright, I'm going now."

"Have fun with Lucie!" Viviane called out, the rest of his group laughed. Tamlin walked outside with Tarquin. The younger man knocked his shoulder against Tamlin as they headed out of Eris' house and out onto the street.

"You have to admit, it took you ten years to realize Lucien was right there, you're lucky he didn't get taken before you could have him.

"Yeah, I know, I don't deserve him." Tamlin hummed.

"No one does, its Lucien for the Gods sakes." Tarquin said, a wistful look appearing in his eyes, "You scored with him."

"Don't even think about him like that Tarquin." Tamlin snarled. Tarquin rolled his eyes, then turned towards his car parked on the curve.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Tam." He said as he unlocked and opened his car door, "You head off with your precious lover."

Tamlin rolled his eyes, but waved as Tarquin started his car and drove off.

What a prick. A what a bunch of pricks his friends were.

Well, they were his pricks so he couldn't really complain.

As Tamlin watched Tarquin drive off down the road. The sounds of another engine filled his ears, he turned to see Lucien heading down the road towards him. On that damned motorcycle.

Lucien stopped abruptly in front of him, sending dust flying in his wake. He swung his leg off the motorcycle as he pulled his helmet off.

Head to toe in leather, gloves covering his hands and red pouring out down his shoulders, Lucien stood before him. Tamlin felt his breath get caught in his throat as he watched Lucien's chest expand with his breathing, forcing that tight jacket to stretch around his ribs, accentuating every muscle he had.

"Hello beautiful." Lucien purred as he walked towards Tamlin and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Tamlin blushed so hard he felt dizzy. He bit his lip and pressed his forehead to Lucien's.

"You brought your motorcycle," Tamlin murmured, remembering one to many times Lucien had done terrifying tricks while Tamlin had watched, scared out of his mind.

"You love it." Lucien accused. Tamlin laughed.

"I like the leather." Tamlin whispered, tracing a circle over Lucien's sternum. Barely able to take his eyes off the gorgeous body before him.

"Everyone does." Lucien said as he pressed his lips to Tamlin's. Tamlin entertained his kiss for a second, before he pulled away with an eyebrow raised.

"Who is everyone?" Tamlin asked.

Lucien laughed and wrapped an arm around Tamlin's waist, holding him close, "Anyone that passes me."

Playfully, Tamlin shoved Lucien's shoulder, "You've got too big an ego for your own good."

"You say that like you don't."

"I deserve to be egotistical." Tamlin said.

"Whatever you say, my love." Lucien said, pulling him in for a proper kiss. Tamlin complied, pressing their bodies right up against each other.

After Tamlin finally remembered they were in fact, in public, he pulled away from Lucien and pulled out his helmet from his bag. Quickly strapping it on, he let Lucien get on the bike first before his slid in behind him.

Tamlin wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's middle. Tamlin wouldn't admit it aloud but being on the motorcycle tended to terrify him at times. Considering he had no clue how it worked, and Lucien often went faster than he should just to 'impress him'.

It was impressive, or it would be if Tamlin wasn't on the bike with him. At least Lucien always slowed down whenever Tamlin asked.

They took off. Speeding down the highway so fast everything in Tamlin's vision became a blur. He held tightly onto Lucien and laughed. Watching the blurry view beside them.

The wind whipped around him. A welcome coolness against the hot sun. They passed cars and sped through the city. Tamlin felt every part the girl on her bad boy boyfriend's bike from the Hollywood movies, and he loved it so much.

They eventually found the coastal road. Lucien slowed as they went through the scenic route. Passing the glorious sea spread out over miles and miles, glittering in what was now the sunset light. Oranges, red and purples danced on the horizon, a beautiful painting that adorned the sky.

Tamlin let out a content hum as he hugged his boyfriend a little tighter.

Eventually they slowed to a stop outside of their favorite restaurant. Tamlin furrowed his brow as Lucien shut off then engine. Taking off his helmet Tamlin asked, "What are we doing?"

"I'm taking you out to dinner of course." Lucien said, taking off his helmet, and pulling off his gloves. Tamlin nearly licked his lips as he watched those bronzed hands slowly be revealed.

Standing up, Tamlin placed his helmet on the bike, then turned to Lucien. He wrapped his arms around Lucien's neck, then stood up on the tips of his toes.

He pressed his lips to Lucien's. The Vanserra paused for amoment, seemingly surprised, but then he gripped Tamlin's waist and pulled him close. His tongue gently prying Tamlin's mouth open and slipping inside. Tamlin moaned and pulled him as close as he was physically allowed.

The sun set over their heads. A brilliant end to the day.

In Lucien's arms. Covered in that skintight leather. Kissing him senseless. Tamlin didn't think he could ever be happier.

I may add more to this at a later date, just because I really like it. Thanks for the prompt! I loved writing this!

[andiwriteordie]

perhaps season five apocalypse vibes for the prompts?

(btw i love your writing so so SO much like you are such an inspiration to me anyway bye <3)

AWWW okay first that's so sweet tysm <333 sending you a big ole hug

and second, i LOVE my s5 apocalypse vibes, so here you go. have some byler in a (new and improved) castle byers together.

—

built to fall apart (then fall back together)

If Will had a nickel for every time he has been forced to hide inside a little fort made of branches and twigs from a deadly monster hunting him down and wanting to eat him alive… he’d have two nickels.

And look. Okay. Two nickels? Not a lot of money. You really can’t buy anything with two nickels, not like you probably could when his mom and Hopper were his age or maybe even younger.

But two times hiding inside a Castle Byers from a demogorgon? 

That’s two times too many.

This isn’t fair by any means, but then again, nothing about Will’s life has been fair since November 6, 1983. Ever since that first encounter with the demogorgon, it’s been one bad thing after another, and well… ending up back here feels annoying but also not surprising in the least.

At least this time, Will isn’t alone, and this time, he’s not technically in the Upside Down—though nowadays, all of Hawkins might as well be the Upside Down. It… it’s gotten bad these past two years. As One has been recovering, the Upside Down has been growing, reaching further and further into Hawkins, and transforming Will’s hometown into something ripped right out of an apocalyptic movie. 

Everything is coming to blows, and Will can feel it. He can feel him, ready to soon return and put and end to all their planning and preparing. One is just waiting now and biding his time—simply looking for the perfect opportunity to strike, to come back, and to put an end to humanity once and for all. 

It’s only a matter of time now.

Hell, for all Will knows, this could be the beginning of the end, and wouldn’t that be funny in the world’s least funny way? To end right where he began—running and hiding for his life from the same type of monster that kidnapped him all those years ago. Because right now, there’s a demogorgon sniffing around the abandoned forests right outside Will’s old childhood home, desperately seeking out its meal, and hoping to finish what it’s already started, and right now, Will is seventeen but feels twelve years old again—terrified for his life and wondering if this might be how he dies.

Will takes a shuddered breath, his eyes wandering down to the blood gash on his ankle. The strips of cloth that Mike had desperately tied around the wound are already soaked, dark maroon tainting the soft green fabric of Mike’s bandana. Bile rises in the back of his throat, but he forces it down.

Sooner or later, the demogorgon is going to find him. It always does, doesn’t it? Castle Byers – it’s not such a good place to hide. The demogorgon found him there, in the Upside Down, anyways, and the first Castle Byers had been torn down by Will’s own hands in one final act of self-loathing, right before the Mind Flayer had returned.

This hiding spot’s probably the worst place they could be right now.

And yet, despite the fact that they could be moments away from death, Will can’t help but look around at their silly little hiding spot.

It’s bigger than the original Castle Byers was, which is definitely a good thing in this instance. Will’s not so sure that the both of them would’ve been able to cram inside the original Castle Byers—not with Mike Wheeler’s gangly limbs and with the rifles and other supplies they’d both brought on patrol. But still, though this new fort is larger than the original one was, it’s not that much bigger, so both Will and Mike are pressed against each other, close enough that Will can hear his best friend’s unsteady breathing and feel the way he’s trembling. 

Will’s hand twitches, brushing up against Mike’s hand, and in the silence, it’s easy to hear the way Mike’s breath catches. Neither one of them says anything, and Will’s never been more glad for the darkness and how it conceals how red his face must be right now. 

The darkness, however, also makes it a little bit harder to take in the rest of this new Castle Byers. All Will knows is that there are little pictures and drawings and posters taped to the walls of the fort, just like in the old Castle Byers. On the little table beside Will, there are a few books and other trinkets, but that’s not what catches Will’s eye.

No – what catches his eye is a picture, a little difficult to see from far away, but luckily close enough that Will can reach out and grab it. Sure enough, it’s exactly what he thinks it is: the old pictures of the Party that he had ripped in half, right down the middle before the destruction of the original Castle Byers. The picture is a little faded and there’s a piece of tape holding it together, but it’s here.

It’s here, and Castle Byers is here too, and Mike is here, his hand clenched tightly around Will’s own.

“Come on!” Mike had yelled, his arm wrapped around Will as the two of them limped through the forest. “I know a place we can hide!”

He knew this place was here.

Mike knew that this new Castle Byers was here.

Which means… 

Will looks around again, taking in as much as he can of the rebuilt fort. His heart pounds inside his chest, and outside, a monster lurks, waiting for the right moment to strike and to kill them both. 

Inside? Inside, Will is reeling—overwhelmed with a dozen different emotions and thoughts swirling around inside his head. Mike… Mike rebuilt Castle Byers for him. At some point or another, after their fight, after Will destroyed his childhood fort, Mike must have come back to the forest and rebuilt this place to be nearly identical to the one Will grew up with.

Why? Will thinks, and he dares to look over at his best friend. There’s worry written all over Mike’s face, but when he catches Will looking at him, his expression softens. Why would he rebuild this place?

Mike’s gaze flickers to the walls of their shared hiding spot; then, he scoots in closer, so there’s no space left between the two of them. “You probably have a lot of questions,” he whispers, just barely loud enough for Will to hear.

And honestly, Will can’t help but laugh, both because that is the understatement of the year and because this is the worst possible time to find out about this. If they slip up even just a little, then they’ll end up dead—demogorgon dinner in the middle of the forest, miles away from their family and friends. 

“Yeah,” Will breathes, and he glances over again, meeting Mike’s eyes. “Probably… probably not a good time to ask them though.”

Something like a laugh escapes Mike’s lips. “Probably not,” he echoes back and scoots closer. Neither one of them says anything else, and so silence settles over the two of them once again like an old, unwelcome enemy. The only thing that Will can hear is the nervous thumpthumpthump of his own heartbeat, joining in with Mike’s careful breaths taken every few seconds. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and—

“Will?” 

Will flinches and turns back around, so he and Mike can meet eyes once again. It’s a little difficult to see in the darkness, but there’s hesitancy written all over Mike’s face. He looks like he wants to say something—something that’s urgent and something that he’s been waiting forever to say and something that Will simply can’t figure out just by studying his best friend’s face. But whatever it is… it’s important to Mike to say this.

Important enough that he’d risk being heard and found by the demogorgon to say it.

“Yeah?” Will whispers back. He scoots closer too, and maybe it’s the blood loss or the fear or the adrenaline talking, but Will thinks he sees Mike’s eyes wide and hears his breath catches and notices the way Mike’s gaze flickers downward for one, two, three moments too long.

Oh, Will thinks, somewhere distantly in the back of his mind. Maybe that’s the answer to his question. 

Why would Mike rebuild this place?

It feels a little bit ironic, but Will thinks that maybe, just maybe, the answer might just be the same reason he tore down Castle Byers in the first place.

(Because I love you.

Even though I shouldn’t.

Even though it’s supposed to be wrong.

I’m in love with you.)

Mike swallows the lump in his throat. His gaze has returned to Will’s eyes now, instead of his lips—his lips—and he reaches up with a trembling hand to cup Will’s cheek. This time, Will’s breath catches, and he watches with wide eyes as Mike thumbs away some of the dirt on Will’s cheek, taking special care to be as gentle as possible.

“I…” Mike starts to say, but he stops again, lips pressed together nervously. He looks away again, this time glancing out at the world beyond the shared hiding spot. It takes another moment for him to look back at Will, but when he does, he seems a lot more at ease, that familiar determination returning to his face. “We might not make it out of here.”

Will winces. Truthfully, a small part of him had almost forgotten about that, but yeah… that’s the unfortunate reality of the situation they’re in. There’s a monster outside of Castle Byers, and it wants to kill both of them. Will’s ankle is currently bleeding through, and any moment now, the demogorgon might catch onto his scent and come have both of them for dinner.

Romantic. So romantic.

“Right.” Will nods slowly and swallows the lump in his own throat, looking down at their intertwined hands. It feels like some sick joke from the universe that this would happen—that the two of them would finally find the courage to confront everything that has been going on between them, to finally acknowledge the path they’ve been stumbling down together for quite some time now—only when they’re about to die.

Leave it to the universe to give him a shred of happiness and a taste of a happy ending, only to rip it away. 

Mike takes another breath, and he squeezes Will’s hand tighter than he ever has before. “I-I guess,” he whispers nervously, “I… I just wanted to say—”

“Don’t,” Will blurts out.

Mike freezes. In the darkness, his eyes go wide, and he stares back at Will in complete shock. “W-what?”

Will takes a deep breath, glancing at the entrance to Castle Byers, then back at Mike again. “Don’t,” he repeats, softer this time. “Whatever you’re going to say… don’t say it… not if you’re only saying it because we’re about to die.” 

He pauses here, swallowing the lump in his throat and looking away, unable to meet Mike’s eyes. “If you really mean it,” Will says quietly, “then… just wait. Wait until we’re out of here or… or at least until we know we’re safe. Okay?” 

For a while, Mike is quiet, and he grows tense beside Will, like he’s not sure how to take this request. The silence is dreadful, and it makes Will almost regret stopping him from saying this. 

But… if Mike is really going to say what Will thinks he’s going to say, then he can wait. He can wait until the two of them are safe, until they don’t have to hide from a monster trying to kill them, until they both can actually focus on what’s been said to each other, instead of fearing for their goddamn lives. They’ve waited this long. They can wait a little bit longer.

“Okay,” comes Mike’s response, a whisper barely audible in the silence. He shifts closer again to Will and moves, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulling him close. “But… but I do mean it, Will. I swear I do.”

Thumpthumpthump goes Will’s nervous heart, and despite the circumstances the two of them are in, Will can’t help but smile. “Good,” he whispers back and looks up at his best friend, meeting his gaze in the darkness. “Then… I’m excited to hear what you have to say. You know… if we don’t die.”

A quiet huff of a laugh escapes Mike’s lips, and he rests his head on Will’s shoulder, hugging him close. “We better not die,” he mumbles. “That would really, really suck.”

“Yeah,” Will whispers back with a laugh of his own. “It really, really would.”

Neither one of them says anything else after this. True to his word, Mike doesn’t say what he had tried to say, but at the same time, he does. The two of them… they’ve never been big on words, anyways. Actions have always spoken louder. So, in the darkness of Castle Byers—that was rebuilt by Mike for Will—the words I love you are never spoken aloud, but they’re said to one another anyways.

Mike holds him closer,  and he gently runs his hand up and down Will’s arm, keeping him calm and reminding him that he isn’t alone. I love you, Mike says, when he lets Will lie against his chest, and when he wraps an old blanket around the two of them. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you too, Will thinks to himself, arms wrapped around Mike’s waist. He listens to the quiet sound of Mike’s heartbeat and forces himself to breathe. They’re going to make it out of here. 

They have to.