#running out small business has been very taxing you know how it is busy days at the shop lately

[babygirlgiles]

8 shows to get to know me better tagged by @saintemiliosandoz

(got this and was like, bestie, do i even know 8 shows?)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: does this even count as getting to know me better? Either way I have nothing to say for myself, there's no excuse

Elementary CBS: this show fucked so severely and on the one hand it deserved way, way more hype than That One British Show but on the other hand I'm so so glad it didn't get the insane rabid awfulness That Fucking British Show bred. Also Lucy Liu <3

NBC Hannibal: Yeah.

Shameless: I've seen this all the way through like,,, at least twice? But now I can never rewatch it again bc I will never be able to see Lip Gallagher without thinking about that "my roommate said he'd be worth the yeast infection" tweet (side note: Cristina, I think that really cute waitress at Ayat heard me loudly quoting that tweet when we did byob with Emily that one time and she literally never looked at me the same afterwards.)

Daredevil: ever since they announced they were cancelling this to create Disney+, my hatred for Disney bubbled over and I have never watched a single Marvel series ever since, I refuse to.

Killing Eve: I haven't seen like the last 3 episodes and I am living in the most blissful ignorance where the series ends exactly as I wanted it to

That Netflix original Hollywood: what can I say, I am not immune to a Ryan Murphy miniseries (honorable mention to Pose which was objectively better but also I haven't finished the last season)

(I am literally going through my netflix and hulu history now bc like damn there is no way I only love 7 TV shows ahdkjasjksdfjsfkd)

8. I dunno??? Northern Exposure?? Jane the Virgin?? I'm watching Devil Judge rn?? (I <3 Lame Men)

tagging @teatimewithgiles @summrsbuffy @chasingfictions @danneethai @norakovacs @slaygentford @strathmoresketches but no pressure, and also anyone else who wants to :)

[kayas-kosmos]

Because of what's happening on Twitter...

I've made a little diagram to demonstrate why billionaires and the ultra-wealthy are bad for society.

(Text in Image)

"If we view society as a body, every sector is like a different organ within the body that serves a function and works in harmony with other organs to maintain balance. Every part of the body is important for the whole thing to function."

"The ultra-wealthy want you to believe they are the beating heart and thinking mind of the society – they are the innovators who create our jobs and their brilliance drives society forward. They deserve to be at the top of society because they have earned that. Without them, the body won’t function because they are the most important part."

"In reality, they are more like a malignant tumour, sucking all of the blood (resources) away from everything else (people and the planet) to fuel its own infinite growth, depriving the rest of the body and slowly killing it. Workers create all of the innovation and keep things running, the ultra-wealthy take all the credit."

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

This is a public domain image so feel free to pinch it for whatever.

Elon Musk has put the careers of thousands of small business owners who depend on Twitter (myself included) in jeopardy by completely running it into the ground. Before this, Mark Zuckerberg had already been doing the same when he started pursuing Metaverse, making Instagram and Facebook much more unusable for artists. Do I really need to go into other examples of CEOs and very normalised practise of wage theft?

Meanwhile, the UK currently has the richest Prime Minister in its history. What is this man doing with this wealth? Continuing the Tory legacy of austerity in order to line his pockets and the pockets of his crony friends. This has resulted in a devastating cost of living crisis that continues to ravage the country as people's energy bills skyrocket out of control.

My diagram is pretty basic and lacks nuance, there's definitely more I could elaborate on with this comparison but I really don't have time. I just want people to get the basic point of how billionaires view themselves vs what function they actually serve. I'm also not here to debate whether some organs are more important than others since I'm not a doctor, that's not really the point here. And no, I don't care if people think I'm being harsh by comparing billionaires to a tumour. If they don't want to be compared to one they should stop acting like one. Jeff Bezos could end world hunger right now and chooses not to.

Also, I know a lot of people are going to come at me with the argument that billionaires give away massive amounts of money. First off, people like Jeff Bezos only give large sums of money to charity a.) for the sake of improving their public image and b.) because giving to charity allows them to write it off in their taxes. Also, charities in of themselves have a lot of problems, but that's a blog post for another day. Mutual Aid is a better way to help people directly. Really, the ultra wealthy need to be taxed, of course they do everything within their power to avoid taxes.

Also:

"Earning a lot of money" and "holding onto a lot of money" are two different things. You cannot be a multi-millionaire unless you hold onto that money. If you give away massive chunks of it to enrich society, you cease to be a billionaire.

Oh and this is worth a watch, too.

Furthermore:

Also before the inevitable great man comments:

Being a billionaire is a moral failing. Nobody needs that much money.

[Slight edit here - I made the assertion that a billionaire could not spend all of their money in their lifetime, but as someone in the comments pointed out it's very easy for them to completely waste billions in no time. Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg have shown that].

Anyway, if you would like to see more anti-Capitalist art from me, I am currently working on a webcomic called "Flowerpunk" - a story about a group of anarchists who are trying to save the city of Wyrdon from a supernatural plague known as "the rot." The comic heavily discusses disaster Capitalism and how the rich will use mass death and destruction as an opportunity to further line their pockets.

I also like to do little anti-Capitalist doodles relating to this project, which I plan to make into posters at some point.

Please consider donating a Ko-Fi also if you would like to help support this project. I am really struggling at the moment because I've basically lost a massive chunk of my client base due to this Twitter implosion and also because of the AI BS that has made it impossible for me to get any reach nowadays. The last year or so has been an absolute nightmare for my career because of all of this.

Thank you all for your continued support! Hopefully I can re-establish my audience here on Tumblr and wherever else I decide to go.

[jackwolfes]

lil bit of stressed wy

This late at night there’s only one lantern on. It’s the one on his desk, and it’s burning rather low. Wylan taps his pen gently against the back of his knuckles, eyes scanning down a long list of numbers. 

His head is a chorus of Jesper’s spoken words. Top to bottom – for fifteen pages so far – he checks the costs of their household expenses. Everything adds up so far, which is a small mercy. His afternoon was spent trying to flip through all his filed receipts to find a missing charge. 

(He had found it, eventually; five and quarter kruge for two coffees and a biscuit. A business expense, allegedly, although if Wylan remembers correctly he had bought it for Inej.)   

It’s anyone’s guess what hour it is. At a certain point the Geldrenner’s bell stops chiming, but Wylan can never remember what it is. All he knows is that the open window behind him has only brought the quiet of a summer night in. Perhaps it just hasn’t chimed the final hour. It likely has. 

He scratches his jaw. He should probably shave. He should probably trim his nails. He should probably do a lot of things. 

There’s far too much to do. 

This is what he should have expected his life to be. This is what he was born for; this is his birthright. Stealing it out from the hands of a man that paid to have him killed doesn’t change the dull, gritty truth of what it is to be a member of the Merchant Council, or the head of an empire. Life for Wylan is, and was always going to be, long lists of costs and tax fees. The only difference is that now his papers are colour coded for him to make sense of them. 

“Wylan.”

He lifts his head and immediately winces. There’s a stiff crick in his neck; how long has he been staring at his papers? He blinks a few times, trying to clear his cloudy vision. 

Jesper watches from the doorway. He’s in a cardigan that’s far too big for him, sleeves unrolled and drooping at his elbows. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, like he’s cold. Wylan shivers; he’s cold, too. He rubs a tired hand over his eye. 

“I’ll come to bed in a second,” he says. Jesper leans to the side, resting his shoulder against the door frame. During the day, he’s taken to wearing glittery pigment along his eyes. It’s off, now, but he’s just as bright. He looks sleepy, though. 

Wylan yawns. 

“Do you know what time it is?"

“I mean it, Jesper. Only a second. I just have one more page.” 

Slowly, Jesper walks his way across the room. Wylan looks back down at his reports. The numbers have started to swim again. One more cup of tea, maybe. That’ll do it. Then he can go to sleep– for a little bit, at least. He has an early meeting, but when doesn’t he? 

With no noise or fuss, Jesper shuts the window behind Wylan, and turns it shut with a click. Then he sits on the arm of Wylan’s broad mahogany chair and kisses the very top of his head. When he runs fingers through Wylan’s hair, it’s gentle, and kind. 

“You know,” he whispers, “most men would worry they’re being cheated on if their fiancé insisted on staying up in their office all night.” 

“Are you most men?” Wylan murmurs. 

Jesper kisses his head one more time. “No. I want you to come to bed, though.” 

“I’m not in the mood for…” Wylan trails off. When Jesper brushes all of his hair out of his face to kiss the soft skin of his forehead, he lets his eyes flutter shut. “Mm.”

“No sex,” Jesper promises. “Just come to bed. Please?” 

Softly, Wylan hums. “And I really can’t just finish this page?”

Jesper sighs, but he’s smiling. “You’re going to hurt your eyes if you keep reading in the dark.”

He pushes himself onto the desk, though, taking the papers out from beneath Wylan’s resting fingers. Wylan doesn’t protest. He just sits back in his chair and lets the warm note of Jesper’s voice start to wash over him. His eyes slip shut, heavy and aching. Slowly, he breathes. 

It’s always just one more page. 

[nickgerlich]

I'm The Taxman

The Apple Tax has proven to be one of the most lucrative propositions ever for Apple, specifically when it applies to in-app purchases made from our phones. While the EU is starting to attack them, they still have complete freedom in the US to levy this tax with ruthless cunning.

Here’s how it works: Every time you buy something on your iPhone, whether it is a game, an upgrade to a premium service, whatever, 30% of that price goes to Apple for the privilege granted to the app provider to exist in the Apple eco-system.

And I was today years old when I learned that when a business or even an individual opts to boost a post on Facebook or Instagram such that it becomes sponsored content, that too has the Apple Tax applied. Parent company Meta thus loses 30% of those sales (even though the company isn’t exactly hurting these days).

But now comes news that Meta is going to offload that burden to the buyers, rather than absorb it. In other words, if I or anyone else wants to boost a post or account, if the price is $100, then I will be charged $130 to cover the part going to Apple. Apple is assessing the fee at the cash till.

Meta, in its quest to appear less bad, has encouraged everyone to simply pay for boosting on a desktop computer instead of by phone, thereby dodging Apple. That will work. In fact, it would be pretty easy to do this in Facebook. On Instagram, though, I know there are a lot of users who do not even know you can access your account on a computer, because the platform was designed originally to be mobile-only.

So now we’re left trying to figure out who the bad company really is. Is it Meta for making its customers pay the fee? Or is it Apple for maintaining this fee structure in the first place?

I know. It’s kind of like asking if Ticketmaster is evil for handling concert ticket sales, and then passing along outrageous service fees for the privilege. We all know how a $100 ticket can wind up being more than $150 after all is said and done. If you want to see a super headliner like The Eagles, prepare to drop some major money, especially if you are taking a date.

My hunch is that, even with Meta’s encouragement to boost your posts via a computer, this is going to hurt them in the long run, and then Apple subsequently. This news makes us all aware of what is going on, because before all this, we just didn’t know. It’s not just paying $6 a month for personal MapMyRun MVP premium features, and maybe knowing that Apple takes a slice. Now we all know that those social media boosts have been a revenue stream not just for Meta, but also Apple.

Maybe we’ll all just stop the madness.

Although I doubt everyone will quit, I think the effective 30% increase in costs for the advertiser will cause many to reconsider. Small businesses and individuals, such as artists and musicians, will be affected most. Larger companies may just consider it the price of doing marketing.

Apple has had many long-running battles with some of its biggest app developers over the tax. It hindered Spotify’s ability to fully launch its audible books initiative, because it meant that Apple would get a huge chunk of every audio book a user purchased. Apparently Meta has just been sucking it up, even though it too has engaged in battle.

Now that the EU is clamping down on Apple, from power cords to revenue sharing, I suspect the time will come soon here in the States when our own regulators put their foot down as well. I realize that the business culture is very different here in the US than in Europe, and that we are far more laissez faire, it will depend on who is in office in Washington. Recall that President Biden is already trying to put his foot down on hidden charges we consumers endure, like overdraft and late payment fees. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to follow the EU’s lead on Apple as well.

But is Apple being evil? After all, it is their platform. It’s just that they have a tight monopoly when it comes to apps. Yes, their testing and scrutiny give us a high degree of consumer safety, but they are a toll booth at the same time. And the toll to get across the bridge is just as steep as the bridge itself to get in the App Store.

In the end, our court system will have to resolve this one. But for now, those entities and individuals least able to spend large sums on marketing are going to feel the brunt of Meta’s latest action.

Dr “One For You, Nineteen For Me” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[elijahkelly]

2/12/2023

3:04am. I'm laying here trying to sleep but my brain won't shut off. Didn't take melatonin tonight so my body is probably struggling to put itself to sleep without help.

Had a moment where I did not feel safe. Small panic attack, I was feeling very distressed, like I was in danger. It was very reminiscent of the feeling I associated with laying in bed in one of mom's old apartments late at night, Scooby Doo playing on the tv, and all of a sudden the room got really bright as a truck pulled up and parked, it's headlights shining right through the window. I felt very unsafe then, and I felt that way tonight.

Going home tomorrow. Or today, I guess. Haven't been home since my sister, brother in law, niece, two nephews, and their dog moved out of my dad's house. I have to go fill out a thing so my dad can file my taxes, Dylan needs to get his new car tags from his parents, and I want to go see my sister's new house.

My mind has been coming back to how much things have changed a lot recently. Thinking about how I used to see my family almost every day, now I'm lucky if I see them more than once a month. I used to work cleaning the gym back at home, now I'm a part-time manager of a sub-division of my department, part-time drag queen who has almost completed their bachelors in Psychology. So many people I used to know are like strangers to me, and I've met so many amazing new people. Like Osvaldo.

Ozzy is very important in my life right now. He helps to distinguish the relationships the "old me" formed from the relationships the "new me" has formed. He's quickly become one of my best friends. We talk about everything, hang out a lot, and poke fun at each other all the time. He reminds me that I do bring something to the table that gives me value enough to keep around. He's my favorite person that I've met since I started college. He helps me retain my childhood through interests we share, while also helping me to grow up. We smoked weed together recently, and it was my first time smoking real weed before. I got to do it with him and it was a real bonding moment.

In case you haven't noticed, if anyone's reading this, I kinda just let my mind wander and say what it wants to.

I need to talk about the future, because I'm scared of it and I need to rationalize it. Starting with school. I have less than three semesters of college left, and I have hardly a clue what I want to do after that. I've played with the idea of grad school, getting my masters so I don't have to have a space between. If I can get all of my school business out of the way, that'd be ideal. But what about a job? I don't know what I want to do or how I'm going to do it, which is horrifying. And I'm running out of time. Dylan's going through a similar thought process at the moment.

It feels like Dylan and I are in a weird space right now. Our relationship feels "gray," and that's the best way I can describe it. I love him, I know that I do, but I think I'm getting bored. I love him to death, and I don't want to lose him, but I feel constrained. I never had a real dating phase of my life. Yeah, relationships would come and go, but before Dylan I had never been in a relationship for more than a month. Now we've just passed two years and I'm so happy for that. But, in all honesty, a small part of me feels kinda robbed of the experience of dating in college, figuring things out, adventuring. He's my only sexual partner I've ever had, so I don't know if the sex we're having is good or if there's something I'm missing. I pined for him the first four years I knew him, so it's essentially like we've been dating for six years. And maybe it's supposed to feel this way, but it feels like we've hit a slump. Nothing really interesting is going on. Idk, I'm not sure if I'm experiencing a normal part of relationships or what, but I know for certain that I don't want Dylan to go anywhere.

I feel an intense feeling inside that something tragic is going to happen to me. I have had this feeling for a long time. Part of me believes I'm going to get cancer. Another part of me sees a potential future where I die relatively soon, like in the next few years. Yes, I know that's possible for everyone, but something in my head says that it'll definitely happen to me. I've thought about it so much that I now feel a combination of fear and calmness about it. Not like I've accepted my fate, but it has motivated me to live my life purposefully and not get too wrapped up in silly things that don't matter. I've made it a goal to have fun, enjoy my time on earth while I have it, and live one day at a time. But there's still that feeling...

I don't know why but I feel overdue for tragedy. Every couple months or so, something devastating happens to throw a wrench in the works. Back in November, we had to put down my childhood dog, Jet. We had him since I was five (15 years) and it was like losing my best friend. But that was four months ago, so it feels like something new and awful could happen at any moment. Not that I want it to, of course, but if we're following the trend of my life, something new should've happened by now to ruin my life.

Anyways, I feel like I've talked my brain down to potentially get some sleep. I hope so, because I have a lot of driving ahead of me tomorrow.

Thank you for reading this, whoever you are. If you're me from the future, I hope you're well. I hope the bad things I expect to happen have the grace to hold off, for your sake (and mine). If you aren't me, I wonder how you found this. I don't plan to disclose the existence of these posts to anyone until the absolute last possible moment so there's something to look back on and peek into my conscience throughout my life. So if you aren't me and you're reading this, did something happen to me? And if you're someone who knows/knew and loves/loved me, thank you. The people who I value most in my life are the source of my vitality and drive. If I was alone, I probably would've ended it a long long time ago. But hopefully I leave a good impact on the people in my life for the rest of the time I have. I'm getting caught up in my head again.

I'm tired as fuck, I hope it isn't hard to fall asleep. Goodnight.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[angry-geese]

To You Someday

Choso x Reader

Warnings: sfw. mention of periods, and blood, but overall its sfw. afab reader.

Summary: some very self indulgent fluff with choso comforting the reader when they're on their period. i needed a bit of fluff to balance out the fact that for the last like month ive posted nothing but smut

Word Count: 1.7k

Without fail, once a month you have this conversation. And once a month, without fail, he thinks you're dying.

He didn't quite understand the first time you explained it. You aren't dying, which is what caught him most off guard. He saw the slightest bit of blood on the sheets once—an accident really, you didn't know your period had started until a few hours after it happened—and quite literally thought you were dying. You spent a while explaining to a frantic, grieving Choso that you weren't about to die. Nobody can bleed for that long and not die. You have to tell him that you, in fact, can, and that this is something a lot of people deal with. He gets that it's normal, but seeing you in pain stresses him out.

It doesn't seem to matter how many times you tell him to not fuss over you, he always will. Worrying is in his nature. You're precious to him, he's not about to let you slip through his fingers. God forbid you try to lift something heavy, or try to do anything physically taxing. Choso insists on doing everything for you. However well meaning, his presence is a bit suffocating at times.

Having spent most of his life in a test tube, with only the faintest notion of what goes on around him, modern life was a bit of a shock. He had little notion of how the modern world works. Everything seems to happen so fast, the world is so loud and bright and busy. He’s overwhelmed. It feels like the second he gets the hang of one thing, something else comes up entirely. But even as he’s frustrated, or down on himself for not getting something, you’re always there to comfort him. You never judge him for needing help.

You like to think he’s adjusted well over the past year. With the help of you and Yuji, he’s settled into a normal(ish) life. It’s hard to consider life normal when you’re constantly dealing with curses, but there’s some sense of normalcy to it.

You were one of the first people to help him. It was a long process. Even today he’s still adjusting as the world changes around him. He owes you a debt he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to pay you back for. You tell him he doesn't owe you anything, but he still insists on paying you back. With what, he’s not certain yet.

He didn't understand his feelings for you at first. Choso cared about you deeply—he cared about Yuji—but his love for you was so much different than his love for his brother. Choso has always been affectionate. Not just to Yuji, but to you too. When you spend so much time together, it's hard to not love someone, even if just a little bit. He saw you as a friend; and then he didn't.

He found his every waking moment consumed by the thought of you. You weaved your way into every corner of his mind. From the moment he woke up, to the moment he shut his eyes, he was thinking of—or seeing things—that reminded him of you. Even in his dreams too. You made his heart race every time you talked to him, to the point he thought he was dying. Everything made his heart flutter. His brother had to explain to him that no- that's normal when you have a crush.

He loved you.

He’s never been so in-love.

He was head-over-heels, in fact. He still is. Even as you moved past the honeymoon phase of your relationship, he still was so hopelessly in love. Maybe it never ended, the two of you only grew used to being around each other. The others constantly make remarks about how they’ve never seen two people so in-love.

Yuji was the first to help him figure out his feelings. Choso had no clue what a crush was. He knew he wanted something more than friendship. He wasn't sure what. But he wanted it. Though you were less vocal with your feelings, everyone around you knew. From lingering gazes, to your eagerness to spend time with him, it was obvious. It seemed like everyone but the both of you knew.

Yuji wanted to help him plan some big reveal. He spent weeks scheming an elaborate plan. It had to be special. He wanted it to be a big day for the two of you. He wanted you to know, but he wanted his reveal to be special.

Choso’s confession was entirely accidental.

You had come back from a job injured. It wasn't anything fatal, but he had warned you not to go alone, and in turn spent the entire day worrying about you. So when he came back to find you bleeding out all over your bathroom counter, he panicked. A little blood never bothered him. Until it was your blood. He pulled you into an impulsive kiss.

And when he told you how he felt, you grinned wider than he’d ever seen. He wasn't surprised that you felt the same way, more that he was relieved. Surprise isn't the right word for it. Yuji let it slip that you felt the same way.

It’s become a nightly routine for the two of you. In the evening, while watching a movie or getting settled down for the night, he’ll have you play with his hair. He says it helps him sleep. You can believe it. He’s usually knocked out within minutes of you starting. Tonight is no different. He drags you out into the living room, sitting you down on the couch. He picked the movie- one recommended by Yuji. It was a bit longer than you usually watch, but you don't have anything planned tomorrow, so you don't mind staying up a bit late. Work can wait. You deserve a day off.

As you settle into your nightly routine, he’s by your side, insisting on helping you. His presence is a bit more overbearing than usual, but you don't think much of it. It doesn't take him long to get comfortable, settled between your legs, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Choso’s head leans back against your stomach, hands folded in his lap. He lets out a soft sigh as you comb his hair out of his face with your fingers, tucking it behind his ear. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. His hair is softer than it looks. It's getting long- it's past his shoulders now. Goosebumps raise along his shoulders as your fingers brush across his skin.

You’re the first person to touch him in such a way. You’re the first to hold him like he’s precious. Before you, his only physical contact was from fighting. Affection in such a way was completely foreign to him. He was touch starved, to say the least.

And then you came along and looked at him like he was the world.

He shifts so he’s nearly sitting in your lap, arms looped around your neck. His face buries in yours—his—shirt. Choso has lots of baggy, comfy clothes that you constantly steal. It smells like you, and laundry soap, and a bit of your shampoo. He likes letting you borrow them, you always return them smelling like you. As his head leans against your chest, he can hear your heartbeat. It's steady, but picks up in pace as he stretches to press a kiss to your lips. Blush dusts his cheeks, turning the tips of his ears and nose pink.

Choso runs cold naturally. Most of the time he refuses to cuddle unless you’re wrapped in blankets. You have to reassure him that you’re not as fragile as he seems to think you are. He knows. But that doesn't stop him from worrying.

Painkillers weren't exactly working. The pain is manageable, albeit coming and going in waves. Manageable is about the best things get. Choso seems to know something is up before you do. Call it a sixth sense or whatnot. Though you don't appear to be ill, you're not acting like your usual self. He doesn't remember you getting injured. You're acting like you're injured. That worries him greatly.

"You're hurt?" He asks.

“I’m just a bit tired.” You say. "It's nothing to worry about."

Slowly he untangles himself from your limbs. You try to pull him back into your lap, but let him go when he insists.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, gently pushing your shoulders back.

There’s no use arguing. He’s hellbent in his ways, especially when they come to you.

You wouldn't say you were paying attention to the movie, so much as you were present for it's duration. You flop back on the couch, your attention turned to the tv.

He tries to remember everything you normally do that helps. Heating pads, tea, fluffy blankets and extra pillows. Small creature comforts he’s never really lived with before. He didn't see a need for them until he had them, and then he found himself unable to live without them.

Choso disappears into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a cup of tea, and a heating pad. Heat helps sore muscles. As he settles back onto the couch, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist, your back against his chest. The warmth helps with your cramps a bit. The heat feels nice against your sore muscles.

His fingers trace across your skin, memorizing every inch of your body like he’s reading a book of braille, soft and loving. Choso isn't shy in how he appreciates your body. He could spend hours running his hands over your body, tracing every dip and curve of your form. He wants to know your body better than he does his own; what you like, how you feel, what you taste like. In public he has to have an arm around you, or his fingers laced with yours. Everyone has to know you’re his.

One of your hands finds his, your fingers lacing together. He holds your hand to his cheek before planting a kiss on your knuckles. Soft locks of his hair pool around his head, tickling your neck.

He’s never been so hopelessly in love.

Though your eyelids begin to feel heavy, you still fight to stay awake. He pulls the blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it around you. The warmth, combined with the feeling of his arms around you, threatens to lull you to sleep.

Choso is there when you fall asleep. And he’ll be there long after you wake up.

[beerecordings]

Werewolf AU - Part 7

“Hallo, Mutter,” he says as she answers the call. She replies to him in German, tone cool; he knew she would not have thought anything of the weeks he went without calling.

“Henrik, how are you?”

“Okay. And you?”

“We're good. But your father is having a spat with one of his distributors. He fired that Slovakian who was running the branch in Munich.”

She begins a tirade that lasts several minutes about their businesses, which Henrik feels obligated to listen to, knowing very well that she's discussing the source of his previous finances, his sisters' upkeep, and his future inheritance, dull as it may be.

“... and the property taxes, Henrik, you would not believe what they've done this year. We've half a mind to migrate to America. But then again, would that be any better? You know, Ella is going to France with that damnable boy. France, can you imagine? Henrik, it astounds me. They would not have a penny to their name without your father.”

Henrik sighs. “Then why do you still send so much money, Mutter?”

“Well, she's got the baby, am I supposed to let my grandchild starve?”

“It might make Ella do something with her life for once.”

“She's not got your brains, dear. Really it's that boy's responsibility. Ella's only a lady, after all. I'm glad I can let her stay home with the baby. She wasn't going to breastfeed, do you believe that? Well, I set her straight about that, believe you me...”

Henrik rubs at his head as his mother begins comparing his sisters, because isn't Clara such a better mother than Ella anyway? He hasn't seen any of the girls in... hell. Must be three years, now. They were never close. He was always the baby, and the frantic attention he received from his parents in the first ten years of his life always seemed, to him, to have been deducted from something his sisters might have otherwise provided. He was always keenly aware of their bitter jealousy, as though they might have preferred to be the ones in his miserable, pampered place.

“But anyway, dear,” his mother continues, ending her rant smoothly. “How is England? Are you staying out of the rain?”

“It's not been too bad,” he says. He quite likes the rain, in fact. “Perhaps a little dreary. Um, but Mutter, I did... did want to tell you something. Um.”

He pauses, closing his eyes for a second. His mother has gone very quiet.

“Well, I might be here in England a little longer than I expected. Or maybe a little shorter? I'm trying to figure it out. There's just – I – I don't know how to tell you, Mutter.”

There's just one pause from her end before he hears her breath slide out of her, and the ever-present, condescending smile seems knocked from her face from countries away.

“It's the cancer. I knew this day would come. Henrik, mouseling.”

She's crying very suddenly, and very hard. Henrik sucks in a breath, shaking his head as if she can see him. “No, Mutter. No, I'm quite alright, in that regard. It's – Mutter.”

She's still crying. Is she listening at all?

His mother never cries, not since he was small, anyway, or sometimes in the waiting room between screenings, where she thought he couldn't hear. Evidently, her sobs attract the attention of his father from across the house, because Henrik hears the low rumble of his voice somewhere in the background.

“Mutter, I'm fine,” he says.

“It's Henrik,” his mother says, and his father breathes out too, just the same way she did.

“No, I'm okay,” he protests. “I'm – ”

“Did you get a screening, mouse?” asks his father.

“I told you the last one was clear!”

“That was months ago, child.”

“I'm only meant to have one every twelve.”

His mother is beside herself. He can hear her collapsing in on herself, turning her face away from the phone. It's making his eyes sting too. He tries to breathe even. His phone shakes in his hand.

“Mutter,” he says, and then the tears start for him too, and he can't help it, can't stop, can't do anything but grip his cell phone, cracked from the night he was attacked, and cry, “Mama, Mama. I'm okay, Mama. Please don't cry. There's no cancer. You know. I'm healthy, please, Mami. It was just – ”

Can he even tell her? Can he tell either of them?

“It was just a problem with the grant,” he manages finally. “Don't cry, Mama. I'm okay.”

He listens to his father reassuring her as he wipes the tears from his face, sinking down on the couch and burying his face in his free hand. Finally she returns to herself.

“Oh, my mouse,” she sniffles.

“I'm okay, Mutter,” he whispers.

He hears her wiping the last of her tears away. Regaining her poise. His cold, beautiful mother.

“It's hard, Henrik, that's all. I know you don't remember any of that time. But seeing your child wasting away like that... it's enough to break my heart all over again whenever I think about it. What's this about the grant?”

He closes his eyes. What a liar he is, all the time.

“It... it fell through, last-minute. Left us scrambling with the research. So I'm not sure if I'll be able to stay here for a while as we look for new funding, or if I will just come home very soon.”

“I'll fund it,” says his father strongly. “It wouldn't be a problem.”

“No,” Henrik answers immediately. “No, I can handle it.”

“They shouldn't make you promises you can't keep. You could sue the organization, you know. I can have Albert get it all started.”

“No, thank you. Really, I'm not too fussed. It's been nice to be out of the country, anyway.”

“You never did take a holiday year after graduating, did you?”

Henrik smiles faintly. “Those are just drinking holidays. And I was only seventeen. What was I going to do?”

“You know you could travel any time you like, Henrik. I'd send you anywhere, mouse.”

The smile falls from his face. He can't imagine the tantrum his father would throw if he knew his passport was marked because of the lycanthropy. Lawmakers would lose their jobs.

But it's not going to change what happened, and it probably wouldn't even get him out of the UK much faster. Even a private jet would make him panic. It's just not feasible.

“I know,” he says finally, too tired for any more of this conversation.

“Let us know if you'd like to come home for the holiday, Henrik. All your sisters are coming. Except maybe Ella. She's going to France, can you believe?”

“I told him, I said I couldn't believe...”

“And after what that private investigator found out about the boy!”

“I've got to go,” he tells them.

“Get screened, okay, Henrik? Just for the sake of your mother's heart.”

He's shaking his head even as he answers. “Okay. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Henrik.”

They end the call.

He drops his phone on the coffee table, eyes sliding shut. His hands clench into fists. Something inside him needs to run, desperately. He digs his nails into his palms. Harder. Harder. This is his body, and no one else's. This is his body and he controls it.

He remembers his own screaming. Sobbing as he vomited and vomited and vomited. Months in his hospital bed with the textbook he stole from one of the doctor's lockers, memorizing projected outcomes and risk factors and recurrence, the names of his curses, things he never forgot even as the radiation scattered his cognition like flour. He remembers injections, oxygen, strangers, nakedness, fatigue, nausea, nausea, nausea. He remembers hating his body. He remembers the psychologist who came in and explained what death was to him, and told him some very nice things, and he remembers thinking yes, it would be okay to just go to sleep, maybe, and not have to do this any more. But if he did then his mother would cry, and his father would go into the alleyway outside the hospital and scream until his voice tore, and Henrik would remember.

He remembers being ten. His mother asked him “do you remember being sick, mouseling?” and he said “no, Mama” because he's always been a liar.

Right now, he just wishes he could go back to work. He wishes he could run, like he used to every day. Every single day, without fail. A run, a double-shift, a night alone. His life, for years, with everything perfectly under his control.

Now a wolf has stolen his body the same way the cancer did.

He remembers hating his body. He remembers hating his body. He remembers hating his body.

He's screaming alone in the dark of the apartment, and he remembers thinking, yes, maybe there are worse things than to die. Maybe it would not be so bad.

He is five years old, and his cancer has its teeth in his neck.

.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he's jerking awake with a gasp, glasses smushed against his face.

“Mmh,” he groans, sitting up slowly, his face still feeling puffy from crying. “Sean?”

There's no answer from the blackened apartment. The pounding noise comes again. Did he lock himself out?

“Coming!” he croaks, voice hoarse as he gets off the couch and opens the door that separates the apartment from the office, trudging down the stairs. The rooms are too quiet and too still at this time of night, decorated by unfamiliar shadows, and he hustles to the front door, rubbing his face. Is he still red?

“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

It's not Sean.

“I texted Sean,” Chase says, holding his cap in his hands. “He didn't answer.”

Henrik blinks, trying to put this midnight puzzle together. “No. I don't think he's back yet.”

“So I knew you were probably still here alone,” Chase continues, turning his cap in a circle between his fingers, again and again. “Probably still upset, too.”

“Chase,” says Henrik carefully. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

Chase clears his throat, finally breaking eye contact for a half second before he's staring at Henrik again, nodding his head like he's making an agreement with himself.

“Schneep,” he says. “You should come stay with me.”

Ah. He pities him.

“I could text Sean that you're coming to my place,” Chase says, when it's been a moment and Henrik hasn't even begun to imagine replying. “Or, um. You could come tomorrow. Or just stay here, I mean. It's up to you. But if you wouldn't mind... I wouldn't mind us looking after each other for a little while. You and me.”

It's late into the night. Henrik's voice is raw, his face stained with salty tears, and he knows he smells like misery and fatigue. There's a distinct itch underneath his skin, worse and worse everyday.

“Chase,” he mumbles. “You don't want me at your place.”

“I do,” he says, with certainty now, straightening up. “I do.”

“Look, I'm not fun, okay, even at my best.”

“You're not fun?”

“Yeah, and right now I'm pretty unwell, so double not-fun. And I – I just – when I'm sick I'm just – you don't want to put up with me.”

“Man, I'm not exactly a barrel of laughs right now either. Schneep, you need somewhere to stay, and I'm sorry, but you can't do it alone. And... I can't either, okay?”

Henrik stares at him, his mouth trembling, just a little, but he will not start crying. He will not. He has to be in control.

Chase steps forward, reaching out to hold his shoulders for a second, like he's sizing him up. “You need somewhere to stay,” he repeats, soft.

Dammit, there's a pair of tears now, tracking down his face.

“Long day?” asks Chase, with a little levity, squeezing his arm.

“Yes,” croaks Henrik. “I apologize.”

“Don't apologize.”

“I, um. I'm Jewish.”

“Oh.” Chase looks at him. “Sure. Do you need, like... I could get the ham out of the house, if that would help?”

Henrik stares back at him. He... really means this, doesn't he? He wants him to come with him. And he would be safe to stay with? No jokes about lizard people or blunt questions about his family surviving the 1940s?

It's... tempting. Yeah. Really tempting.

But he can't do this. Can he? He doesn't know how to live with other guys his age. He's never done it. He'll be such a pain to Chase, sickly and withdrawn and exhausted, and there's no reason for it, not when he has other options. Henrik, in that moment, knows he should say: “I'm going to go stay at a rental, actually. I have the money and I'll be out of everyone's way. Don't waste your time on me. I have always done this alone.”

He doesn't say that, though. He doesn't know what to say.

Chase presses on anyway.

“Look, man,” he says. “I – I'm not good with this stuff. And I think some of it is werewolf stuff, too, like what Marv and Sean talk about: that you can tell when you've gotten close to another werewolf even before your human brain has realized it, because your wolf is always looking for other wolves, and it's a lot less inhibited than we are. Getting to know each other and all that shit is a lot less important to a wolf when somebody new smells nice and treats you well and has some understanding of the place you've found yourself in.”

“Okay,” says Schneep, because honestly he isn't sure he knows where this is going.

“I have a couple misdemeanors on my record, for full transparency, stupid shit I did as a kid. Also I'm a slob, kind of. And I'm going through custody court and rehab, because I'm an addict – or, I guess I'm supposed to say I 'have' an addiction, like my therapist says – and I've only been clean four months. Well, I say 'only.' It feels really long to me.”

“It's – no, yeah, four months is good, it's – ”

“I spent most of my teenage years in between foster care and group homes,” Chase changes topics unhesitatingly. Henrik tries not to be alarmed by the anxious, pained smell coming off of him, resisting a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. “Grandparents took me for a while, but then I got to be too much trouble for them, too. I just – I know what it's like to not be wanted, you know? And to feel like you don't belong anywhere, when you just desperately need... somewhere. Someone.”

“Chase,” says Henrik quietly.

“What I'm saying is you should come stay with me,” Chase rushes out, closing his eyes for a second. “You should come stay with me.”

The wind breathes across them, cool, with a hint of rain signaled in its blustering, comfortable smell. The moon is watching their conversation with a half-closed eye, bright enough to turn the yellow light outside the office door into a beam of gold. Chase smells like chocolate, and no whiskey.

He can't do this. He can't. Shouldn't, definitely. Should he?

Chase is right, though. That's the problem. He needs somewhere to belong right now, so badly it hurts.

For the first time in years, he admits to himself that he doesn't want to be alone.

“I need to go get my toothbrush,” he hears himself say.

Chase nods at him, blinking. A second later, the scent of old pain fades from his smell.

“Cool,” he says. “Steal some of Sean's good coffee, too, we're out at my place.”

Henrik wishes he knew what it was about those words that manages to make him laugh aloud in the cool night air, despite everything, but in the end it doesn't matter: his laughter makes Chase smile too.

“Let's go home,” Chase says, and he wraps an arm around his shoulders.

[atlafan]

a/n: A couple of weeks ago I saw a post about ex’s to lovers, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So basically it’s a story about two people who ended things on a semi-good note, like nothing inherently bad happened between them, but they decided to break up. Sometimes people find their way back to each other, though. That’s what we have here. Harry is a tax attorney, a few years older than our MC, Blair Smith, who teaches jazzercise. (not proofread) PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU READ THIS AND LIKE IT, YALL WANTED ME TO KEEP POSTING FICS ON HERE, SO HERE YOU GO! PLEASE, IT TAKES TWO SECONDS! Check out my patreon for other excursive content.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut (sub!Harry????), mentions of death, a funeral

Words: 17.8K

Pairing: Harry x OC (Blair Smith)

When Blair Smith became a Physical Education major in college, she never thought that would lead her to leasing a dance studio, and teaching jazzercise. It took her until she was twenty-five to really get it all together. She wasn’t mad about it, she actually enjoyed it more than she thought. She double minored in Dance and in Business Administration, she had never been so thankful to have overloaded herself in her life. She thought she would be teaching gym at the high school level, along with some health and nutrition classes, but when she did her practicum semester at a local high school near her college, she realized that working with younger students was not for her. None of them listened, none of them really wanted to be there, aside from the gym-class-heroes, and she couldn’t stand that the majority wouldn’t even change their clothes for class.

Blair wanted to make her own rules. Luckily, after presenting a well-thought-out business plan to her parents, she was able to get them to co-sign for a loan from the bank to lease a dance studio. She named her studio Just Dance because she offered different types and levels of jazzercise. Some involved use of weights, some involved a little more high intensity, and some involved a little yoga. She was grateful for the couple of marketing classes she took because she was able to really build her brand. She had an Instagram, Facebook Page, and a website. She had an online way to sign up for memberships, and she had daily drop-in prices.

It was easier than she thought to build her clientele. She had a great spot in the city, and there was a small parking lot out back behind the building. Most of her friends from school signed up, and helped her advertise. It was open to men and women, as opposed to a lot of jazzercise places that only offered classes to women. Even though Blair couldn’t afford to hire a second instructor, she was managing things just fine. She offered two early morning sessions, one lunch hour session, and three evening sessions. So, she had plenty of time to relax, stretch, and not over work her muscles. She was strategic about class offerings as well. She gave herself Sundays and Fridays off, since those seemed to be the days with the least amount of people signed up. Monday through Thursday, and Saturday, she made sure to stagger her lessons. For example, Mondays and Wednesdays were weights and yoga infused classes, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were the high intensity days. Going into her fourth year doing this, she had it down to a science to say the least.

Business was always really good in January and February, when people were making their New Year’s resolutions, and during the summer months when people were trying to feel better about being in their bathing suits. Blair always preached positivity and inner health as the most important things. It was an inclusive space, which is exactly what she wanted it to be.

She liked working for herself. If she needed to run errands between classes, she could. If she wanted to take a nap in the middle of the day, she could. She didn’t have to answer to a single person. Her parents would sometimes ask questions, but mostly just to make sure Blair was making her loan payments on time. She had automatic withdrawals set up with the bank, so she didn’t even need to think about it. Yup, Blair had just about everything figured out, and she knew she was very lucky for that.

//

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Sullivan, we’ll get everything figured out for your son. Yes, he’s in very good hands with me. Alright, have a nice evening.” Harry hangs up his phone and sighs, rubbing at his temples to soothe the oncoming headache he could feel. It was another complicated trust fund case, but that was the job.

The Law Office of Styles and Associates was a tax attorney office. Harry specialized in cases that dealt with trusts, gifts, and various tax planning structures to reduce the burdens of income taxes and estate taxes, and he assisted in devising investment strategies. His undergraduate degree was in accounting, and he minored in pre-law. After that, he went to law school for three years and passed the bar. His father had been a tax attorney as well. Harry liked living the comfortable life he was able to live growing up thanks to his father, and he wanted the same for himself. Plus, he just enjoyed crunching numbers for people, so it was a win-win. Making nearly $150K a year wasn’t too shabby either.

“Hey, H, you ready to go?” John comes into Harry’s office.

“Yeah, just finished up for the day.” Harry stands up, puts his suit jacket back on, grabs his brief case, and heads out. “Kate, feel free to head home, I’m done for the day.” He tells his secretary on his way out.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles, have a nice weekend.” She smiles at him.

“Same to you.” He nods and keeps walking with John. “I feel terrible, she’s pregnant, you know? Her feet are the size of melons by the end of the day.”

“When’s her maternity leave start?” John asks as they enter the elevator.

“Not for a while, she’s only seven months along. She’s been trying to train some college intern to take her place while she’s gone, but no one’s as good as Kate.” Harry rolls her eyes. “Oh well, I’m happy for her. Her and husband have been trying to get pregnant for a while.”

Harry and John make their way to a bar downtown, one of their usual Friday evening spots. They usually met up with some of their other law-school buddies. It was also a great way to blow off steam from the week. Sometimes Harry would end up pulling a 60-hour week, so he thought he deserved to cut loose, and have a little fun with his friends. Maybe meet a pretty girl he could take back to her place and have a whole different kind of fun with her. Harry was a phenomenal attorney, but when it came to his personal life, well, if you looked up the definition of a playboy, his picture would be there. He fucked around, a lot, without a second thought. Actually, his only thought was to make sure he always had a condom. Harry never went bare back. The last thing he needed was someone claiming he was the father of their child, and suing him for child support. The only time he didn’t use a condom was when he was in a legitimate relationship a couple of years back.

He thought about her from time to time. He never met another girl like her, and there were times he really did miss her. The breakup wasn’t anything dramatic, the pair had just grown apart. Harry was in the process of taking over the practice for his father, and she…wasn’t quite ready to settle down. She wanted to work on her own career and make a name for herself. It hurt that she didn’t see him in her vision for the future, but he understood where she was coming from. She was a few years younger than him, and he didn’t want her to resent him for taking away her time to be young and have fun. So they ended it. Since her, he decided to have some fun himself with his friends.

//

Blair got the call right before her second morning class on Wednesday morning. She nearly collapsed on the floor in tears. Everyone rushed over to her. She had to cancel everything for the rest of the week, and her clients were more than understanding.

“How did it happen?” She asks her mother, Pam.

“He had a stroke, and…god, he just didn’t bounce back.” Pam uses a hankie to wipe her tears. “Most of everything should be all set, he was very specific, but…we’re going to need an attorney. Your father’s biggest fear is that his first wife would claim that she has a right to his pension, that she was promised money or something.”

“God, I hate her.” Blair grimaces. “All she’s ever cared about is making him miserable. She just wants money for her son. He’s not even Dad’s!”

“That’s why they got divorced! She cheated on him with his best friend and got knocked up. You can see how sticky this is going to get. I hate to ask, but…”

“I’ll go see him.” Blair sighs.

“I just think he might sympathize, maybe work the case pro bono. I’m not sure we could afford him otherwise.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mum, I’ll talk to him and figure it out. I’m not going to let Lora fuck everything up for you.”

//

Kate nearly choked on her water when she saw Blair walking towards her. She knew Harry had a meeting with a B. Smith. She should have known better.

“B-Blair, hi.” Kate says.

“Kate! Oh my goodness, you look incredible! You and Roger finally-“

“Yeah! I’m due in a couple more months.”

“That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.” Blair smiles. “Um, I think I set up a meeting through an intern?”

“Yes.” Kate sighs. “I’m training her for when I go on maternity leave. Um, may I ask why you’re here to see Harry?”

“It’s strictly business. My…my father recently passed, and-“

“I’m so sorry.” Kate frowns. “He was always so nice.”

“Yeah, he was a good guy. Anyways, there’s a lot going on with his will and a trust he set up for my mom. Harry’s the only person I could think of when my mom said we’d need an attorney.”

“Of course.” Kate nods. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” Kate knocks on Harry’s door and opens it. “Mr. Styles?”

“Yes?”

“Your 2PM is here.”

“Ah, great.” Harry squints at his screen to check his calendar. “B. Smith? Why does that sound familiar?” He puckers his lips in thought.

“Um…it’s Blair.”

“Blair!” Harry stands up and bangs his knee in the process. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?!”

“I didn’t know! Maura answered when she called to set up the appointment.”

“Fuck.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “How do I look? Is there anything in my teeth?”

“No, you’re fine. Just relax, I’m going to send her in.” Kate leaves his office and smiles at Blair. “He’s ready for you.”

“Thank you, Kate. We should catch up before the baby comes.”

“I’d like that. I miss going to your classes.”

Blair nods and goes into Harry’s office, closing the door behind her.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” He walks over to her, leaving about a foot of space between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?” Her bottom lip trembles, and his smile fades. “What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

“M…my Dad died.” She says, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls her in for a hug so he can comfort her. “When’s the funeral? You know you could have just called me, you didn’t have to be so formal.”

“Actually, I did.” She sniffles and steps back from him. “I need an attorney, my mom and I do…only…we can’t really afford a good one.”

“Oh.” Harry nods. “Have a seat.” He gestures, and rounds his desk to sit back down in his own seat. “Is this about his ex-wife?”

“Unfortunately.” Blair rolls her eyes, and grabs a tissue off his desk. “My mom is scared she’s going to pull some fake paternity crap with her son, even though everyone knows he’s not my Dad’s. I think my mom just wants to be prepared for the inevitable shit storm Lora’s going to bring.”

“I don’t blame her.” Harry sighs and leans back in his chair. “I…haven’t taken a pro bono case yet this year. I could help that way.”

“Only if you really want to. I’m not asking for a handout, but I don’t trust anyone else to take care of me.” Blair blinks when she realizes what she’s said. “Us, I don’t trust anyone else to take care of us.”

“Right.” He leans forward. “I’d be happy to do it. Um, does your mom want to meet with me, or-“

“I think she’s sort of hoping I’ll take care of all the legal stuff. She’s grieving, you know?”

“So are you.” He frowns.

“You know me, I like to keep busy during these sorts of things. I can get a copy of the will, and the trust information over to you via email if that works, and then we can go from there?”

“Sure, yeah. My email’s still the same, um, and so is my phone number…”

“I still have your phone number.” She rolls her eyes.

“Then why didn’t you call me about this first? Why call and make an appointment?”

“I…I thought if I called…you’d think I was calling for something else.” She blushes. “I wanted you to know it was strictly business.”

“Blair, all you had to say was that your dad died. I could have been there for you. You live alone, all you do is work…your best friend is my cousin…do you and Riley even still talk?”

“Of course we do! Just because we broke up doesn’t mean that she and I did. I met you because of her, I was her friend first. It would be really shitty to stop talking to her because it didn’t work out with you.”

“Okay, Christ, calm down.” He shakes his head. “You’re as hot headed as ever, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, my father just died and I’m trying to keep it together!” Her eyes rim with tears again. “He’s never going to be able to walk down the aisle when I get married, he’s never going to meet his grandchildren, there are so many things…he was too young.” She sniffles.

“How did it happen?”

“He had a stroke, and didn’t recover.” She looks away.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not going to being him back, so don’t be sorry. Just…help me with this.”

“I will, there’s no question about it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She stands up. “I’ll email you.”

“Blair.” Harry stands up. “Look, if you need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask. If you need a friend…I’m here for you.”

“I have plenty of friends.” She sighs. “And no offense, but my friends don’t fuck a ton of women weekend after weekend and treat them like shit.” She smirks.

“I don’t do that.” His face flushes. “I just haven’t met someone I’ve really wanted to continue seeing, that’s all.”

“Harry.” Blair shakes her head as she chuckles. “Not that I ask, but Riley’s told me a few things. You two are close, and when she gets drunk she loves regaling me of your many escapades.”

“I’ll have to send her a very strongly worded text after you leave.” He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get mad at her, it’s fine. I don’t really care.”

“You don’t?”

“No, why would I? It’s not me you’re fucking, so it doesn’t concern me.” She shrugs. “That’s the beauty of breaking up, Har, I don’t give a shit where you stick your dick at night.”

“Well, obviously you do if you won’t even let me be a friend to you, Blair.”

“I just…I don’t want us getting close again, alright? It’ll hurt when we end up parting way, and I don’t wanna go through that while also grieving my Dad. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out.” He smiles at her.

“Thank you. I need to go. I told my mom I’d be over to help her pack some things up. She sort of just wants to rip the band aid and put his clothes away.”

“If you need any help at all with any heavy lifting, call me.”

“Harry.” Blair sighs.

“I’ve got that nice SUV, I can help move stuff, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll talk to you soon.” She says, and out the door she goes. Kate waits a moment before coming into Harry’s office.

“Scotch?” Kate asks.

“Scotch.” Harry nods, and Kate goes over to his credenza to take out his good crystal and liquor to pour him a small glass.

“You’ll get through this.” She lifts her water bottle to cheers with him, and he downs the brown liquid.

//

Blair was back at work the following week. She needed the distraction. Lora had been eerily quiet. Maybe she didn’t know that Blair’s father passed, but as soon as the obituary hit the papers, she was sure that witch would be out and about to cause some trouble. At the end of Blair’s last Thursday class, she heard the sound of dress shoes on the hard wood. She turns to see Harry.

“You know there’s not supposed to be outside shoes in here. I just mopped.” She puts her hands on her hips and huffs at him.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of the rules. I used to be your best customer, remember?” He smirks. “Anyways, I looked over all the documents, I thought you might like to go over everything with me before the funeral, in case she shows up to cause trouble, you’ll have all the facts.”

“I need to, like, go home and shower…today was an intensive day, I’m soaked.”

“Perfect, I’ve got dinner in the car. We can go there, eat, and go over the documents.” He smiles.

“You’re such a weasel.” She chuckles. “But I’m too tired to argue with you. What did you pick up to eat?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing special.” He shrugs. “Just some dumpling curry from that Thai place we both like.”

“I take it back you’re not a weasel, you’re the devil.”

Harry drives over to Blair’s apartment. He didn’t have a key anymore so he had to wait for her. He follows her up to her apartment, and makes himself at home while she goes to take a shower. She hadn’t changed much, but he definitely noticed some different pictures on her bookshelves. They used to be littered with framed photos of them, and she had a ton of scrapbooks for the two of them, but those seemed to be missing now as well. He sighs while he plates up the food for the both of them, and opens up a bottle of wine while he waits. Blair comes out about ten minutes later with her hair wrapped up in a towel, and her long, plush, pink robe around her body. She sits down next to him at the island.

“Wine?” She questions, but picks up the glass to take a sip.

“It’s been a long day, to be honest with you. I’m gonna work from home to catch up on some sleep tomorrow since I don’t have any meetings.”

“You know I have Fridays off, we could have done this tomorrow.” She frowns.

“It’s okay, I figured you’d want everything now. The funeral’s Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Eat up, and then we can look at everything.”

“We can do both at the same time.”

“Does your nose still run like a leaky faucet when you eat spicy food?” He smirks, and she rolls her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“Thank you for picking this up.” She says as she takes a bite. “I haven’t had this in forever.”

“Me neither…I stopped going because I didn’t want to run into you there.”

“That’s why I stopped going. We should have divided up restaurants when we broke up.” She laughs, and takes another sip of wine. “Do you mind if I dry my hair when we’re done eating? I’ll get a-“

“You’ll get a headache if you don’t, I know the drill.” He takes a sip of his own wine, and eats a spoonful of rice.

“Stop remembering things about me.” She swats a hand at him.

“We were together for long enough, Blair, I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, well, quit throwing it in my face, okay? We’re not doing this to go for a stroll down memory lane.”

Harry knew he’d be waiting at least twenty minutes while Blair dried her hair. He walks around her living room, stretching his legs a bit. He was curious to see what she had filled her bookshelves with. There was a picture of her and Riley from their freshman year of college. Harry picks it up and smiles. Harry was in his first year of law-school when Riley and Blair were college freshmen. He didn’t meet Blair formally until their senior year, and he was in his first year working at his father’s firm. He was helping Riley move in after winter break, and Blair had already been there.

“Blair!” Riley exclaimed. “I missed you so much.” She threw her arms around her.

“I missed you too! I’m glad we both agreed to come back a week early.”

“Same here. This is my cousin, Harry. Harry, this is Blair.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Harry shook Blair’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Her mouth had run dry. They held eye contact for a beat too long. “You’re in law school, right?”

“I finished last year, I’m actually working now. I’m a tax attorney.” He explains. “It’s my dad’s business.”

“And it’s super boring.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Har, could you bring everything in for me? I have a meeting with my advisor that I need to get to. We’re going over my practicum stuff.”

“Sure thing. We’re still getting dinner later, right?”

“Mhm, I shouldn’t be too long. Blair, you don’t mind if Harry hangs here for a bit, do you? You’re also welcome to come to dinner with us.”

“Sure, I don’t have a problem with it.” She shrugged.

“You’re the best. See you in a little while!”

“Is there a lot of stuff? I can help.” Blair said to Harry.

“Not a lot, no. But…I’ve never been here before, so if you could just show me upstairs, that would be great.”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

Harry brought Riley’s suitcase in, and Blair led him upstairs. She showed him Riley’s room.

“Is yours similar?” He asked.

“My room? Um, no…it’s a little different.” She swallowed. “Do you wanna see?”

“I’d love to.” He grinned, and followed her down the hall to her room. “Riley’s told me a lot about you over the years, but she failed to mention how insanely gorgeous you are.” He leaned against her wall after she closed her door.

“Well, she failed to mention how hot her cousin is, but I suppose that would be a weird thing to say about a family member.” She smirked. “How old are you, exactly?’

“I’m about to turn twenty-six, what about you?”

“I’m almost twenty-two…in May.”

“Not a huge age difference.” He walked towards her.

“Not at all.” She looked up at him with big eyes.

“Want me to kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, all done.” Blair says, coming out with her all dry and pretty. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, just saw this old picture of you and Riley.”

“God, we were babies then.” Blair smiles at the photo. “We took that on the day we met at orientation.” She looks at him. “Wanna sit on the couch?”

“Sure.” Harry grabs his briefcase and takes out all of the documents he needed to go over with Blair. “So, as you can see, your father set up a trust for you that you’ll get access to a year after his passing. That’s pretty standard. Your mother has a different sum of money that she’ll be able to access much sooner. There’s absolutely nothing in his will about Lora or her son. Even if she tries to contest it, there’s nothing in here that would indicate he was hiding anything. I looked over their divorce settlement as well, she stopped getting alimony when she remarried. She literally has no case. You and your mum can take a breather.”

“Oh, what a relief! Thank you, Harry. She’ll be able to let herself relax for the first time in a while.”

“Are you going to take any more time off from work?”

“Well, I’m closed Saturday, and I’m off Sunday, and I’m closed Monday as well. Then I’ll be back to it Tuesday.”

“You’re only giving yourself a long weekend?” He frowns.

“Harry, I can’t afford to keep closing. I make enough with the memberships, but I won’t be making the extra I do from the walk-ins.”

“Look, if you need some money-“

“Don’t you dare.” She stands up. “I don’t want your money, Harry, I never have, and I never will. I’m not your goddamn sugar baby!”

“I never said you were!” He says, standing up.

“But you used to make me feel like that all the time! You were always paying for every little thing. You never let me pay for a single thing. It was like you had zero confidence in me, even though I was running a successful business!”

“You were just starting out! All I wanted to do was help you, make it a little easier for you. You’re the one that went to their parents for loan help when I would have done it in a heartbeat! You crushed me.”

“We weren’t even living together, and you were ready to drop that amount of money on me?! That would have been so weird!”

“We were both working odd hours, and we had only been together a few months at that point, moving in would have been weird! A loan is totally different, I would have been investing in something great.”

“Well, I didn’t need your investment! We were together for nearly three years, Harry, what’s your excuse for not living together after all that time, hm?”

“I would have felt guilty. I was never home, I didn’t want you waiting up for me. It was easier when I could just come here and crawl into bed with you after a long day. And you always had to get up so much earlier than me. I thought…I thought it was better that we weren’t living together. You had never lived alone before, I wanted you to enjoy the freedom.”

“Was that it, or did you just want to keep your own?” She huffs, crossing her arms. “You know what, this fight is useless, it doesn’t matter because it’s not going to solve a single fucking thing. Thank you for your help, I really do appreciate it, but now that I know everything’s fine, you can go. If I need anything else from you down the line, I’ll reach out. I’m sure Lora will make a stink, and therefore I’ll need an attorney. But it’s all professional, Harry.”

“You’ve made that plenty clear already, thanks.” Harry packs up his things, and Blair walks him to the door. They look at each other. He just sighs and heads out the door.

Blair would be lying if she said that she didn’t miss Harry. They had a really special bond that was hard to find with just any one. All they did that first day they met was kiss, have a passionate make out, but that was it. Blair didn’t want to go too far with him in case Riley wasn’t comfortable with it. But Riley was overjoyed when Harry asked if she would mind if he asked Blair out on a date. It was a whirlwind from there.

He took her on some of the nicest dates she had ever been on. Most guys would take her out for coffee, maybe a movie if they could scrape the money together, but Harry took Blair out to nice restaurants, and to the movies that had lux levels. Not to mention his condo, god, she loved his condo. He liked that she kept things simple. Crockpot dinners at her place, watching TV curled up in her little full-sized bed, and clipping coupons together on Sunday mornings. That was where they had sex for the first time, in her little bed after their fifth date. He told her he loved her for the first time on the top of a Farris Wheel during the spring carnival her campus held, and she wasted no time saying it back. After that, a deeper trust formed between the two of them. One that not a lot of people would understand. Harry didn’t quite understand it himself since he was usually the one who was a little more dominant in bed, but with Blair…well, needless to say after a long week of working cases, his favorite thing was to come home, find her in his bedroom with some lingerie on, and letting her tie him to the bed posts for a little while. It was a release he didn’t even really know he needed. And with her, having been a college student about ready to graduate and enter the real world, it felt like so many things were out of control. Harry gave her that control back.

Harry wonders if that’s why they breakup seemed so much harder on him than her. It seemed like Blair was able to let go so easily. Yes, he started fucking around afterwards, but he just couldn’t get that same high from anyone else, nor did he trust some random girl at a bar to do the things for him that Blair once did. Blair was just better at hiding her emotions. She missed Harry, she’s missed him for a long time now. She cried for weeks, feeling this undeniable ache in her heart without him around. But, she had her studio to throw herself into, a brand to keep building. It was the perfect distraction, and even though she missed Harry, she didn’t hate being single for the first time in a while. For three years, Harry had been like her security blanket. The way she looked at it, every kid eventually stops sleeping with their security blanket at some point. It was time to be independent.  

//

The funeral was a graveside service. It was cloudy, but there wasn’t rain, which was probably the only upside Blair could think of. She was there, sitting next to her mother, other family members in the row behind them. Her mother was holding Blair’s hand, but this is one the few times Blair wished someone was there for her. Just as the service was about to get started, someone sat down next to her. She looks to her right and sees Harry, dressed in black from head to toe. He doesn’t say anything, he just puts his arm around her, and rubs his shoulder. He gives Blair’s mom a soft smile before sitting back in his seat.

“Harry…you weren’t supposed to come until afterwards…” Blair says.

“I know.” He looks at her. “I just wanted to be here for you.”

Harry gave Blair his extra tissues while she cried during the service. He held her the entire time, and stayed back once it was over. Then, he offered to drive Blair and Pam back to Pam’s home. Neither of them were in any condition to drive. There were a lot of people that came back to the house afterwards. Blair was able to calm down a bit, but her mother was really taking it hard.

“We don’t have to do this today.” Harry says to Blair.

“No, we should just rip the band aid. Then she can just…” Blair’s eyes widen when she sees Lora walk through the door. “Oh, you miserable cunt.” She says.

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“Not you, Lora’s here.” Blair storms over to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” Lora smiles. “I’m here to grieve the loss of my first husband.”

“You weren’t at the funeral.”

“I didn’t want to upset anyone.” Lora shrugs. “So…have you read the will yet? I think I should be in on that.”

“Lora.” Pam says when she walks over. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” Pam sighs, and has everyone follow her down the hall to the guest bedroom. Harry takes out the paperwork.

“There’s been-“ He starts, but he’s cut off.

“I’m sorry, but how is it legal if her boyfriend is reading the will?” Lora asks.

“We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for a while. He’s here as our attorney, that’s it.” Blair says.

“Anyways, been a trust set up for Blair a little down the road. Everything else, including the house, has been left to Pamela Smith. There is no mention of anyone else’s name.”

“That can’t be right.” Lora scoffs. “I was promised-“

“He would have never left you anything.” Pam says. “And I’m sick of dealing with you. He’s gone, he’s left you nothing, you have no ties to us now. It’s clear as day that Derek is not his. He owed you absolutely nothing, you gold digging bitch.” Pam steps closer to Lora. “Now, get out of my house before I have you removed. I buried my husband today, I am in no mood to be fucked with.”

“Fine.” Lora says, turns on her heel and leaves.

“Way to go, Mum.” Blair gives her a high five. “I thought she’d put up more of a fight than that.”

“With your father maybe, but not with me. I’ve ripped her cheap extensions out more than once, and she knows I’ll do it again.” She takes take a deep breath. “I think I’m about ready to be done for the day. I need to lay down.”

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Blair asks her.

“No, honey, thank you. Auntie Fay is staying, I’ll be alright.” She looks at Harry. “Harry, I can’t thank you enough for helping with all of this.”

“Don’t mention it. If there’s anything else I can do, anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Drive Blair home.”

“Mum.”

Pam raises her hands in defense and leaves the room.

“I can drive you back if you want. I took an uber out here as it was.” Harry says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You’ve done enough for me today, it’s alright…I can make it back on my own. Riley’s flying back in from Chicago tomorrow and we’re gonna have a girl’s day, so-“

“Blair, I still have your keys in my pocket, I’m driving you.”

“I don’t need you to swoop in here and act like superman, Harry.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I know my dad’s not around to do it anymore, but-“

“Hey.” He takes her in his arms. “I wish I could take it all away, I really do. I wish you weren’t going through all of this, baby.”

“Harry.” She sighs heavily into his chest.

“Sorry.” He rests his chin on the top of her head. “Some habits are hard to break I guess.”

“Have you called anyone else baby in the last year?” She nuzzles in close to him.

“No.” He tilts her chin up to look at him. “I never could.”

“Okay, you can drive me home.” She sighs. “I’m about ready to pass out as it is.”

Blair takes a few minutes to say goodbye to the people still at the house before her and Harry get into her car. He keeps the music volume low, and her eyes start to droop. Harry can’t help but feel soft and warm knowing she was so easily able to fall asleep with him there still. She’d always fall asleep on long car rides.

“Blair.” Harry says, trying to wake her up. “We’re at your place, love.” She groans at him, and he sighs. “Are you really going to make me carry you up?” She groans again and he rolls his eyes. Blair would always pretend to be asleep so Harry would carry her inside. He unbuckles her, gets out, and opens her door to lift her out. “You’re killing me.” He grunts as he carries her to the front door. He keys in, and carries her up the stairs to her door. “I know you’re awake.” He says as he brings her to her bedroom.

“Mm, but you’re so strong and warm.” She mumbles.

“Okay.” He chuckles and lays her on her bed. “Are your pj’s still in the third drawer of your dresser.”

“Harry.” She sits up. “You don’t have to do all that…”

“I was just gonna grab you a shirt and get out of your hair.” He says innocently.

“God, I’m so confused.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“About what?” He grabs a bed shirt for her, and sits on the edge of her bed.

“I think I’m just feeling vulnerable, I don’t know.” She looks away from him. “I don’t want you to go.” She mutters, and then looks at him. “But I also don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“If you need me to stay as a friend, I can do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’d never leave you like this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was just gonna pretend to leave, and then crash on your couch.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that. Got a queen sized bed now, plenty of room.”

“I can see that.” He smiles. “There was nothing wrong with your old bed. It was kinda fun when we were practically sleeping on top of each other.”

“Yeah, but your bed was better for…well…never mind.” She clears her throat. “Um, I still have some of your old pajama pants in my drawer, you can wear those if you want.”

“I’m good with just boxers if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, um sure.” She gets off the bed to stand up. “I’m just gonna go wash up and change.”

Harry nods and gets undressed. He goes over to her bathroom door to wait his turn. Blair’s eyes widen when she sees him standing there in his underwear.

“You don’t have a spare toothbrush, do you?”

“Um, you can use one of the extra heads I have for my electric brush.”

“Thanks.” He steps into the bathroom as she leaves to go back to her bedroom.

“Oh my god.” She says to herself. He had beefed up a bit. Harry was already sort of beefy, but he used to be leaner. Had he been getting a lot of protein? She shakes her head as she crawls into bed. Harry comes in shortly after and gets in on the other side. She turns her head to look at him. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” He looks at her. “I’d be a pretty shitty person to leave you in a time like this.”

“Yeah, but you could be catching tail at some bar with your friends.” She smirks at him.

“You make me sound like I’m promiscuous or something.” He chuckles and turns fully on his side towards her. She does the same. “It’s a stress reliever, and I always wrap it up. M’not doing anything wrong.”

“Do you, um, do what we used to do with any of these hookups?”

“No.” He smirks. “No, I don’t think I could ever trust someone in that way again even if I tried.” He chews his bottom lip. “What about you?”

“Harry, to be honest with you…I haven’t slept with anyone since we broke up.”

“Blair, that was a year ago.”

“I’m well aware.” She rolls her eyes.

“That’s a long fucking dry spell.”

“It’s not a dry spell, it’s a personal choice. I threw myself into the studio, I worked on choreographing a ton of new dances. I was building my brand, bringing in more clientele. Plus…anytime I’d use a dating app or go out with Riley to a bar…no one was ever you.”

“I know things seemed mutual and we didn’t end in some big blow up…but I was so hurt that we couldn’t make things work.” He reaches to tuck some hair behind her ear. “I thought we were going to be together forever.”

“So did I…but I don’t know if I was ready for something so long-term yet, which I know sounds stupid because three years is a long time to be with someone.”

“It’s not stupid. I would have felt the same at that age. It was sort of selfish of me to try to lock you down the way I was.”

“You weren’t being selfish for wanting to be with me, Harry.”

“You know, the last thing I expected when I helped Riley move in that semester was falling in love with her roommate. You just looked so cute that day.”

“You remember how I looked when we first met?”

“How could I forget? You were wearing these sweater leggings that had snow flakes on them, and you were wearing this oversized sweater that was hanging off your shoulder, and you kept trying to tug it back on. You seemed so flustered around me.”

“I was.” She laughs. “I thought for sure you just wanted to fuck me and then leave with the way you pushed me up against the wall when you kissed me.”

“Yeah, you nearly shit yourself at dinner afterwards. Poor Riley had no idea I frenched you for a solid thirty minutes.”

“My lips were so swollen, she had to have known. I was more in shock when you came by a week later to ask me out. God, you were so cute, you were waiting outside my apartment with hot apple cider, and I had such a shit day at my practicum. I was in dingy sweats too, and you still told me I looked beautiful.”

“And I meant it.”

“Then you said I looked tired, and right before I went off on you, you pulled me inside and said that you were going to make me dinner so I could go upstairs and take a long hot shower.”

“Mhm, made you spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And that really yummy homemade garlic bread.” She smiles.

“Then we cuddled up and watched Ratatouille.” He chuckles.

“I was so mad that you had never seen it! And then you ended up loving it.”

“It’s a great movie, honestly.” He says, smiling at her. “Best first date ever.”

“Yeah, it was. When I went to sleep that night I couldn’t believe that a real man wanted to be with me. I don’t think any of the guys I dated in college knew how to cook.”

“Pretty sure I did a good job making you forget about any other guy you had ever been with.” He smirks, and she nudges his shoulder.

“Maybe…maybe when I’m in a better mindset…we could talk about…I mean…I’ve been thinking about you a lot ever since we started talking again, sorry, I’m rambling.” She sighs. “I don’t want you to think that I wanna give things another shot because you’ve been helping me and my mom, but it’s been hard not to think about it…especially after today.” She blinks away a few tears. “I wasn’t expecting you to come to the service. Riley felt awful that she couldn’t be there, and I felt so alone, even being with my mom. You’re so selfless.” She pouts at him.

“I would love to talk about potentially getting back together. I…I don’t think I realized how much I missed you until you walked into my office. I thought I was out having the time of my life, but I wasn’t. Nobody could ever compare to you.”

“I think I just need some time to make sure I’m not…I’m not just feeling this way because you’re being so sweet to me when no one else is.”

“Take all the time you need.” He strokes her cheek. “M’gonna turn over now. If you just so happen to feel like spooning me, I promise not to question it.”

“Please, snuggling sounds like the perfect medicine after today. Assume the position, Styles.”

He chuckles and rolls onto his other side. Blair slots a leg between his, and wraps her arm around his stomach. They both sigh, and wiggle closer to one another. Blair hadn’t felt peace like this in quite some time, and neither had Harry.

//

Blair woke up in a fog the next morning. Her eyes still felt puffy and swollen from crying, and even though the clock read 10AM, she felt like she could stay in bed for at least two more hours. She remembers Harry staying and falling asleep with her, but he wasn’t there next to her now. Where he laid was still warm, so he couldn’t have left too long ago. When she smells coffee, she wakes up a bit more. There was a coffee cup from Dunkin’ on her side table, along with a small bag that she knew had to be a coffee cake muffin. She sits up and sees a note next to the casual breakfast.

Had to rush off to the office this morning. Got a call that one of my major clients passed, and his family is already fighting over the money. Had to time to run out and get you brekkie though! I’ll call you later. – H

Blair pouts at the note, and takes a sip of her coffee, which had cooled down just enough for her to sip it without burning her tongue. She texts Harry a quick “thank you” before diving into her muffin. This was his signature “sorry for not being there when you wake up” breakfast treat. There had been many mornings Blair had woken up alone after spending the night with him. It wasn’t because Harry liked scooting out, he just usually got pulled away due to something work related, and he knew that Blair liked being able to sleep in when she could on the weekends, especially when she was still in school. She never minded because she knew he was busy. She used to just lounge around for an hour or so in his large bed before getting up and making it. Then she’d take an indulgent bath in his Jacuzzi-tub. He’d usually get back to her sometime in the afternoon, and they would snuggle up to watch a movie before he brought her back to her apartment. It worked for them.

There were plenty of times Blair had to scoot early as well. When she was doing her practicum, she needed to be at the high school no later than 7AM, which sucked because at the time she was a major night owl. It’s taken her years of discipline to get herself to fall asleep at a reasonable time so she wouldn’t be so groggy and grumpy in the morning. That was something that Harry helped with as well. He told her about this sleepy time playlist on Spotify that he would listen to on the nights he needed to go to bed early. Blair had told him she couldn’t afford the premium membership and she didn’t want to be jolted awake by ads. So what did Harry do? He bought the subscription plan that allowed for two people to be on it, helped her shift her account, and even though she protested, he insisted. The music sounded like something a masseuse would put on, and it always put her right to sleep. Harry was a genius, at least Blair thought so.

“How do you always have an answer for everything?” She had cried to him on a particularly stressful evening. It was after she graduated, and she had just gotten her business up and running. She felt overwhelmed and scared. “You always stay so calm, it’s like you don’t even care!”

“I just know that this’ll pass, baby. You just graduated from college, you’re going through a major life change. You’ve had the same routine all your life, and now it’s completely different. In a few months things won’t feel as scary.” He smiled at her, and wrapped his arms around her mid-section. “Went through the same thing myself not too long ago. I promise, it gets a lot better. Your early twenties fucking suck.”

“Yeah? How are things looking in the world of mid to late twenties?” She pouted up at him.

“Well,” he moved some hair away from her face, “I’ve got an incredible girlfriend who loves me, and I just so happen to love her, and I’m feeling settled in mt job, and I have a great place to live, and oh! Finally stopped having stress dreams about missing a big exam. Can’t complain too much.”

“I…I’m gonna be really busy at the studio. I have to choreograph all these dances, and start advertising, and-“

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” He tugged her along down the hall to his home office.

“Harry, I’m not in the mood to fuck in your office…” She said, and Harry chuckled.

“As much as I love it when you let me bend you over my desk, that’s not what this is about.” He took her inside and took out a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. He sat down and pulled her into her lap. “Alright, this used to help me all the time when I was super stressed, still does, actually.” She watched as he drew three large circles, and wrote CHOREOGRAPHY in one, SOCIAL MEDIA, in another, and BUDGET

in the last. “Alright, so these are some rather large cookies, wouldn’t you say?” He looked up at her, and she looked down at him and nodded. “Okay, so what are some ways we can take little bites out of these?”

“Like a checklist for each?”

“Sort of, yeah.” He drew a few stems from each circle. “Almost like a backwards flow chart.”

“Is this what you do with your clients when they ask for financial advice?”

“Sometimes.” He nodded. “But more importantly, I want to help my girlfriend who is insanely frazzled. I hate when people try to be problem solvers…so hope you don’t think that’s what I’m trying to do…”

“No.” She shook her head. “This is great. I think if I have it all laid out in front of me…and can check certain things off…take smaller bites, like you said, I can handle things better.” She grabbed a pen and started writing, and making more stems, color coding a few of them. “My parents are gonna help cover the loan payments for the first year so I can save up, and start paying off my student loans.” She chewed her bottom lip. “And I can set aside some time in the mornings to do the social media stuff, and use the afternoons for choreography…evenings I can work on my website.”

“Just think of how sweet it’ll all taste by the time you finish.” He smiled up at her, and she leaned in to peck his lips.

“I love you, Harry, thank you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He kissed her again, ever so tenderly and soft. “Don’t let this stuff build up, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I just feel like my problems are so trivial, like, there are people that are starving, and I’m crying about being overwhelmed.”

“Your feelings are valid, don’t compare it to what someone else might be going through.”

“Do you think, um, could you just hold me for a bit?” It was so rare for Blair to be this vulnerable. Usually she was the one to hold Harry, but once in a while she just really needed him.

“Of course.” He shifted in his seat to cradle her to his chest. He was so warm and inviting, he always made Blair feel safe.

Blair sighs, and shakes herself from the memory. She couldn’t bask in the good times and act as if there weren’t also bad times. Although…there really weren’t that many bad times. She finishes up her muffin and gets out of bed. She grimaced when she saw herself in her bathroom mirror, and decided a long, hot shower would do her some good. She didn’t have the energy to wash her hair, so she grabs a scrunchie to put it up in a bun on the top of her head. As the warm water cascades over her body, she can’t help but continue to let her mind wander to other old memories.

“Harry! I told you I’d be five minutes.” Blair whispered to Harry as he entered the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and smirked. “Riley’s home! Just down the hall sleeping.” Harry pulled back the shower door, and walked into it with her. All he did was put a finger up to his lips.

“Then we’ll need to be quiet.” He whispered to her, ghosting his lips over hers.

“I…I’ve never had sex in the shower before. I always heard it wasn’t as cracked up as it looks in the movies.”

“That’s because people try too hard to do it full on.” He stepped into the water, getting his hair wet, and then moves her so she’s pressed up against the wall. He knelt in front of her, and looked up at her wet body. “Can I make you feel good, baby?”

“Y-yes.”

He grinned, and lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Now, you need to stay quiet.” He pressed his lips to one of her hip bones, and kissed across her pelvis. “So, if it gets to be too much, just suck on your fingers or something, pull my hair, whatever you need to do.” She watched as his eyes darkened when he licked over her clit. His tongue moved to her slit and licked up. He moaned, letting his eyes flutter closed before looking back up at her. “You have no idea how fucking good you taste.”

“Blair!” Riley exclaims as she comes into the apartment. Blair’s taken from her thoughts just as she was whimpering out Harry’s name.

“I’m in the shower!” Blair yells back, and finishes cleaning herself up. She meets Riley out in the living room once she’s thrown some sweats on. “Hi.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.” Riley wraps her arms around her friend.

“You couldn’t have known.” Blair hugs her back. “A month in Chicago, I can’t wait to hear all about it.” They let go of each other.

“Are you sure you wanna talk about all that?”

“Yeah, I need the distraction.”

“Alright. I brought coffee and doughnuts.” Riley smiles.

“Thank you, but I might save that for later. I had coffee and a muffin earlier…um, Harry spent the night last night.” Blair blushes as they both move to sit on the couch.

“Holy shit! Pleas don’t tell me you called him for a booty call.” Riley frowns.

“No, it was nothing like that. I told you he was helping with all of the legal stuff…he ended up coming to the funeral unannounced. He was there for me…he drove me home and I asked him to stay. We just slept, and he was gone before I woke up because of a work thing.”

“Ah, and he brought you the old comfort breakfast to make up for it.” Riley shakes her head. “Well, I’m glad he was there for you. I always hoped you would become friends at some point after you broke up.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I missed him. I’ve been so independent for the last year, it felt kind of nice to lean on him for a change.”

“Do you think you wanna get back together?”

“I don’t know…I was definitely feeling something yesterday, even this morning, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m just sad and vulnerable, or if it’s because I really wanna give it a second go. I don’t really know what would be different this time. He still works crazy hours, and-“

“He’s dialed back a lot.” Riley cuts him off. “Ever since he’s taken over, and once he really got settled into it, he hasn’t been working himself to the bone like he was. Are there still some sixty-hour weeks? Sometimes, but not like he was, I swear.”

“He didn’t seem to think we still spoke…so that made me think you weren’t as close with him…”

“I don’t hang out with him as much…I speak with his friend John quite a bit, though.” Riley blushes.

“Speak to or fuck?” Blair smirks.

“Don’t. If Harry knew I was messing around with one of his boys, god, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Oh, so he can go out with your friend, but you can’t go out with his?”

“John and I aren’t going out. We just…meet up to fuck sometimes, but we both still hookup with other people. I mean, I’m sure he slept with his share of people while I was away.”

“Did you?”

“There were a couple of people I let take me back to my hotel, yeah.” Riley nods. “Don’t say anything to Harry, okay?”

“Christ, I’m not his best friend all of a sudden. I think I was just emotional last night. I doubt we’ll even-“

There’s a jingle of keys, and then Harry’s entering the apartment. He freezes when he sees Riley.

“Hey! You’re back.” He smiles at his cousin. “How was Chicago?”

“Windy.” Riley says. “But fun, I made a ton of sales.”

“That’s great.” Harry sets the keys on the kitchen counter and then comes further into the living area. “How are you this morning?” He asks Blair.

“I’m okay, um, thanks for breakfast.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry I had to skip out. Uh, I just came back to see how you were, but I can see your girl’s day has started, so I’ll head out.”

“You can stay, Har, we were just gonna paint our nails, nothing you haven’t done with us before.” Riley says. “You don’t mind, right, Blair?”

“S-sure, you can stay, Harry…if you want to.”

“I’d love to stay.” He comes over and sits down on Blair’s other side. “Nothing like giving you a Styles sandwich to make you feel better.” He smirks. “Alright, Riles, what colors did you bring?”

The three ended up having a great day together. It felt like old times. They painted their nails, ordered Chinese, and watched Mystic Pizza. Riley was starting to get tired, so she left around six. The jet lag was catching up with her. So it was just Harry and Blair sitting on the couch watching Wall-E.

“Do you remember the first time we watched this?” Harry asks her a few minutes in.

“Mhm.” Blair smiles without looking at him. “It was that weekend we went away Hampton Beach, and it rained in the evening, so instead of being annoyed, we got all cozy and watched this.”

“After…” He looks at her, a smirk growing on his face.

“Harry.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on, what did we do just before settling in to watch this adorable film?”

Blair sighs, but gives in, “We made hot fudge sundaes, and, um, I let you lay me on the counter and lick chocolate sauce and whipped cream off my body.” She swallows. “Then I did the same to you. We made a mess of the Air BnB.”

“We cleaned it up. Then we got into that big, comfy bed and just vegged out. Think this is one of my favorite Pixar films that you showed me.”

“You really liked Cars too.” Blair chuckles.

“Yeah, I did. That was a good one.” Harry leans back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head.

“You don’t need to do this, you know?”

“Do what, love?” He says without looking at her, eyes focused on the screen.

“Babysit me.” She mutters.

“S’not what I’m doing.” He scoffs. “I’m enjoying spending time with you, Blair.” He looks at her. “And I’m worried about you, but I’m not babysitting you.” He puts his hand on her knee and gives it a squeeze before taking it away. “Just relax, yeah?”

“Thanks.” She pauses for a moment. “Harry…would you be taking care of me like this if you had a new girlfriend?” Her eyes start to well up with tears. “Because-“

“Why are you asking a what if like that?” He reaches to wipe her tears with his thumbs. “At the risk of sounding totally lame…I was sort of just waiting on you. Sort of hoping you’d wanna get back together at some point. I tried dating, but it’s like I told you…no one was ever you.”

“So you just kept fucking strangers?” She was so confused.

“It was all meaningless. I figured if you were out there living your life, then I should do the same.” He shrugs.

“Harry, I know you think we broke up because you thought I needed time to be young or whatever, but I wasn’t out there fucking a ton of different people. I just…I don’t know, I wanted to be on my own.”

“And I understood that, as much as it upset me. What was I going to do, beg you to stay my girlfriend?” He moves a bit closer to her. “If we were to get back together, what would you want to be different? Obviously things stopped working…”

“It’s not that they stopped working, I just…I think I just grew up a little bit. You gave me plenty of room for it, but I just sort of realized that there were other things I wanted to do and I didn’t wanna be totally tied down. If we were to get back together, I wouldn’t want you paying for things all the time, or thinking you need to fix all of my problems. Sometimes I just want someone to listen without making suggestions, you know?”

“I didn’t even realize I was doing that.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know you always meant well, and you were just trying to help in your own way.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “It didn’t always bother me, but sometimes it did. I wasn’t perfect either, I know how closed off I could get.” She furrows her brows. “I’ve been trying to work on that. I added the yoga into my routines…so that’s been helping. You sort of inspired that.”

“I should start my membership back up.”

“Yeah…it would be nice to see you in class again.”

“Remember when I started coming on Tuesday evenings, and then we’d go to the Thai place for dinner afterwards?”

“Mhm, and then you’d take us back to your place, and set up a bath for us.” She sighs dreamily. “And then you’d massage my calves for me, ugh, I always loved that.”

“Couldn’t have my baby being sore the next morning, could I?” He pouts playfully at her, and she giggles.

“You were always so good to me.” Her face was only a few inches from his now.

“Fucking worshiped you.” His lips ghost over hers, and she whimpers.

“Kiss me, Harry.”

His lips slot over hers immediately, and cups her cheeks to pull her even closer. He sucks on her bottom lip, and she whimpers again. Blair tugs on Harry’s shirt, and then pushes his back to the couch. She moves to straddle him, and he wraps his arms around her body. They’re both grabbing at different parts of one another, and she shifts so she’s only straddling one of his thighs, rolling her hips down onto it. Harry groans, and starts kissing on her neck. She gets a fist full of his hair, and yanks his head back.

“Harry, I don’t think this is a good idea.” She admits. “I mean…we haven’t agreed to anything. I think we should take this slow, don’t you?”

“You just told me to kiss you, and then you climbed into my lap.” He smirks, and she starts laughing.

“Yeah.” She grips his chin with her other hand. “You’re always good at doing exactly what I say.”

“Always.” He agrees. “If you’re not planning on having your way with me then you should get off. You’re only gonna rile me up, and I’ve not done anything to deserve that.”

“No, I suppose you deserve a reward instead of a punishment.” She presses her forehead to his and lets her hands fall to his shoulders. She sighs heavily and then looks at him again. “I need a little more time. I wanna make sure that this really makes sense. The last thing I wanna do is hurt you again.”

“I don’t want you to feel hurt either.” He squeezes her hips. “I wanna give you the time, Blair, but you’ve also had a year to sort your feelings. You either wanna do this or you don’t.”

“I really hate it when you’re right.” She huffs. “But I know what you’re saying.”

“How about this…why don’t we go out Saturday night? We could go on a date, and see how it feels.”

“Why not Friday?”

“Because you work early on Saturday mornings, darling, and you’re just going to be getting back to it again.” He tucks some hair behind her hear. “Can’t have you being sleepy.”

“You’re so sweet.” She smiles. “Okay, yeah, I’d like that. Um, did you want to just go out for dinner?”

“If that’s what you wanna do, baby. I’m down for whatever.”

“I haven’t been to that grill we used to go to all the time in forever. Feel like I could go for a really good burger.”

“Alright, we’ll go to Benson’s. I’ll pick you up around six, how’s that sound?”

“I think it sounds like a date.”

//

On Wednesday evening, much to Blair’s surprise, Harry walked into one of her evening classes with Riley. Riley had a cheeky smile on her face, and Blair just shook her head at the two of them. It had been ages since Harry had been to one of her classes, and he had picked a yoga day.

“Good evening, everyone!” Blair says once everyone gets there. “We’re gonna start off with our warm up, and then get in to it. We’ll work a little with the weights, and then we’ll cool down with the yoga like always. Does everyone have their weights?” She hears a collective yes. “Alright!” She hops up onto the small stage and gets the music playing.

When the class is over, a few people hang back to talk to Blair. Riley would usually grab a quick bite with her after class. A guy was talking to her now.

“Hey, who is that?” Harry asks Riley as they clean up their stations.

“Hm? Oh, that’s Rich, he has a thing for Blair.” Riley rolls her eyes. “He refuses to take a hint. The second he found out she was single he was all over her. She’s nice to him, but she doesn’t like him back.”

Harry narrows his eyes, and reads Blair’s body language like a book. Her arms were crossed, and she was casually trying to step away from Rich.

“I’ll get him to leave her alone.” Harry says.

“Harry, don’t.” Riley grabs his wrist. “She can handle herself.”

“I know she can, but she looks so uncomfortable. What if they were left alone here, and he tried something. He needs to know she has some backup.” Harry walks over to the two, and Blair can’t help but smirk because she knows exactly why Harry’s walking over. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we should get going if we want to make trivia night.”

“Right! Yeah, sorry, Rich, I need to get the studio cleaned up so I can head out.” Blair was thankful. Harry was always good at coming up with excuses for them to leave places early. Usually it was because he needed to get her home so she could fuck him, obviously now that wasn’t the case.

“Oh…alright, well, I’ll see you next week. Have a good night.” Rich looks Harry up and down before leaving.

“Thank you.” Blair sighs. “He’s a nice guy, but I’m not interested.”

“Obviously.” Harry scoffs. “Have fun with Riley.”

“You don’t wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need to get home. I have some stuff I need to do before tomorrow. Still on for Saturday?”

“Mhm.” She nods with a smile.

“Good.” He kisses her cheek. “I’ll call you Friday.”

Harry leaves and Riley helps Blair cleanup before they head out to a Panera for dinner.

“So, you two are going out on Saturday?” Riley asks her when they sit down with their food.

“Yeah, it’s sort of like a first date. I wanna make sure things feel really right with us. I have a feeling we’ll get back together officially, though.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?” Riley smirks.

“Well…we kissed on Sunday night when he was still over. It was a really good kiss too, it was familiar, but there was still that, like, passion, you know?”

“I would love it if you got back together. I never really liked the other people he dated, and I was so excited when you both got together. He’s like the brother I never had, and I want him with someone that really cares about him. I never doubted that with you. You guys got together at a weird time in your life where you were sort of at different places. Now…well, now you might mesh better. You grew up a lot during the time you were together, I know that was tough on you both.”

“Yeah, it was.” Blair sighs, and bites into her piece of bread. “I feel like I could handle things better now. He’s been there for me during so many tough times, he’s seen me…at my absolute worst, and still loved me through all of it. I can’t wrap my head around him turning into such a playboy.”

“I couldn’t believe it myself, but I honestly don’t think he really knew how to deal with not having you around, and then…I don’t know.” Riley shakes her head. “He always wrapped it up, that’s what John told me, anyways.”

“He mentioned that to me too.” Blair rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to hold anything against him, we weren’t together. I don’t have the right to judge him about it.”

“He only wanted you, B.” Riley smiles.

“I really have missed him.” Blair smiles. “I’m really looking forward to going out with him Saturday night.” She bites her bottom lip. “Wanna come with me to Victoria’s Secret during the day? I think I should pick out something new…”

“Yeah! I’ve got a coupon to go there, actually. I need some new undies.”

“Oh, yay! We haven’t been shopping in forever.”

“I know! I hope I’m not on the road for an entire month like that again. It got old real quick.”

//

On Friday, Harry was in his office wrapping some things up, going over some paperwork. Then he looked over his calendar for Monday, just to see what meetings he had, and if he needed to do anything over the weekend.

“Mr. Styles?” Kiley, the intern training with Kate comes into his office.

“Miss Stewart, what can I do you for?” He asks, giving her his full attention. She pouts slightly at him.

“You can just call me Kiley…you call Kate by her first name.”

“I’ve known Kate for quite some time, Miss Stewart.”

“Well, we’ll get to know each other pretty well once she’s on maternity…right?”

“Most likely.” He nods. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, sorry.” She pulls a paper out of her bag. “Um, I just need you to sign off on the hours I worked this week since Kate left early. I forgot to ask her before she stepped out for her doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh, sure.” He gestures for the paper. “They’re really on you guys about the hours, huh?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I don’t mind, though, because I have to write a paper explaining what I did, so having an account of that will be helpful.” She shrugs. Harry hums his response as he signs the paper and hands it back to her. “Thank you…any fun plans for the weekend?”

“Just laying low tonight. I’ve got a date tomorrow, though.” He smiles.

“Oh! That’s nice.” She smiles. “Did you just meet someone?”

“No.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Might be starting over with my ex, which I’m pretty excited about since I’m still hopelessly in love with her.”

“Well in that case, I hope it goes super well.” She beams at him.

“Thank you, Kiley.” Her smile widens at him even more. “Feel free to head out, enjoy your weekend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles. I expect a full report of your date on Monday morning.”

Harry chuckles and nods as she leaves. Just when he thought his door was going to close, John enters.

“Wrap it buddy boy, we gotta meet the guys soon.”

“About that…I’m going to skip out on tonight.”

“Seriously? Why?” John frowns.

“I…I have a date tomorrow night with Blair, and-“

“You can’t be serious.” John rolls his eyes and sits down. “Why would you even entertain the idea of getting back together with her?”

“Because she seems ready for a relationship again. I still love her, and I think she still loves me. There’s still a chemistry between us, physically, so we’re going to Benson’s for a burger tomorrow to see if everything else is still there.”

“So that means you can’t come out for guy’s night?”

“You know as well as I do that guy’s night never stays guy’s night. I don’t want to be tempted by anything that could fuck me over. Besides, it wouldn’t kill me to stay in for a change. There’s a book I’ve been meaning to get back to. I wouldn’t mind just taking it easy, you guys have a good time without me.” Harry smiles at his friend. “It’s nothing personal…”

“I know.” John sighs. “You’re just fun, that’s all…” John looks down at his phone and smirks.

“Maybe you’ll meet up with that girl you see on the regular. Seems like she just texted you.”

“Maybe she did.” John nods.

“How come you don’t just date her? I’ve watched you turn down other girls to go meet up with her a dozen times.”

“It’s a little complicated. She travels a lot for work, we’re both just looking for someone familiar to hookup with right now.”

“Guess that makes sense.” Harry shrugs. “You’re pretty busy yourself”

“Exactly, so when’s around I see her more, and when she’s gone, I see other people. She does the same. We’re pretty open about it.”

“Good.” Harry smiles. “Have a beer for me tonight, yeah?”

“Alright.” John sighs and stands up. “Have fun with Blair, I guess.”

“You could sound a little more enthused.”

“I’ll be enthused if she doesn’t string you along.”

“She never strung me along.” Harry shakes his head. “We were a great team.”

“Seems like you were always doing everything for her.”

“No, she did plenty for me.”

“Babe?! I picked up a pizza!” Blair shouted as she entered Harry’s place, putting her key in the bowl by the door. “Baby?!” He wasn’t in the kitchen like she thought he’d be. She set the pizza down on the counter and walked down the hall to his home office. Her jaw dropped when she saw him knuckling at his eyes. “Harry, are you crying?” She asked softly.

“Blair.” He said, almost surprised. “Hi, I lost track of time, I’m sorry. Let’s eat.” He stood up, but she went over to him and urged him to sit.

“What happened, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, baby.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re crying. Talk to me.”

“I’m just really stressed.” His voice cracked. “I was looking forward to taking over for my dad, but there’s so much other shit that’s been added to my plate that he didn’t really prepare me for. Now he’s down in Florida living it up with my mum, and I can’t even talk to him about it because I don’t want him to be disappointed in me. He’s trusting me with everything.”

“That’s a lot.” She wipes=d his tears away. “I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Is…is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can do to help take your mind off things for a bit? I brought pizza…”

“Um…yeah, I think there is something you could do for me, but it doesn’t involve food.” He stood and took her hand, leading her out to the living room. They both sat down. “Sometimes when we’re having sex…I let you take the lead, have you noticed that?”

“A little.” She shrugged. “I mean, I like that you’re not super dominating, it makes me feel safe.”

“Right, but before you I wasn’t really like that. I was always in control, but with you…I feel really safe too. So safe…that I’m able to just let everything else slip away when we’re doing what we do.”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I…I sometimes I think I want you to really be in control. I’m not saying all the time, but I have to be in control of so many things, and I think it would be nice to not.”

“Okay, so I could ride you more if you want.”

“Well, that would be nice.” He smirked. “But I’m talking more like…like maybe you could blindfold me once in a while, or you could cuff me to the bed?” His was flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes widened as she finally started to understand what he was trying to say. “I’ve totally freaked you out, haven’t I? I know that stuff isn’t for everyone. I was just thinking we’ve been together a while now-“

“Harry, calm down.” She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I think it’s kind of hot that you wanna explore some different things.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” She nodded. “I…just don’t ask me to, like, whip you or anything. I don’t think I could hurt you.”

“No, I’m not looking for pain.” He chuckled. “I just…wanna clear my head sometimes, that’s all.”

“Okay, I think I could be into that. You know how much I love all your ties, I’d love to tie you up with them.” She grinned, and he groaned softly.

“What do you say we leave the pizza for later, and we head into the bedroom to explore a little bit?”

“I say we’re in for a fantastic weekend.”

“Whatever you say man.” John says. “See you Monday.” John leaves Harry’s office, and Harry sighs. He never told anyone about what he and Blair did, it was no one’s business. He certainly wasn’t going to let it slip now.

//

At around 10AM Saturday morning, Blair picked up Riley so they could go shopping. Riley had bags under her eyes, and a fresh hickey on her neck. Blair’s mouth fell open the second Riley got in the car.

“Don’t.” Riley mumbles.

“I didn’t say anything.” Blair chuckles.

“But I know what you’re thinking.”

“Did you meet up with John last night?”

“Yeah, I guess Harry didn’t feel like going out last night, so I met up with him at some bar, and then he came back with me to my place.”

“Oh shit, is still there?”

“No, he left at, like, seven.” Riley rolls her eyes. “But not before he fucked me again.” She shakes her head. “We’ve fucked so many times, I don’t know how he’s not sick of me yet, or how I’m not sick of him.”

“Maybe it’s a sign you two should be more.” Blair smirks.

“I mean, we’re basically just in an open relationship, that’s the way I look at it anyways.” She shrugs. “We were up most of the night.” She yawns loudly.

“You could have stayed home.” Blair frowns as she keeps her eyes on the road.

“No, it’s okay, I wanted to go shopping with you.”

The girls make their way to a Victoria’s Secret, and start shopping around. Just as Riley hoped, there was an underwear sale. Blair indulged in it as well. Nothing wrong with getting some new undies to replace some old ones.

“Oh, these are cute!” Blair says, holding up a cheeky pair of panties.

“Yeah! I’ve been way more into the lace cheeky bottoms instead of thongs lately.”

“Me too! It’s way more comfortable. To be honest, I wear boxers a lot around my apartment. They’re more breathable than athletic shorts, and they don’t ride up.”

“Of course men have more comfortable underwear than us.” Riley sighs heavily. “Oh! Look at these white ones! Can never have too many white pairs.”

“Snag me a pair, please.”

Once the girls are done picking out their underwear, and a couple of bras that were two $50 (yes, way overpriced, but necessary), they head to the part of the store where the lingerie was.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Riley asks as she looks over some babydoll nighties.

“I don’t know, nothing crazy, but if things go well tonight, which I think they will, I wanna surprise him with something fun.”

“You’d really jump into bed with him right away?” There was no judgement in Riley’s voice, more so surprise.

“I mean…I know he’s your cousin and all, but he’s pretty hard to resist, Riles. He had me wrapped around his finger from the second we met.”

“Fair enough.” Riley shrugs. “I might try one of these on…surprise John one of these nights.”

The girls giggle as they pick out different things. Blair ends up finding a black lace bralette and matching panties that she thinks will work well under an outfit. The only thing was the bralette didn’t have any support, like, at all, but she was able to adjust the straps on it a bit to give her a slight lift.

“God, I wish I danced as a kid.” Blair huffs as she leaves the dressing room to meet Riley out at the register line.

“Why?”

“Because then maybe I wouldn’t have these fucking honkers on my chest. I’d love to be able to wear a bralette without worrying. My boobs are so saggy, I look like a granny when I don’t have the proper support.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Riley chuckles.

“Easy for you to say, Miss B Cup.”

“Hey, I’d kill to have boobs like yours. I always feel like mine are too small. I have to wear pushups all the time. Besides, your boobs are not saggy, they just sit a little lower on your chest.”

“When I really started dancing I thought they’d get smaller since I was working out all the time, but nope. The worst part is, it’s all right here.” She lifts her arm slightly and rubs just under her armpit. “I’m only a C, but I feel like a double D sometimes when I put a bra on, it takes all the side boob to the front.” Blair puts her things up on the counter, and Riley goes to the next register.

“Find everything okay?” The girl behind the register asks.

“Mhm.” Blair smiles. “I have some coupons too.” She takes her phone out so the girl can scan the barcodes on Blair’s screen.

“Oh, that’s a good one! Took off 25% of your total.” The girl puts everything into a bag for Blair, and she heads out with Riley.

“So, when will John get to see that babydoll?” Blair smirks at Riley.

“When I feel like he deserves it.” Riley grins. “If he invites me over tonight, I might bring it with me.”

“Do you usually see him two nights in a row?”

“Sometimes, but not often. I think he missed me a little since I was gone for so long. Kinda missed him too. He told me he’d call me later today.” She shrugs.

The girls grab a quick lunch before heading home. Blair didn’t want to eat anything too heavy since she was going to be eating out for dinner, so she just had a salad. She spent some time doing some social media work for her business, and then spent some time putting a new dance together. Her customers had been asking for some more throwbacks, so she was crafting some choreography to a couple of Ricky Martin songs. They could be used for the high intensity days. She always recorded herself so she could go back later to review the steps.

When she was done she was drenched in sweat, so she hops into the shower to freshen up. She sort of ends up pampering herself a bit. She shaved her legs, so she massaged some lotion into them, and used some cocoa butter on her thighs because she liked the way it smelled. After that, she grabbed her electric razor to trip her bikini line, having exfoliated first in the shower, so she was plenty smooth where she wanted to be. She spritzes some perfume into the air and walks through it, then she gets to work on her hair. She had been sporting a shoulder length look lately. Her hair used to be really long in college, but in recent years she had been keeping it a tad shorter. It was up in a braid or bun most days, but she decides to wear it down tonight. She puts on some makeup, and then goes through her closet to find something to wear over her new lingerie. She decides on a pair of black jeans that could easily be word with some booties. She pulls on a blush pink tank top and a tan cardigan to complete the look. You could just see the lace top of the bralette, and she sort of liked that look. Her phone goes off just as she’s putting some lipstick on.

“Hello?” She answers brightly.

“Hey, baby, I’m downstairs.”

“Okay, be down in a sec!” She throws some makeup remover wipes into her bag, and a spare toothbrush, then she heads out. Again, she didn’t quite know what would happen tonight, but she wanted to be prepared. Harry was standing outside his car. He smiles when he sees her.

“Hi.” He says, and opens the car door for her.

“Hi, thanks.” She smiles back and gets inside. They head towards Benson’s, being silent in the car at first. “How was your week?” She asks him.

“Good, had a pretty good workout Wednesday.” He grins, looking at her for a moment before looking back at the road. It makes Blair giggle. “Work wasn’t too stressful for a change, although I’m getting anxious about Kate going on maternity leave.”

“Is the intern no good?”

“No, she just doesn’t have a lot of experience. She’ll get the hang of it.” He shrugs. “How was your week, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I spoke with my mom last night, she’s doing alright. My aunt’s been staying with her, so that’s good.”

“Do you think she’ll sell the house?”

“Nah, she likes where she lives, but I think she’s going to paint and change a few things so it doesn’t feel like such a ghost town, you know?”

“Makes sense.” Harry nods. “I know I’ve offered a ton, but if she needs any help with anything, don’t be afraid to ask. I can hold my own with a paintbrush.”

“Thank you, Harry, that’s very sweet.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze. “It was really nice having you in class Wednesday.” She says shyly.

“Yeah? Would you be opposed if I started coming regularly again?”

“Not at all, I’d really like it, actually.” She smiles. “It…it made it easier to wait to see you tonight.” She blushes, and he reaches for one of her hands. He brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“You’re cute.” He tells her, resting their hands on the console, not letting go at all.

They get to Benson’s, and get seated in a booth. Harry hesitates for a moment, desperately wanting to sit next to her, but he thinks that might be too much too soon, so he sits across from her. She gives him a funny look.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing…you’re just far away. You usually sit next to me.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“I want you to.” Harry smiles, stands back up, and slides in next to her. She hooks her arms around his and rests her cheek on his shoulder. “Much better.” She sighs. He kisses the top of her head, and a waitress comes over.

“Evening, folks, are you expecting anyone else?” She asks.

“No, love, it’s just us.” Harry says to her, squinting at her nametag. “Becky, is it?”

“Y-yes.” She clears her throat. “Can I get you started with any drinks or appetizers?”

“Definitely two waters.” Blair begins. “And I’ll have a vodka-tonic, please.”

“I’ll have the same.” Harry says. “Do you want an app?” He asks Blair.

“No, I think just the burger will be good.”

“Right, think we’re ready to order dinner.” Harry says to Becky.

“Great! What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the turkey burger with cheddar cheese and sautéed mushrooms.” Blair says.

“And I’ll have veggie burger with avocado.” Harry says.

“Sounds good, I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Becky says, taking their menus before walking away.

“Just a veggie burger?” Blair asks Harry.

“Yeah, I’ve been craving a good one lately, and they make the best here.”

“Very true.” She nods. Becky comes back over with the drinks, and sets them on the table. “So…do anything fun last night?”

“I stayed in.” Harry says, before taking a sip of his drink. “Got caught up on a book I’ve been reading, watched a little TV, nothing special.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go out with your friends. Isn’t Friday usually your guy’s night?”

“Yeah, I just felt like skipping last night.” He shrugs. “What about you, what did you do?”

“I ran errands all day, and then went to bed early so I could get up for my early classes this morning. Then Riley and I went shopping, and then I did some work at my place. Got ready to go out with you.” She shrugs.

“What does Riley have to say about all this?”

“She’s happy that we’re entertaining the idea of getting back together.” Blair chuckles and sips her drink. “Did you tell anyone we were going out tonight?”

“Mentioned it to my intern…and to John. He wasn’t so enthused.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“He’s never liked me, and I literally have no idea why.”

“Think he was just jealous that I snagged someone as gorgeous and bright as you.” Harry grins. “You know, when we first got together a ton of people gave me shit because you were still in school.”

“I was in my last semester, and I was twenty-one, it wasn’t like I was a child.” Blair scoffs.

“That’s what I said! It wasn’t like I was looking for someone younger than me, it just happened.”

“We just clicked right away, nothing wrong with that.” She inches a little closer to him, her ankle hooking around his under the table.

“Not at all.” His lips graze over hers, but their food is brought over to the table before they can really kiss.

They both giggle and dig into their food, each moaning out at the taste. They continue to talk about things, catching each other on the last year that they weren’t in one another’s lives. It felt easy and natural.

“I don’t wanna be too forward, but would you like to come back to mine when we’re done?” Harry asks.

“I’d like that.” She nods. “Got any sweets at home?”

“Mhm, I’ve got those chewy chocolate chip cookies you like so much.”

“This night just keeps getting better and better.” She smiles. When the check comes, they both reach for it.

“Blair, let go of the check.”

“No, I wanna pay for dinner.”

“I insist, let me pay.”

“Harry, I don’t want you always paying for everything, come on.”

“Fine, can we at least split it?”

“Ugh, fine.” She slaps her card down and so does he.

“So fucking irritating when you do that.” He huffs.

“No, what’s irritating is that you think I can’t pay for stuff.”

“That’s not what this is! I just like paying for our dates, it’s gentlemanly.”

“Yeah, well, it makes me feel like shit.” Becky comes to grabs the cards, and tells them she’ll be right back. “I’m doing well for myself now, I want things to be more equal. I’m not with you for your money.”

“I know you’re not, baby…I just…I can’t help that I wanna spoil you rotten.” He presses his forehead to hers, and she sighs before pecking his lips quickly.

“There are plenty of other ways you can do that, Harry.”

“Am I gonna have the chance?” Becky comes back with their cards, and they both sign their slips before sliding out of the booth. She takes his hand in hers as they walk out.

“Yes.” She says as they both get into the car. “I…I think wanna see where this goes with you, babe. I feel like I’m really ready for you now…”

“That means the world to me, Blair.” Her bottom lip starts to quiver, and he frowns. “Hey, why are you crying?” He reaches to caress her cheek.

“I just can’t believe you basically were waiting for me all this time.” She sniffles. “I feel so shitty. And I feel even shittier because I’m jealous of all the other people you slept with that we weren’t together.”

“Baby.” Harry sighs. “I was so in love with you, still am, none of them meant anything. I’m sorry you feel hurt by it. You don’t need to worry about it now, though, I’m all yours.” Her hand grips the collar of his shirt and she tugs him close to her, only a few centimeters apart.

“Mine.” She says, eyes darkening before her lips crash against his. She nips and sucks at his bottom lip as his hands cup her cheeks, trying to get even closer.

“Fuck.” He breathes, putting his keys in the ignition. “Need to get you home.” He pulls onto the street, and zips them home. His hand grips her thigh the entire time, squeezing it occasionally.

“Thought of you last weekend in the shower.” She says, shifting on her side a little. “Thought of the first time we had sex in the shower.” Her breath is on his ear now, and she nibbles on his lobe.

“Blair.” He warns, but she keeps going, kissing on his neck.

“Made me feel so good, always make me feel good.”

“Blair, I’m going to crash the car, just sit patiently, please.” She sits back normally in her seat. “Thank you.” He sighs. “So, you really thought of me?”

“It was hard not to with you leaving me breakfast.” She pouts at him. “So sweet of you, and I haven’t had a chance to even reward you for being so good to me.”

“You’re still into all that?” He asks cautiously.

“Only for you…do you still like it?”

“Only if it’s you. I told you I didn’t do that with anyone else.”

“You still trust me enough?”

“Course I do, baby.” He reaches for her hand to intertwine their fingers. He drives a little faster to his place, and they finally reach it. “Gonna take care of you first, and then you can do me, alright?”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

They get up to his place, somehow keeping their hands to themselves in the elevator. Before she knows it, Harry’s slamming Blair against the wall of his front hallway, attacking her neck with his lips.

“Gonna mark you up.” He says as he sucks on her skin. “Then everyone will know you’re taken again.”

She whimpers as her response, and pushes his head further into her neck. She wiggles out of her cardigan, and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Jump.” He grunts into her ear, and she does so, wrapping her legs around his waist so he can carry her to his bedroom. He sets her down on the bed, letting her get her shoes off. He does the same before kneeing onto the bed. She takes her tank top off, and his mouth waters at the sight of the bralette. “Christ.” He breathes as he gropes her supple breasts. “Missed these.” He sucks on her nipple through the lace, and her head rolls back. He does the same to the other one, getting it nice and pebbled. One of his hands slides down between her legs and he whimpers. “Need to get these off you, that okay?”

“Mhm, yeah, please.”

He undoes her button and zipper, yanking the jeans off of her. His eyes widen when he sees the matching panties.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Blair. Are these new?”

“Yeah, bought them today, just for you.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Wouldn’t mind you taking them off, though.”

Harry nearly growls as he tugs them down her legs. His hands slide up and down her smooth skin, having missed the feeling of her skin on his. He spreads her legs apart, and starts leaving open mouthed kisses on her inner thighs, sucking some nasty bruises into them. Blair clutches at his blankets and grits her teeth while he has his fun marking her up.

“Can I?” He asks, looking up at her. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, of course you can.” She reaches forward to push his hair back, and he smiles at her before licking up her slit.

He licks and sucks all around her folds before working his tongue around her clit, sucking on it briefly before bringing his thumb to it. He licks into her center, making her mewl as he essentially just makes out sloppily with the area.

“Yes, fuck.” Her hands rake through his hair. “Feels so good, Harry.” She grinds against his face, and he moans against her. “Harry, fingers, please, use your fingers.” She whines.

He lifts his head from her, and reaches his hand up to her so she can suck on his fingers. She does so happily, and then he slips two fingers inside her. She gasps and lets her body go slack against the bed.

“Baby, shit, you’re so fucking tight, does it hurt?”

“No, feels so god, m’so wet.”

“I know, you’re dripping.” He pulls his fingers out and sucks on them, moaning again before slipping them back inside to the knuckle.

“R-right there.” She whimpers. Her mouth was open, body writhing under his, having not been touched by another man in almost a year, her body was reacting on overdrive. Her back was arching, and she was pushing her head further into the mattress. “Harry, Harry!” She screams as she comes around his fingers, and he fucks her through it, sucking on her clit to prolong it. As she starts to come down he sits up, and starts taking his shirt off. “Fuck, I’m gonna give it to you so good.” She sits up and watches he takes his clothes off. She takes her bralette off, and tosses it on the floor.

“How do you want me?”

“That depends…um…what would you like me to do? Like, how…how hard do you wanna go tonight?”

“I wanna be able to touch you since it’s been so long, and I wanna be able to look at you.”

“Alright, so we can just keep it sweet and easy, save the rest for another time.”

“Yeah…work back up to it.”

“Get on your back, m’gonna ride you.”

Harry gets himself situated, sitting up against the headboard. Blair raises an eyebrow at him.

“Just wanna be as close as possible tonight, baby.”

“Okay.” She smiles, and gets herself on his lap.

“Are you still on the pill?”

“Mhm, are you okay to not use a condom?”

“Definitely don’t want to. Need feel you.”

“Need to feel you too.”

She grips his hard cock, giving it a few pumps before she guides it inside herself. Her mouth falls open as she feels him stretch her out. Harry looks down and watches as she swallows him whole. They both moan out once he’s full inside her. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as she gets adjusted to him. His hands squeeze at her hips and ass.

“Shit, Harry.” She presses her forehead to his. “Missed you so much.”

“Missed you too.” He cups her cheeks and kisses her as she starts to slowly rock on and off him. His tongue slips into her mouth, and she grips at his back as she kisses him back. “You feel so fucking good.” He says before biting her bottom lip, sucking on it.

She whimpers and moves herself a little faster on him. She grinds herself against him, feeling the friction on her clit start to form. His arms wrap around her back, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Move with me.” She says into his ear before nibbling on it.

He groans as he starts to thrust up into her. She starts to bounce up and down him, moving his hands to her hips. He watches as her breasts bounce in front of his face, and he leans in to kiss and suck on them. Her head rolls back with pleasure. She wanted to feel his tongue all over her. She brings two fingers to his mouth, and he takes them in quickly. He looks up at her as he sucks on them, swirling his tongue around them, and nipping at the pads of them. She takes them away to rub at her clit.

He growls, and moves to pin her on her back, surprising her completely. He was never like this in bed with her. She looks up at him with wide eyes as he throws one of her legs over his shoulder, and replaces her fingers with his own. She groans at his touch. He was driving himself in so much deeper and she could barely handle it.

“Okay?” He asks her, panting slightly.

“Mhm, it’s good, so good.” One of her hands goes to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss. They breathe each other in and out once they both start panting. “Harry, fuck, I’m so close.” She squeezes around him and he bites down on her shoulder.

“Blair.” He moans into her ear. “Can I come inside you?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, please!” She screams as she’s coming again, feeling even more turned on when she feels Harry’s hot come start to fill her up. She grinds her hips towards his trying to make her orgasm last as long as possible. “Love it when you fill me up, feels so good.” She says as she continues to squeeze around him.

He slots his mouth over hers as they both start to come down. Their tongues mold together as they kiss lazily. He’s slow to pull out, but he was too sensitive to stay inside her any longer. She squeezes her legs closed to try to not make a mess. Harry scoops Blair up quickly bridal style to carry her to the bathroom, setting her down gently on the toilet, and leaving her to do her business. When she walks out of the bathroom, he’s laying on his bed in a fresh pair of boxers with a dreamy smile on his face. She climbs onto the bed and lays in between his legs, resting her head on his tummy. She buries her face into his soft skin while he starts to card through her mussed up hair.

“So…we’re really back together?” He asks after a few moment of peaceful silence. She looks up at him with a smile on her face.

“Yeah, I really wanna be your girlfriend again.”

“You have no idea how happy I feel right now.” He continues to play with her hair as she sets her head back down.

“You’ve never really taken control like that before…I kinda liked it.” She peers up at him again, grinning. “Maybe I should see what being the sub feels like sometime.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know if I could switch like that. Don’t think I’d get much pleasure in making you wait for things. Think I’d give in the second you asked for something.” He chuckles.

“You’re so cute, Harry, but I understand what you’re saying. I don’t mind being the one to do that stuff when you really need it, babe.” She moves further up his body so she can be closer to his face. “Do you think in a bit when you’re ready to go again we could…bring out some of your ties?”

“Feel like I’m already bloating back up, fuck.” He groans, and kisses her.

“You know what I’ve really missed doing with you?” She says, moving her lips to the shell of his ear.

“What, baby?”

“Fucking that tight hole of yours.” She says lowly, and he whimpers.

“Yes.” He breathes, and she looks at him. “Still have everything, it just hasn’t been used in a while.”

“Would you really wanna get into all of that tonight? I mean, I’m game if you are…you seemed hesitant before.”

“I just wanted to feel really close with you before, but now that we’ve got that out of our system I’m definitely up for it.” He pecks her lips. “We’ve got the rest of the weekend to do all we want.”

“Mmm, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, and maybe sometimes during the middle of the week. Oh! Remember when I used to come to your office at work, and I’d let you bend me over your desk, god, that was always so hot.”

“Or that time we screwed in that bathroom at your studio?” His smile was incredibly mischievous.

“Or the times you sit me up on the counter in your kitchen and fuck me?”

“Or the time you bent me over my own desk her here?”

“I think it’s time we make some new memories.” She says, getting off of him, and extending her hand out to him for him to follow.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.”

Blair leads them inside Harry’s walk in closet where he kept his box of toys. It was still in the same spot as always. She pops the lid off and they both smile at each other.

“How long do you think I could edge you for?” She asks him.

“Um, I should be okay to go for a while since I already came.”

“Excellent.” She picks up a cock ring, the kind that vibrates. “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.

[picsofsannyas]

OSHO, FOR MOST OF MY LIFE I HAVE HELD MYSELF ALOOF, SEPARATE AND ISOLATED, AND I HAVE THEREFORE BEEN PROTECTED FROM PEOPLE AND SITUATIONS. MY INNERMOST FEAR HAS ALWAYS BEEN THAT IF I OPENED MY HEART TOTALLY THE VAST LOVE THAT I FEEL WOULD RUSH OUT LIKE WATER FROM AN OVERFLOWING WELL AND BE LOST, DIVERTED OR REJECTED. MY ESSENCE IS LIKE A DELICATE FLOWER AND IF IT BLOSSOMED IN THE WRONG TERRAIN IT COULD EASILY BE BADLY BRUISED OR DESTROYED. THIS IS MY FEAR. IS THIS THE TIME AND PLACE TO OPEN MY HEART TOTALLY?

Tom Cassidy,

It is one of the most basic fears of all human beings. This is the fear that has created the monks and the nuns. The whole past of humanity has been dominated by this fear -- like a cancer of the soul.

It looks very logical that if you share your love you will be wasting it and soon you will become poor. This is the ordinary law of economics: if you want to have more money don't share it, be miserly. Get as much as you can and give as little as possible. Then only can you accumulate, then you can be rich.

This is true as far as the outside world is concerned, but this is absolutely untrue about the inner world; there a totally different law functions. The inner law is: if you don't give you will lose; if you give you will keep. The more you give the more you will have; the less you give the less you will have. If you don't give at all then you will not have anything, you will be just utterly empty, a grave, and inside the grave there is no possibility of any flower blossoming. The flower needs the sun, the rain, the wind, the stars, the sky, the birds. Howsoever delicate it is, it needs to open up to existence. In that opening the fragrance is released, the imprisoned splendour is released.

Tom, you are basically a monk. The word 'monk' is significant; it means 'one who lives a lonely life', one who lives a life of no relationship, of no relatedness, of no love, of no sharing; who lives a windowless life closed on all sides, utterly closed in himself out of the fear that if he opens up, who knows what will happen to his tender heart, to his delicate inner being? He is afraid of rejection, he is afraid of situations, he is afraid of the unknown. He clings to himself, but this clinging only brings death. He may go on dragging for years, but that is not life, that is slow suicide.

The very word 'monk' means one who has decided to live a lonely life. From the same root comes 'monastery', where people live in loneliness. From the same word come word  like 'monopoly', 'monotony', 'monogamy' .

Trying to live on your own, unbridged with others, is the most dangerous idea that can possess anybody ever, and once it starts taking on religious colours then it becomes very difficult to get rid of it because it fulfils your ego, it nourishes all that is wrong in you, it destroys all that is beautiful in you. In a grave there is no possibility of roses flowering -- inside a grave -- but there is a possibility of snakes and scorpions and spiders -- all that is ugly, all that is poisonous. If the grave is completely closed its very air will be poison.

And millions of people are living the life of monks and nuns. They may not have gone to the monastery, they may be living with their wife, but closed, with their children, but closed. They may be living in the world but so guardedly, so cautiously, so calculatively that their life cannot have any joy, any dance, any song.

One needs a little courage to make life a celebration.

You say, Tom: FOR MOST OF MY LIFE I HAVE HELD MYSELF ALOOF...

You have been suicidal! Life means togetherness with existence, with the trees, with the rivers, with the rocks, with people. with animals, with all that is. To relate with it multi-dimensionally that's the only way to make your life rich. The more you relate. the more multi-dimensional you are. the rich you are, the more you grow, the more you blossom. There is still time. Drop this stupid idea of being aloof separated and isolated. That you can do after you die! Then you will have more than enough time. From your name it seems you are a Christian. Then you will have more than enough time -- till the Last Judgement Day! Then you can live in your grave as a monk, you can keep your Bible with you, you can keep your rosary. But while you are alive, while this immense opportunity is given to you, live it, rejoice in it!

Jesus says again and again to his disciples, 'Rejoice! Rejoice! I say again rejoice'. Jesus was not a monk, he was a very alive man. He lived with all kinds of people: the gamblers. the drunkards, the prostitutes, the sinners, the tax collectors. He and not with the idea of 'holier than thou', he lived with great friendliness. He enjoyed late parties, dances, music. And Believe me, he was not continuously giving gospels, he was gossiping too! And he was a drunkard, he loved wine -- he shared it with his disciples. Fasting was not his way but feasting!

Don't be monkish. To be a man is such a great opportunity that there is no need at all to waste it. And remember one thing: the things that you are afraid of...

... THAT IF I OPENED MY HEART TOTALLY THE VAST LOVE THAT I FEEL WOULD RUSH OUT LIKE WATER FROM AN OVERFLOWING WELL...

For whom are you feeling this vast love? Just for yourself? -- because love means to have a direction, an object. It is always addressed to somebody. To whom is your love addressed? You are like an unopened envelope: you have not even read what is written in the letter, you don't know whether the letter exists inside at all or if you are simply carrying an empty envelope. Unless you open the envelope you will never know. Open it!

And remember, the well never runs out because deep down the well is connected with the oceans. The oceans are continuously reaching it in small springs. In fact, if you don't draw the water out of the well it will die, because soon those springs will not be needed; they will become blocked. They will not be in use, they will lose their functioning, and the old water will become stale and dead, maybe poisonous. It is good for the well-being of the well to go on drawing water from it. The more water you take out, the more fresh streams of water go on reaching the well. The well is not disconnected from existence.

Your heart is certainly a well. If you keep it closed then you will not get energy flowing into you from the universe. Go on emptying yourself and you will be surprised -- you are in for a great surprise: the more you empty yourself, the fuller you are.

That's why Gautam the Buddha emphasized the word shunya, 'zero'. Become a zero! If you want to become full, his message is, just become empty, a nothingness, just space, pure space, unlimited space containing nothing. Just empty yourself totally and you will not be able to believe it -- a miracle happens. When you are utterly empty, the whole existence enters you.

All the stars are within you and all the flowers are within you, the sun and the moon are within you. Suddenly you see yourself as vast as the universe itself. To be nothing is the only way to be all. To be nobody is the only way to be divine. Emptiness brings godliness.

And don't be worried that your love will be lost -- nothing is ever lost. The world always contains the same amount of everything, neither less nor more. Now this is a scientific fact: there is not a single atom less than there ever was, not a single atom more than there ever was. The quantity of the universe remains absolutely the same, because from where can anything new come in? -- the existence contains all, there is 'nowhere else'. And where can anything go out? There is nowhere else to go, so nothing is ever lost. Maybe it takes a little longer to reach the right person, but it always reaches.

Sing the song and don't be worried! It will reach the right people at the right time, if not today then tomorrow, if not in your life then in some other time. But it will reach -- it is bound to reach! It will always find the right person who can absorb it. Simply sing the song. You should not be too concerned whom it reaches, your whole concern should be that you are singing it with totality, that's all; more than that is not required of anybody. It is not your business whether it has been heard or not. When a flower opens in the jungle it is not worried whether anybody will be passing by, 'to know the beautiful fragrance that I am releasing', it simply releases the fragrance. If it reaches to some nostrils, good; if it does not reach, so what? The flower has blossomed, it has offered itself to the universe. Now it is up to the universe to do whatsoever it wants to do with it. Nothing ever is lost and nothing is ever diverted and nothing is ever rejected. But people feel rejected many times because even before they have given something there is expectation; if their expectation is not fulfilled then they feel rejected. It is the expectation that is creating the trouble, not love. Give love without any strings attached to it. Give love for the sheer joy of giving. Enjoy giving it.

The cuckoo calling in the distance -- not worried at all whether anybody is enjoying it or not. The faraway star -- do you think it is concerned whether a poet is writing a beautiful poem about it or a Vincent van Gogh is painting it or a photographer or an astronomer are concerned about it? It is none of the business of the star. The joy is in shining forth.

Simply open up your heart, Tom Cassidy -- and open it totally, without any expectations, without any conditions and it is sure to reach to the right heart; it always happens.

When I started singing my song there was nobody to hear it then people started coming. I was surprised -- how did they hear? Why did these people go on coming? From all directions. from all over the world people started coming. How did you arrive here? And I was not waiting for anybody to come! I was just singing my song, I was enjoying it.

Just the other day one sannyasin asked, 'Osho, I have had one dream: in the dream I am sitting in Buddha Hall alone. And then you come, you sit in the chair, and I am very much puzzled because I am alone and there is nobody else in Buddha Hall, the whole of Buddha Hall is empty. And I am worried about what you are going to do!'

You need not be worried -- I will do my thing! I cannot leave you alone! I will talk to you for one and a half hours continuously. And you cannot escape either! When there are so many people, a few people can escape, but if you are alone where can you go? I will follow you! Without anybody there at all, even if you are not there and I am alone in Buddha Hall, I will sing my song.

Try it one day! I will still tell my jokes, and if there is nobody to laugh at them I will laugh myself -- if not at the joke because I know it already -- then just because I am laughing, laughing that there is nobody and I am telling a joke!

 How ridiculous!

Tom, don't be worried.

You say: MY ESSENCE IS LIKE A DELICATE FLOWER...

So let it be! It is beautiful it is a delicate flower. Let others also partake of its fragrance, let others also drink out of your well. And soon the flower will die -- by the evening it will be gone. So don't hide it, because even if you hide it you cannot save it. In the morning the rose opens its petals, in the evening the petals will wither away and the rose will be gone. Before it is gone let it be shared. Let the bees come and hum and let the birds sing, let the children play around it. Let everybody rejoice! Otherwise you will be dying unfulfilled.

It is a delicate flower, but the more delicate it is the more quickly one has to open it to existence, because one cannot wait for tomorrow -- it may not be there tomorrow.

And you are worried: IF IT BLOOMED IN THE WRONG TERRAIN... There is no wrong terrain anywhere. In fact, if a rose can blossom in a desert that will be the most beautiful terrain -- that will be an exceptional rose. If it can blossom among rocks then that rose must be a Buddha, not less than that, a Christ, not less than that. In the right terrain, in the garden, ordinary flowers blossom but extraordinary flowers blossom among the rocks too, in the deserts too. So don't be worried about the terrain, and don't be worried that IT COULD EASILY BE BADLY BRUISED OR DESTROYED.

Everything that is born is going to be destroyed, so before it is destroyed let it have its dance.

And you are asking me: IS THIS THE TIME AND PLACE TO OPEN MY HEART TOTALLY?

Every time and every place is the right place! And because you are here at this moment, let this be the place. Where can you find a better space, with people more beautiful, more accepting, more loving than you are surrounded by here in this Buddhafield?

Tom Cassidy, you have waited long enough -- don't wait anymore. This is the time. This is the moment. Never trust the next moment -- the tomorrow never comes. Now or never!

Osho.

Zen: Zest, Zip, Zap and Zing Chapter #12 Chapter title: Life: Let it have it's Dance

Qu. 1. 

[defractum]

A thing I've been sitting on for a while so thought I might as well pour it out as a headcanon for post-CQL. (If anyone wants to write this as an actual fic, please do)

 -

So the entire Mo family is dead right? And that kind of gets forgotten, because ~plot happens~ but what if after canon, when WWX has finished travelling the world and come back to Lan Wangji, a very disgruntled messenger arrives at Cloud Recesses looking for Mo Xuanyu

And WWX is like I mean. I guess that's me.

And he gets handed a whole bunch of paperwork, some contracts, a seal, and he's like ?? what is all this?

And the messenger is from the local administrative office and he's been travelling ALL OVER trying to track down Mo Xuanyu because he's the only surviving member of the Mo family, which means that the entire estate and the land and the village is now his

And WWX's like Haha, well I'm not… technically Mo Xuanyu, except the administrative office doesn't care what fucking name he's going by now. So what if he's decided to tell everyone to call him by some dead evil guy's name (they're like '...weird flex, but okay'), he was born Mo Xuanyu and in the eyes of the law, the estate is his

(They just really want to get rid of it: lots of disputes are coming up, the staff have questions about getting paid, someone has to pay for the funerals of all the family members lying around embalmed in the funeral home, and it sure ain't gonna be the administrative office, nope.)

And WWX is like Okay, well, it's kind of not really my responsibility, but also I do feel bad for all the people just trying to do their jobs and survive, and also those dead bodies probably really need taking care of, it's been a year, oops, so he heads down there to take a look at things

LWJ is busy being His Excellency and can't go with him and is super put out because he just got WWX back! They have just about managed to admit some Feelings! WWX was going to stay in Gusu with him! Was the 16 years of misery not enough?? Must he suffer? again?? Woe is him. Giant sulking baby Lan Wangji, essentially

WWX heads to Mo Estate with the intention of sorting everything out ASAP because he is also desperate to get back to LWJ and get dicked, you know? Except legal administration is a bitch. There's taxes, and salaries, and tithes, aka things he knows nothing about because he was never gonna be a Sect Leader

Plus, the villagers hear that they have a new lord and come to pay their respects and also bring all of their problems. He gets through most of it with common sense and an air of sounding like he knows what he's talking about.

He does not know what he's talking about.

(He does, actually, know more than he thinks, because heading up a small village of Wen gave him more practical experience in helping people than being Jiang Head Disciple ever did)

(He also finds out Mo Xuanyu's birth name for the first time because it's on some forgotten, crumpled paperwork and is slightly stunned with the realisation that literally no one alive even knows it, because wow, did you not want to be punched by Mo Xuanyu feelings in this post? Too bad.)

LWJ eventually comes looking for him after a month or so, having finally managed to rearrange all his meetings and clear out a week or two, and finds him holding audiences. LWJ waits, very patiently he thinks, for him to sort out property disputes over pigs and donkeys, and then drags him into one of the bedrooms for some private time

(Sex. It's sex. It's loud, passionate kinky sex, followed by equally loud but slightly less kinky sex, followed by slightly quieter cuddly sex.)

LWJ can see what a great job WWX is doing running the estate, and also has come to the realisation that WWX is now stonking rich! A titled and landed Lord! No longer has he the need to rely on LWJ and his Gusu coffers! He can pamper himself now! LWJ is possessed by a completely irrational fear that WWX no longer has any need for him and, like the uncommunicative gremlin he is, just tells WWX that he is doing a very good job of running the estate

WWX is like Aw, LWJ said I'm doing a good job!! Also, hey, Lan Wangji, you're a competent, competent man, would you like to stick around for the interviews? I'm trying to find someone who is a good match for me and you can give your opinion

LWJ, silently: ME. IT'S ME. I AM A GOOD MATCH FOR YOU. D:

LWJ, outwardly: Mn.

So he follows WWX to these interviews and WWX has all these criteria like Listens carefully to people and Good with numbers and strategy and Level-headed and Fair and Communicative and LWJ is sitting grumpily next to him internally pouting like 'I match all of these criteria, hmph'

(After some self-examination, he maybe concedes on the 'communicative' point.)

Anyway, WWX listens to all his opinions on all of them, and he seems pretty keen on his one woman who, well, under normal circumstances LWJ would also quite like her, she seemed a very practical and intelligent person, but given current circumstances, he's just going to go back to Gusu and maybe cry for a few days

WWX cheerily waves him goodbye, LWJ wishes him all the best and goes home and drowns himself in Chief Cultivator work

When WWX turns up at Cloud Recesses two weeks later, he is super confused. WWX starts telling him off, saying that the juniors told him how hard he's been working and not sleeping and honestly, it's only been two weeks of WWX not looking over his shoulder, but it's okay because he's here now and doesn't intend on leaving ever again, and also he brings treats because he's not poor and he can afford to spoil his Lan-er-gege now!

LWJ: ??

After the nth round of misunderstandings, LWJ finally, finally realises that the interviews were for someone to manage the estate for Wei Wuxian so that he doesn't have to stay there. Understanding dawns. LWJ's crops are thriving, his skin is clear.

There is some shouting, there are tears, there's a fair bit of wailing. There's a cracked teacup and the dramatic thwump of WWX throwing himself across the room onto LWJ's lap. There's some more loud, enthusiastic kinky sex. The end.

(Buy me a ko-fi)

[smells-like-mettaton]

soriel, 1 (chocolate) for the ask game?

Like a Box of Chocolates

Rating: G Word Count: 2734 Read on AO3: here

---

"Ok. I brought a few choices," Sans said while sitting with his back to the door. He pulled a plastic sack full of chocolate and chocolate-adjacent treats out from under his shirt.

"Oh, you did not have to do that." The voice behind the door sounded embarrassed.

"It's no big deal." He shrugged instinctively, though she wouldn't be able to see it. "Not like I candy things like this for you very often."

The lady laughed, even though the pun was a stretch. She was a great audience like that.

"I cannot argue with that. After all, it is the choco-thought that counts."

Sans let out a wheeze. Man, she had him beat in the bad jokes department. He needed to up his game.

"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy." That joke would work better if she could see his wink.

"You certainly are, my friend."

Sans blinked. He hadn't been prepared for the genuine warmth in her voice. Now he felt something like a melted chocolate himself.

"Uh. You'd better wait and make sure I didn't pick out garbage before you say that." He chuckled nervously and spread out the chocolates in the snow.

"Alright. Hit me with your best choco-shot."

He laughed out loud at that one too. She could really squeeze some mileage out of chocolate puns.

"First off we have the MTT-Brand Chocolate Mettaton. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate in the shape of everyone's favorite robot superstar." He scanned the back of the wrapper. "Contains sequins and glitter, but it's still monster food, so probably won't cause any more indigestion than Temmie Flakes. Still, wouldn't blame ya if you passed on that."

The lady laughed. "I do not know this 'Mettaton,' but he sounds like someone…"

Her voice trailed off, the way it always did when she neared a personal topic. It seemed to be happening more and more often lately. Sans didn't know if that was a good sign, or if he needed to do a better job of distracting her.

"Someone I know would have liked that," she finished clumsily.

"Welp. It's yours, then." He attempted to slide it under the door.

Attempted. The thick block of chocolate wouldn't fit through the narrow space.

"What are my other options?" The lady asked, not seeming to hear his failure.

(Or just ignoring it. The way they always ignored things they didn't want to acknowledge.)

Oh well. He'd deal with that later, if she wanted to.

He picked up the next box and rattled it. It looked thin enough to fit under the door.

"I think this one's called, uh, pocket?” He couldn’t tell for sure, since the box was labeled in a language he didn’t recognize. Where did Alphys get this stuff? “A pal gave it to me. They’re like chocolate-covered sticks, I think."

"Not precisely what I was looking for, but I would love to try it regardless," she said. "If I am allowed to have both options, I mean. If not, I should probably stick with the Em-Tee-Tee."

Sans bit back a snort. So she hadn't heard after all. That made this a lot more awkward.

"Do you wanna hear the other options first? Wouldn't want ya to have any regrets."

"Oh! There are more?"

She sounded as surprised as a kid finding an extra fry in the bottom of their Grillby's bag. He couldn't help grinning.

"Yup. Next up is a chocolate spider donut—”

“Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders?” The voice seemed on the verge of laughter again.

His eyesockets widened. “Uh… welp. Guess you don’t need the whole spiel, huh?”

“There is a spider bakesale right around the corner from my home,” the lady explained. “I believe they are saving for a… ‘heated limo’? To travel safely through Snowdin. I wish I could help them, but I did not think to take much gold when I…”

Another dead end. That was fine, Sans could piece together enough. Not that her personal life was any of his business, anyway.

“If it makes ya feel any better, they really raked me over the coals for this one.”

“It does not!” came her quick reply. “I only asked for a chocolate bar. Not for you to spend money that you need on me.”

Geez, this lady was too good for him. As if Sans ever really went out of his way for anyone.

Except Papyrus, but he was family. And sometimes Grillby, if he felt bad about failing to pay his tab for too long. And Alphys, but he owed her for screwing off after space-time blew up in their faces.

And now, the lady behind the door. The lady he didn’t owe anything to, except a few good laughs.

Who was he kidding? Those laughs were more important to him than anything.

“Eh, it just cost me one day of selling ‘dogs. Donut worry about it.”

“Very well. Since it was for a good cause, I will not grill you any further. But please tell me that was the last chocolate you purchased for me.”

“It’s the last one I purchased.” He grinned. While she couldn’t see his expression, she must have heard the but in his voice.

“Please tell me you did not steal any chocolate for me.”

“Geez, lady, what do you take me for? I’d never commit petty thievery.”

“Well, that is reassuring.”

“Yep. Gotta save room for the real high-dollar crimes. Like the illegal hot dog stand.”

The voice behind the door went silent. He wished he could see her face now more than ever. His own grin slowly slid from his skull.

“Everyone knows about it,” he reassured her. “If the King really wanted to shut me down, he’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Oh, I am not judging you for that. I am sure the law is rigged against you if the King has any say in it.” Her voice was surprisingly bitter.

His real problem was that he couldn’t ever find the necessary documents to get licensed in food preparation. His birth certificate was presumably in whatever alternate dimension his old man had blasted them out of.

“You are judging me for something, though,” he realized. The chill of the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn’t dare adjust his position. Somehow he felt that if he moved, she would disappear.

“I am not. I was only thinking about…” She sighed. “It is complicated. There was a time when I could have helped you, but it is long past.”

“Help me? Look, lady, the ‘dog stand is fine. Promise. Better than fine, since I don’t gotta pay taxes on it.”

She chuckled at that.

“Very well. Forgive a silly old lady for worrying.”

“Done.” He smiled, settling back against the door more comfortably.

He should’ve known she’d have a problem with his illegal activities, though. She was a classy lady, and he was… him. Why had he even brought it up? It wasn’t a great joke. Did he really just want her to know?

Eh, whatever. She wasn’t mad, so no harm done, right?

“I would like to know how you acquired this other chocolate, if it was not through your sticky fingers.” She sounded like she was grinning.

“Huh? Oh.” He blinked and dug out the last chocolate of the bunch. Blue dusted his cheeks. “QC—that’s the lady who runs the shop in town—gave ‘em to me for free. They’re called, uh, kisses.”

QC had a knowing look in her eyes when she’d offered the bag of chocolates to him. It was his own fault for implying they were for a girl. Everyone already thought he screwed around in the woods on his shifts, and with the way gossip travelled in a small town, everyone at Grillby’s would be asking about his girlfriend tonight.

“Kisses,” the lady behind the door echoed. “This is not one of your jokes, is it?”

“Not this time. Sorry to disappoint.” His grin felt too tight. “They’re, uh, tiny chocolates. Kinda cone-shaped? QC makes ‘em herself, so they’ve gotta be good.”

“Oh.” Oddly, the voice did sound disappointed. Sans couldn’t imagine why. Not like he could kiss her through the door, even if he had lips. And even if there was some unlikely timeline where she wanted a kiss from him.

He wanted to thump his skull back against the door, but there was no point in worrying her like that.

“In that case, I will take the kisses. They will be perfect for…”

He was sure she would leave it at that. Cover up with some non sequitur.

So his eyesockets went wide when she said, “for the anniversary of my child’s passing.”

“Oh.” He let out a strangled little laugh. “I—geez, I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“You would have what? Spent even more money on this silly old lady, who cannot even leave to buy her child’s favorite chocolate?” Her voice was firm. “No. I thought you deserved to know, after the trouble you went to, and because you shared your own secret with me today.”

“My ‘dog stand is hardly a secret,” he said, still feeling a little shaky. She had a kid? A dead kid?

Well, who in the Underground didn’t have skeletons in their closet? Metaphorically or literally. She was still his best friend. If she wanted his pity, she would’ve said something sooner.

“Regardless,” she said. “It is in the past. Forget it, if you wish. But please do not treat me any differently.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sincerely. If there was one thing he was good at, it was maintaining the status quo. “So, uh. These chocolates. I kind of wanted you to have all of ‘em, if that’s alright with you.”

“It would be rude to refuse a gift, would it not?” She sounded like she was smiling again, to his relief.

“There’s just one problem. Uh. Don’t think they’re all gonna fit under the door.” He rapped on the stone surface with his knuckle for emphasis.

“I did not assume they would. The recipe I gave you before hardly passed through.”

Sans blinked. “Then you—huh?”

“I will open the door just a fraction. It can only be done from the inside.” She paused, like she was gathering a breath. “I would ask that you do not look. I promise I will not peek, either.”

Sans’s ribcage tightened. She was going to open the door. She would be right there, with no stone between them.

The thought opened a desperate floodgate within him. He hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to see her, to know her, to live off of more than just scraps and unfinished sentences.

She once had a child. She had some kind of beef against the King. She wanted to give charity to spiders, but didn’t have enough money. All these facts he filed away, tucking them into the grooves in his ribcage.

It would be enough. He’d duct tape those gates shut again, if he had to. He wasn’t going to betray the trust she’d shown him.

“Got it. You don’t wanna be smitten by my good looks, I understand,” he joked.

(He had a feeling it would be the other way around, if anything. Not that quality of jokes translated to quality of appearance—he would know. If it did, he’d have biceps like his brother.)

“It would be tragic. Much too high a price for you to handsome chocolate to me.”

“Heh, I’m sure you’re a door-able too. But I’ll keep my sockets shut, since our friendship hinges on it.”

That got a raucous laugh out of her, the kind that started off high-pitched and quickly became something of a snorting bleat. That sound was sweeter than chocolate to him.

...Man, his pals at Grilby’s would be right to dunk on him. He was a massive dork.

“Alright,” she said once she caught her breath, “if you are ready, my friend…”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Better choco-late than never, huh?”

That one only got a snort, but he wasn’t sure if that was because the pun fell flat, or because she was nervous. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been outside of the Ruins in years. And here she was, trusting a sentry—someone whose job it was to keep a look out—to turn a blind eye.

It was a good thing he’d never been good at his job.

Stone ground against stone with a dramatic rumble. His eyesockets stayed shut. Warmth emanated from somewhere near his shoulder, and he lifted the bag of chocolates.

His small hand brushed a large fur-covered one. A shiver trailed down his spine. One small touch shouldn’t have done so much to him, but—but she was real. She was more than just a voice behind a door. Which he knew, but knowing and feeling could be worlds apart at times.

She took the bag, and the moment was over. But the door didn’t close.

“My dear friend,” she whispered, her voice sounding closer than ever. “Would it be presumptuous to ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course not. Glad to do a favor for my favor-ite person.” He kept his tone light, unaffected by the swirling emotions inside him.

“If I could… oh, dear, this is embarrassing.”

He resisted the urge to open his eyes, to see what look might be on her face.

“It has simply been so long… may I hold your hand a moment longer?”

He felt the marrow heating within his bones.

“That all? I gotta hand it to ya, you made me think you needed an arm and a leg.”

She chuckled before awkwardly fumbling to grasp his hand again.

Heat poured from her palm into his phalanges. Aside from the fur, there were several spots of soft skin—probably paw pads. Was she a dog monster, like the Canine Unit in town? She didn’t make nearly enough dog jokes for that to be the case. Her laugh sounded more like a goat’s, but she obviously didn’t have hooves. Maybe she was some kind of chimera? You didn’t see those often nowadays, but then again, no one saw monsters from the Ruins, either.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as soft as the snow that began to drift around him.

“Not disappointed?” He asked, only half-joking. “My hand can’t be as comfy as yours.”

“Ah, but it is all your bone. And that is wonderful to me.”

“Geez, old lady.” He was grateful she couldn’t see his blush. “You’re pretty fur-fect yourself.”

When she laughed, her body shook all the way down to her hand. The feeling more than made up for all the G he’d spent on chocolate and donuts.

Suddenly his hand was being lifted up, and then something soft pressed against his knuckles. His soul flared erratically, and his eyes nearly flew open. If they had, he was sure his left eyelight would have been blue from shock.

“A kiss for a kiss,” she said slyly. “It is only fair.”

“Heh heh…” His voice shook with more than laughter. “Technically, that was one kiss for a bag of kisses. Pretty sure that math doesn’t square up.”

“Oh, you are quite right! One day we will have to circle back and rectify that.”

He practically had to cast gravity magic on himself to keep his eyes from flying open.

“You—huh?” He said intelligently.

“Perhaps not soon,” she clarified. “This has all been… a lot, for me. But thanks to you, my dear friend, this day has not been so bitter as I am used to.”

“Uh, no problem, then. With all that chocolate, I hope it’s sweet.”

Sweet as the anniversary of a death could be, anyway. He grimaced. Maybe that joke was too soon, but she just squeezed his hand before finally letting go.

“I do think it will be,” she said softly. “I will look forward to hearing more of your punny jokes tomorrow.”

The door scraped shut, and he hesitantly opened his eyes. He couldn't help inspecting the door to see if anything changed. Pressing his still-warm hand against the smooth stone.

“Heh. Good luck getting rid of me now.” He grinned.

Then he tucked his hands in his pockets, where her kiss remained like a tattoo on his bone.

[cuppajj]

Okay, I know that we talked about this before in the comments of a post, but how do you think that Karma and Drill would interact post-war (I sensed that you had some more ideas that didn't get shared and I am really interested how you think they would meet and/or act with each other)! Karma is honestly a very conflicted bot, which all stemmed from the conditioning that he dealt with back when the Decepticons had been gaining traction on Cybertron. Since he was being trained to be a part of the government of a colony world, one closely tied to Cybertron and its politics, he was extremely well-known because of his family being heavily involved in the government. He was trained to be cynical and overall more of an emotionally guarded person in general, though he struggled a lot with it until an outside influence shoved that part of him down somewhere he wouldn't recognize until much later. His personality later (after the war) would be a mix of his caring, enthusiastic, and likable traits, while also being mixed with the more nasty traits that he acquired during his conditioning (including more self-conscious ones and things like distrust and skepticism towards every new bot he meets). He often feels disconnected and lonely when hanging around other bots, due to his odd upbringing, and they can easily make him uncomfortable without realizing it. He tries warming up to certain bots in a slow manner, and usually hangs out with a small group of 4-5 individuals. He has a slight air of tension around him because of his social anxiety and training from pre-war cybertron. He's usually the bot that takes a long time to build true trust with, but once someone does they will have a great bond with a very trustworthy ally. Karma is always learning and growing, he made it a personal mission of his after everything he had to deal with when he was younger. Also something extra, singing tunes while looking at space is a favorite pastime of his! That and botany - he finds spending time with them to be less taxing on his body and also something that he can do to keep his servos busy. (I forgot to mention that he is kinda big, so imagine this tall, socially anxious bot who wants to run, cry, have fun with friends, and be alone all at the same time. He's sort of touch-starved and feels really touched when people want to help him heal 🥺) I'm so sorry that this is so long, I hope you have a good day! -👑

Hi!!! Hope you have a great day too! I can’t find the original comment thread so forgive me if I reiterate/contradict earlier points but:

Like most of the people he ends up interacting with, I imagine they meet at some social gathering, like a bar/club/cafe or an outdoor area. If Karma and/or Drillburst can get past their silence/social anxiety to talk, I imagine the conversation wouldn’t be super long. Maybe basic pleasantries, a discussion about the area, but lest they found a common interest in music, that would be the extent of it! For at least a while. If Drillburst heard Karma singing, or knew of his hobby, then there’d be an opening for them to start bonding a little further than surface level acquaintance stuff. It’s the kind of thing where introverts attract other introverts with a common interest XD that’s basically how I see them!

I think they definitely have the potential to be good friends, if they can get past their awkwardness (and if Drillburst can put aside his bias against the Cybertronian elite). Maybe a familiar song or two could get them talking, and who knows? Maybe one day they’ll comfort each other when they’re hurting from their trauma :D

[whatanoof]

Of Angels and Promises

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: ~12.2k

Warnings: fluff, smut, violence, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, daddy boba is a warning all on his own, implied throne fucking

Summary: Promises are bad. They imply attachment and accountability, both  very hard to come by in the maker-forsaken deserts of Tatooine. Falling in love inspires promises that one isn’t able to keep, and you let your guard down with him.

You saw the ship. It soared through the sky, slicing through the air like an arrow. It was the same one that he had drawn for you on the rough sketching paper in your mechanic’s workshop, and it was even more beautiful in person. It was a cloudless day, and the green paint contrasted the sky perfectly. You could track every movement across the blue expanse and expected to watch the ship set down directly by your hut. But it didn’t. It continued, stretching farther away in the direction of the palace with every passing second that you stood, frozen in space and time. 

So you do what every other abandoned lover would. You ignore it and tell yourself that you were mistaken. It’s easy to pretend you’d imagined it. Because if Boba ever came back, he would come back to you, right?

A gentle knock on the doorframe rouses you from the depths of overthinking, and you accidentally slam your head on the shelf in surprise. “Shit! Motherkriffing, dank fucking farri-”

Your first name echoes through the building and cuts through your vicious curses like a bell, and you stop in shock. No one out here calls anyone by name. Your hand drops to your workbench and grasps a heavy wrench. You slowly approach the door and slide to one side of the frame to prepare an ambush. The voice calls your name again, and this time you register that it’s female, low-pitched and soothing. An arm appears through the doorway, and you swing the wrench with all of your might.

You expect at the very least to graze the limb appearing through the doorway of your workshop, but you’re sorely disappointed when you miss entirely. You stumble forward, off-balance from the misplaced strike. A hand seizes your wrist, torquing it violently to one side and forcing you to drop the makeshift weapon. Before you can blink, you’re pinned against the wall with your arm twisted behind your back.

“Let me go!” You struggle against the grip, but it’s too strong, and you grunt at the strain in your joints. “Please, I have water, maybe a handful of credits in the house.”

She doesn’t release you and your name is muttered sharply again. “Is that you?”

“You found me. If you’re going to kill me,” You turn your head enough to spit on the ground, “Tell Bib that I’ll come back to haunt him and shove it where the suns don’t shine.”

“I don’t come on Fortuna’s orders.” She spits the Twi'lek name like a curse. Now you’ve pissed her off. If you weren’t going to die before, you would now. “I come on Boba Fett’s.”

You stop struggling immediately, “What?”

“Boba Fett sent me to bring you to him.” You inhale sharply at the confirmation. 

Betrayal flashes through you like lightning. “Let me go.” The words are an angry hiss, reminiscent of a desert serpent ready to spit venom.

She does so and you turn, rubbing your shoulder. The woman is deceptively small, with dark hair in a long braid down her back. A form fitting leather tunic and coat accents her slim waist and fit body.  She’s wearing a helmet, though you can see dark eyes through the visor, and a long rifle rides on her back.

“Who are you? Are you a bounty hunter?” 

“I am.” You wait for her to reach for her rifle, “But that is not why I am here.” She disengages her helmet lock and pulls it off. She’s too pretty to be a hunter. You wish that wasn’t your first thought, because now you can’t help but stare. You’re vaguely aware that you probably look stupid, but you’re too busy gaping at her smooth skin and fine features. The only indicator of her profession is the stern set of her mouth and perfectly shaped eyebrows, okay you need to stop.

Because you weren’t mistaken earlier. Boba is back on Tatooine, and you’re not sure how to handle that after so much time.

---

“Come on, don’t do this to me right now. No, no no no no n--” A puff of smoke drifts from the comm unit, and you drop the screwdriver with a defeated sigh. Kriffing hell. Weeks of searching for the right parts, the blazing hope within you that you might be able to finally get off this ball of sand when you saw the Imperial signal boosting unit, all ending in a smoking and sparking mess in your hands. Anger flashes hot through your veins, and your hand flies up and whacks the communicator hard, hard enough that the stinging impact chases away the anger momentarily. Then the fury returns, doubling in intensity, and the sheer injustice almost makes your vision white out. 

The distant grinding of the sandcrawler shakes you out of your fervor, and you haul yourself to your feet with a sigh. Trading days always... intensify you. But you can’t afford to get hung up on one comm unit. It has been years of fried comm units. Even if you managed to patch together a working one on your limited knowledge, who would you call? A single name flits across your mind, but you veto it instantly. Even if he was in range, he wouldn’t come to get you.

So, back to the original plan. The long plan, the one that has stranded you on this planet for solar cycles. You busy yourself with the various scavenged parts that you’d collected over the past month, polishing and dusting the pieces until they glint like gems in the late afternoon suns. Every small scratch garners another twelve minutes of debate over whether the rebuilt astromech viewport would be worth the trade for the polished transparisteel, or the additional inhibitor units.

The first thing that’s off is the Jawas themselves. They seem… tense. No, that’s underselling it. They’re always high strung, running around and worrying about different bargains and barters. But today, they’re absolutely freaked out. Dual sun-stroked. High on their anxiety. Which is good for you; they’ll be distracted and maybe they won’t try to barter for your spare vapor consolidator again this time.

So you naturally pay it no mind while setting up your line of wares. You had a good haul this week, enough to make the water taxes this month.

The Jawas crowd out of the sandcrawler deck, and you greet them as you recognize them. A flurry of Jawaese flies around your head as they run about, laying out the wares for you to examine.  One scurries to your offerings this week: random parts and a series of old mouse droids that you had reprogrammed. They examine the small droids while speaking to each other too quickly for you to follow. Finally, they come back with two of the small droids, nodding to each other as they present the desired pieces to you.

“Got any working EC processors lying around in there to trade?”

They look at each other, and one says a single phrase that you translate roughly to, ‘Bring him out.’

“Bring what out?” But you’re too late and the Jawas are already inside, hauling a mass covered in sackcloth down the ramp. “Is that a patch-in droid? Where the hell did you scavenge a whole one fr…”

The second thing that’s off is the human body. They rip the sackcloth off of the form, and you trail off. “What in the kriffing hell is that?” After further examination you confirm that it is probably a he. His eyes are closed, and he’s lying in the sun too limply to be healthy. There are bruises and cuts on the skin that you can see, but he’s draped in dark clothing that has to be sweltering hot in the Tatooine suns. A Tusken gaffi stick lies pinned underneath his body. 

The Jawas erupt in a storm of chattering, waving their arms around their heads as you try to keep up your limited Jawaese. You crouch by the man. He’s breathing shallowly, and you don’t see any visible injuries, but dammit, you don’t know much about first aid. “Slow down, please!”

They don’t slow down, and you’re left scrambling trying to remember the difference between preterite verb forms while continuing to try to check on the man’s health. “He broke into the sandcrawler, killed your warriors, and took a nap?”

More unpleased Jawaese flies around your head, “He broke in, killed your warriors, and didn’t try to escape, just sat down and tried to interrogate you. And then you knocked him out and broke his legs.” The Jawas cheer gleefully in affirmation, and you sigh. A second glance at the man reveals the sunken skin around his eyes and the unnaturally pale color of his skin. There are white scars over his face that look like acid burns. “Maker, how long has he been in there?” The Jawas keep talking, but you’re not paying attention. He won’t last another day without attention, and that is coming from an inexperienced mechanic. You may not know medicine, but you can’t leave him in good conscience.

“I’ll take him off of your hands. Keep the mouse droids.” 

It’s a kriffing miracle that you manage to get him back inside your hut and onto the cot without pulling a muscle. You don’t even know if he’s going to wake up. He just lies there, and the weight of the situation slams down on you in a single crushing moment. “What the hell did I just do?” You rake your fingers through your hair, “Take in a dying stranger, why don’t you? Sign away half of your supplies, half of your food, half of your water, half of the credits meant to get you out of this damned place? Dumbass.”

He groans, and you start. He’s awake. With a heavy sigh, you face the newest burden in your life. “Here, drink some water.” You grab the half-empty jug from the table and kneel beside the cot. “You’re lucky that the Jawas decided to meet me today. If they had gone to Tokonu’s farm, you might not have lived through the next few hours.” You reach to prop his head up.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have tried to touch him. There’s an explosion of movement, and you suddenly find yourself pinned to the ground, arms locked painfully behind your back. Maker, he’s half-dead, and you barely saw him move. “Where am I?” The growl is so deep that you can feel it in your toes, though the roughness of his voice suggests that it hasn’t been used in a while.

You look over your shoulder, and you see dark eyes piercing into you. A shudder runs the length of your spine at the predatory gaze, and you’re feeling less like an unlikely caretaker and more like trapped prey. This is a dangerous man, no matter the state of his health. Then he curses and the weight on your back lifts as he falls to the side and you remember the broken legs.

You shakily roll to the side and sit up, studying the man next to you on the floor, who’s clutching his legs and muttering rude phrases about Jawas and thieves that you’d rather not repeat. He’s older, with creased skin and a dark scowl contorting his features. Scars run the length of his face, adding to the aged appearance. His dark clothing masks most of his body, though you’re sure that the rest of his skin bears similar scars to the ones slicing through his features. 

“You done staring?” The rasping voice makes you jump and look away hurriedly, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment. 

You stand. You have to find a way to splint his legs. “I don’t see many other Terrans out here.” He grunts, and you hurry to your workshop. You need wood, or metal, or something straight. Fuck you’ve never set a broken bone before, but you grab the bacta from the back cabinet. Your gaze lands on the ladder in the corner of the room.

“Hey.” His head lifts when you re-enter the room, lugging the ladder through the door frame. You dump it on the floor in front of him, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Angel, I’m not going to be climbing anywhere anytime soon.”

You ignore the endearment and the sass, “I’ve never set a broken leg before. I need your help if you ever want to walk normally again.”

“You’re going to set my legs?” He asks.

“I’m assuming that you know how to.”

He doesn't confirm your theory, instead tilting his head and looking at you more seriously, “Big assumptions.”

“If you know how to break an arm, you know how to set one.” 

He just leans back and laughs, “You have a tongue on you.” You won’t dignify that with an answer, and his smile only grows. “Break the ladder. I need two straight planks.”

---

The massive palace is dank and cold, the polar opposite of the planet outside. It’s a new world compared to the heatwaves and sand dunes. The silence amplifies your quiet footsteps as Fennec leads you through the hallways. Speaking of which, she is absolutely silent. Her footsteps are nonexistent even on the cold metal floor. She put her helmet back on when you entered the palace, so you can’t even hear her breathing. The only sounds are the ones made by you, and the walls seem to amplify them to the point where you’re sure that wherever you’re going, you will be expected.

You can’t help but feel like you’re walking to an execution, though you haven’t decided if it’s your own yet. It could be. You don’t know if he’s changed. It’s been years. You’ve changed, that’s for sure. Actually, scratch that. You know that he’s changed, because he didn’t come straight to you.

You frown. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing, though you can’t place your finger directly on it just yet. After years of being tied to no one, of being perfectly free and independent, why would he come back to Tatooine?  What is tethering him to this desert of a planet besides his own suffering? 

Out of nowhere, a staircase yawns in front of you, and you hesitate slightly before following after Fennec. The arched ceiling opens into a large room that prominently displays a raised dais, though it all falls away when you see who is seated on the throne. 

It’s been a long time since you’d seen him, and you’d never seen his armor in color, only a sketch. The smooth green and red accents are color combinations that are in short supply on Tatooine, he cuts a menacing figure against the dark throne. He’s splayed out on a throne built for a Hutt thrice his size, legs spread and arms resting on the sides. It might be intimidating if it were a stranger, but you keep telling yourself that he’s not a stranger. It’s easy to imagine that he is, due to the blatant showmanship and armor. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, but this suit of armor isn’t the Boba that you knew.

---

“What’s that?” You’re sitting at the workbench while he’s in a kitchen chair that was dragged into the workshop so that he could have a place to rest. He’s recently become mobile, though he’s only allowed to move under your sharp eye, making sure that he doesn’t try anything stupid that will leave him bedridden for another month. That would be another seven weeks of extreme food rationing and existing on supplies only meant for one. That being said, he mentioned that he was willing to lend an extra pair of hands in your workshop, and you’re not one to deny free help, so long as he promised to not push himself too hard. Your measurement tools were left on the table, and to your surprise, he picked up the stubby pencil and began sketching with it. The rough parchment now shows evidence of a human-like figure.

“My armor.” 

“What color is it?”

“Green.” Another purposeful sketch on the paper and there’s a prominent blemish in the helmet. “And red.” Stars, it’s like pulling teeth.

“Did you lose it?” Maybe you’re intruding, but you’ve been taking care of him for the past month, so you’ll excuse yourself from this one.

“Yes. These--” He waves a hand around his face, indicating the pale scars, “--are from a Sarlaac. When I fell in, I lost consciousness. Woke up without the armor. I need to find it.”

The Sarlaac pit is an execution site for those who oppose the Tatooine crime syndicate. You’ve never heard of anyone surviving either the wrath of the Hutts or the Sarlaac. “It’s important to you.” “The armor belonged to my father.” It’s hard to imagine the toughened man in front of you ever being dependent upon someone else. Though, you suppose that everyone comes from somewhere. You wonder not for the first time where this man came from. “It’s part of who I am.”

---

“Boba?” The name is a quiet whisper that echoes emptily through the chamber.

He says your name in return, but his deep baritone makes it sound so much more full than his did floating in the air. “Just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

“Can’t say that I can make the same observation.” You shift nervously. It’s too empty and cold in here, the absolute antithesis of the world you made your own. You can feel the dampness leeching the energy from the air. 

“That’s fair.” There’s a beat of silence.

“How have you been?” It’s a passive question, nothing more than something to say to break the silence.

“Good. And you?” The conversation is stunted and awkward, though it only used to be stunted. Now, you’re looking at this man and you don’t know him anymore. Even before, he was your friend above all else. Now you’re stuck making basic observations about him.

“You got your armor back.”

The helmet inclines once, barely an acknowledgement of a statement that you feel should receive so much more. “Found it through a friend.”

“Some friend. Am I going to get that story?”

“Later.” It’s infuriating, the distinct lack of personalization. For solar cycles, you had Boba. Then, nothing. Now you have Boba Fett, the bounty hunter.

---

“What’s your name?” You can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ask, though in all fairness, there’s not much need for names when there are only two people around for leagues. You simply speak, and he assumes you’re talking to him. He rarely speaks, so when he does, he’s always talking to you.

He doesn’t answer at first, only continuing to hold the sheet of metal in place so that you can continue welding it shut over the gap in the droid’s body. You don’t mind. If he wants to answer, he’ll answer. Though it would be nice to have a name to place to the stoic face. It would also be nice to have a name to whisper when you touch yourself at night. 

You hadn’t meant for it to end up like this, but you can’t help but admit that you had been setting yourself up to fail. Living with a man, especially one so tall, strong, so… kriffing dominant in how he carries himself? You’re just surprised that it took the dreams half a solar cycle to start up. But now you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel for him to back you up against a wall and pin you to the rough stone with just one of those wonderfully strong hands. 

“Watch it angel--”

You snap back to the present just in time to see your torch drifting dangerously close to your hand. You yank it away, but the damage is done and your glove is burning. He curses, bare hands immediately flying to the thick cloth and yanking your arm forward. A few rough pats later, and your glove is smoldering. Shit. That had been your last good pair. You sigh, pulling the glove off and getting up to find another. You snag a mismatched glove from the bottom compartment of your storage unit and settle back down to finish the job.

You’re two inches into the welding line when he speaks. “If I had known you’d be so distracted by silence I would have spoken.” The tone is dry and sardonic, and your gaze darts up to meet his deadpan one before flicking back down to your work in time to keep the welder from drifting again.

“No you wouldn’t have.” It’s the truth, based on how he doesn’t seem to have a snappy answer.

Finally, he sighs,  “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” This time, you know better than to look away from your work. 

You raise an eyebrow at the sheet metal, “I know.” You finish and click off your torch, settling it carefully down on the work station beside you. “No one ends up in a Sarlaac pit by following the law.” Air puffs out of him a little more forcefully than normal, and you squint. Was that a laugh?

“I wasn’t the one getting executed.”

“Didn’t take you for a clumsy person.” He doesn’t dignify the jab with a response, and you suppose that you deserve that. You examine the weld before pulling the torch back out. It’s a little sloppy. “Do you regret those things?”

“No. The sum of a person’s lifetime is found in his actions. Regrets or none, they are who I am.” That… is shockingly poetic considering that you’d only asked for a name. 

“You’ve killed people.” It’s not a question, there is no doubt in your mind of the answer, but you want to hear it from him.

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Depends.” You inhale slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase this, “I… understand that you don’t have an easy past.” He snorts at that, and you glower at him before continuing. “Tatooine doesn’t need more war.”

“You’re scared.” It’s a pointed statement, blunt and uncaring about the blatant assumption.

“No.” No, a million times no. You had not cowered in fear during the Clone Wars, you had picked yourself up and survived. But ever since Bib Fortuna took over the syndicate, violence had been minimal. You do not need more. “As long as you live here, I do not want you to be the one who brings it back.” You’re on shaky ground here, considering that you really don’t have much control over him or his choices. But this is the only request you have made of him so far.

He grunts in response, a thoughtful silence settling over the workshop. “You really care for this planet?”

“No. I fucking hate deserts. I’m blowing this joint as soon as I can.” You yank the glove off with more force than perhaps you needed. Whatever, it got the job done. You squint down at your calloused hands, “I just don’t want to be the reason that more innocent people get hurt around here. Bib does enough on his own.”

Bib Fortuna. The Twi-lek that currently commands the most powerful force planet-side on Tatooine: the crime syndicate that was left leaderless after Jabba the Hutt died in mysterious circumstances involving a Jedi and a Sarlaac execution. Wait a minute...

 “No violence?”

You shake your head, chasing away the puzzle pieces that just began to slot together. “Only self-defense.” You’re not unreasonable, Tatooine may be more peaceful than during the war, but lowlifes still exist. “And if you get a chance to get off-world, take me with you.”

“Steep price.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I saved your life. You may as well return the favor.”

“Fair enough. You have my word as a…” He slaps a hand over his chest, but trails off before finishing the sentence, as if only realizing then that his armor is not there. He amends, “You have my word as a man.”

An awkward silence settles over the shop again, though there is no logical reason why it should be awkward, giving you the moment to remember the seed of the conversation. “A man with a name?” It’s a fumbling and clumsy attempt to turn the conversation back towards your objective, and you can tell that he picked up on it. 

He looks at you with amusement, “Persistent.” There’s a half-beat of silence as he considers you. “You may recognize my name.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere.” You counter. “Who would I tell?”

“That’s not why I don’t want to tell you.” 

Oh. You can’t really think of a response to that, so you stand and begin cleaning your station. Rusty bits of scrap go into that bin, useful parts go into that one over there so you can tinker late at night when you can’t sleep. 

“I don’t know your name either.”

You turn a prop a hand on your hip, dramatically lowering your voice, “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” There! Another huff of breath, and a halfway crooked smirk from the usually grim-faced and unreadable man. You smile back, “Trade?”

He considers it briefly, “First names only.”

You grin. That’ll do nicely. “Deal.”

“Boba.”

You introduce yourself, “Nice to meet you, Boba.”

---

“Why are you back?”

“Are you not happy to see me?” He sounds amused.

“I am.” You shift back and forth on your feet. “Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to see you. To know that you’re alive and healthy.” He’s avoiding answering. 

“That’s only half of my question.” Your voice becomes small, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“If I had come to the farm, Bib would have sent hunters out again. You know how that ended last time. You have to cut the krayt’s head off, or it will just keep coming.” You don’t miss how he’s avoiding calling the farm his home. 

“You don’t have to pretend, Boba. You have your armor and your ship, you don’t need me anymore. If you came back to take over the syndicate, I won’t be angry.” Even if it means that he’s throwing you away and not looking back. Your heart would heal.

“I--” He hesitates to finish the sentence, and your stomach drops as you expect him to confirm your suspicions. “I didn’t only come back for the throne. I still wanted to see you.”

 “If that were true, you would have come yourself.”

“Ang--”

“Stop making excuses.” Your gaze narrows onto the visor blade, meeting his cloaked eyes, “If you really wanted to see me, you would have come to the farm, not sent your lackey.  You have your armor and your ship. Why are you back?”

---

It’s all he talks about anymore. And it’s not like he talked that much before, so now ninety-nine percent of the conversations that you have with him are about the nearest pawn stalls, or the Jawa trading route, or the ship scrap yards scattered around the planet. He’s been moving about independently for the past two months, each day venturing out further into the sand hills in search of his armor. 

The jug of water is disgustingly lukewarm, but refreshing all the same. You swipe a hand over your forehead as you pace around, propping open all of the windows and shoving the door open. You don’t want to work anymore, it’s too hot for this shit. Late afternoon is the worst, hanging the promise of sunset overhead while continually beating the world into submission with the heat that makes it feel like you’re dragging fire into your lungs. With nothing better to do, you slowly sweep the floor of the house, brushing sand outside just as it continues to blow inward.

The moisture vaporator is functioning passably, your supplies were restocked two days ago, and you made decent headway in your workshop. Nothing is urgent enough to spur you into action. All there is to do is wait for Boba to come home. That’s the brightest point of your day; seeing his figure appear in the shimmering heat waves as he treks through the sand towards you.

He still doesn’t talk much. Neither do you, but there is a comfortable sense of companionship every night when you set the meal down and eat together. If conversation is needed, then it’s needed. But until then, you’re content to sit with him. He’s my friend. The stark realization nearly makes you stop in your tracks. You’re friends with the gruff man who you took in with two broken legs and who leaves you alone for the better part of the day. The man who you imagine on the rough nights when you long for a body beside you.

Finally, finally it’s sunset. You climb to the top of a nearby dune. He’s there in the distance, he always is. You watch the suns sink beneath the horizon and turn to head inside. 

You don’t hear him come in, though to be fair, you never do. You expect him to sit at the table. Instead he appears at your elbow, silent as a wraith but as large and solid as any human. You nearly jump out of your skin, “Stars, Boba, you kriffing scared m--” You turn, but are stopped short because he’s right there, crowding you against the counter and there’s something feral in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, face hovering an inch away from yours and gaze fixed on your lips. Your eyes are glued to his almost black ones. His flick up to meet yours. You can smell him, something spicy and musky that’s drawing you in. Stars, you want to fuck him. 

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and the tension shatters. He shoves past you, planting his hands on the counter. He hasn’t changed out of his gear, and the gaffi stick sways threateningly on his back. The tip is darkened and shines in the dim light of the lantern. 

Dread pokes your heart. “Boba, are you hurt?” You try to look over the rest of his body for hints of injury, but his baggy clothing masks his body. He seems to be moving fine.

There’s a strained silence before he rips himself away from the counter and stalks away with a terse, “I need to change.” He halfway out of the door when he stops, and you watch him carefully as his head turns back halfway. “Meet me in the bedroom.” The ‘fresher door bangs in the distance, and you nearly collapse against the counter. 

You’re not sure how you make it to the room. You’re a trembling ball of nerves, anxious and fidgeting as you stare at the corner of the room. He killed someone. Someone is dead, because of him, and he doesn’t seem to be torn up about it. Only… tense. Like he’s more concerned about the consequences on you than him. You remember his promise.

He’s standing there now, dressed in clean clothes and looking at you like you’re the most complex problem in the room. He seems calmer, though he’s in this mode that you can’t describe with a single word, though you had witnessed it before when you first brought him into your home. There’s a feral intensity about him, almost primal. You don’t know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut.

Finally, he speaks, “I would never hurt you, angel.”

You nod. There’s a shared understanding of this, though it had never been verbalized. He has your back, and you have his. A mutual survival and benefit exists between you two. 

“Will you come here?” There’s an underlying question to read in the rasped question. Will you go to him? There’s also a warning. He’s not a safe man, but you’re willing to ignore your fears about that if it means you'll have him. You stand and walk towards him purposefully, each step sealing your choice. You stand in front of him, barely allowing yourself to breath as he scrutinizes you. A hand comes up and tilts your chin upwards carefully.

And then he’s kissing you, more like absolutely devouring you with how far his tongue is down your throat. It’s sensory overload, because all at once he’s so close and so there right in front of you, pressing against your front so closely that you can feel him hardening against your thigh. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, and you gasp as he yanks your head back. 

“I don’t know if I can be gentle, angel.” His pupils are blown, dark eyes even blacker with desire and boring into yours. You can see the restrained lust in his eyes, and you shiver at the silent promise in them.

You grin, only barely aware that it’s slightly feral, “No one asked you to be.”

His own responding smile is nothing short of primal. “Maker, you’re fucking perfect.” His hand roughly smooths over your hair, and you melt into his touch. “Now strip.”

You can’t yank your shirt off quickly enough, but he stops you as soon as the offending fabric flutters to the ground. A hand traces over your collarbone, the rough calluses scraping over the crisp outline of the ink. “What’s this?”

You hesitate before answering, “It’s, uh, it’s artistic.” He makes his skeptical face at you, and you step in closer to him, pressing your body against his more clothed one, “I saw the design in a shop and liked it.”

The distraction seems to work, because he crushes his mouth to yours again, his hands removing the rest of your clothes so that you stand completely bare before his piercing gaze. You fight the urge to cover yourself. He has this way of making you feel like an open book even when you’re clothed, and now you feel that he can look into your soul without any other barriers.

“Beautiful.” The compliment is growled into the tension filled air. Blood rushes to your face, and you duck your head shyly. A hand tilts your chin back upwards to meet his eyes, “Get on the bed.”

He pushes you backwards gently so that you land on the mattress, bouncing slightly as you watch him remove his coverings. With every delicious inch of skin revealed, you feel another shot of heat between your legs. You hadn’t seen much of his body since that first day, and it’s like watching a gift unwrapped in front of you. When he pulls the last of it off, your eyes unavoidably drift between his legs, and your heart stutters at the sight. Stars he’s thicker than you’d expected. 

You don’t get anymore time to overthink because then Boba is caging you to the mattress with his body. Your breasts heave, nipples brushing against his chest with every inhale. One thick finger slides through your folds, and you almost cry at the contact. Maker, you’ve wanted this for so long. He pushes into your heat and you swear your body seizes at the sensation. 

Boba grunts, “Angel, you’re so tight.” His hips jerk seemingly of their own volition against your leg, his erection sliding over your skin. “Want to be inside of you. But--” He adds another finger, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, “--I think I’d break you.” 

The heel of his hand grinds into your clit, “Boba. Please, fuck. Told you not--” He curls his fingers against your g-spot and you gasp, “--not to be gentle.”

He pulls his fingers out with a growl and flips you around to your hands and knees. You shiver in anticipation as you glance over your shoulder while he aligns his hips to yours. He barely gives you any time to prep before he sinks into your heat. 

Oh shit.

He is so much thicker than you expected. The stretch burns so good, and-- you spare another glance over your shoulder as it just keeps coming. Your arms give and you collapse to your elbows with a whine. Your teeth clench as you focus on taking him, and your hand slaps the mattress as you tense. He stops behind you, “Angel, you need to relax.”

You exhale shakily. Fuck, you can’t relax, it’s too much. He’s going to split you in two. You’d told him to be rough, but you hadn’t been prepared for this. So you crouch on the bed, trying to breathe enough to allow yourself to form words. 

“I can stop.” His cock inches marginally out of you, and you panic. 

“No! Fu-- keep--keep going. I can do it.” He’s holding himself back. You can tell in the tiny quiver of his hips as he inches further into you. All you can focus on is the feeling of him rubbing against the inside of your cunt. His fingers rub your clit, and a garbled moan escapes your throat as your hips press backwards into him. The pain mixes with pleasure, a bone-deep one that you feel through your entire body as it arches against the bedsheets.

When his hips finally fit to yours, you let out a breathy moan. But he doesn’t continue. He just rests there, which is ridiculous considering how every nerve ending in that region of your body is firing with pleasure and how is he staying so still when this feels like fucking paradise? You might go insane just lying here with him bottomed out so deep inside of you that you can feel it in the back of your throat. His hand leaves your clit to grasp your waist. He eases out of you, the satisfying fullness retreating until the head of his cock hovers at your entrance, just barely inside of you. He’s teetering on a cliff, all of that potential energy built up behind his body as he hovers there, waiting for something. He’s trembling, Boba is trembling as he waits for something that he never asked you for. There’s molten lust creeping through your veins, you need him to move, to fuck you nine ways to next week. “Move. Please. Need--need it.”

He rolls his hips forward and you swear the world implodes behind your eyelids. He doesn’t stop this time, just yanks you closer on the bed and fucking wrecks you. The pace is unforgiving and rough, and the obscene slapping sound of skin on skin echoes through the small home, making you ever more grateful that there are no neighbors for miles.

A whine escapes your throat before you can help it, and you clap a hand over your mouth. He chuckles as he pushes back into your dripping pussy, “Oh, you like that angel?” His hand seizes your hair and drags your back flush against his body, “Ah ah ah. Take it off your mouth.” You do so, your hand trembling, “I want to hear every.” Thrust. “Beautiful.” Thrust. “Noise.” Thrust. You could almost feel him in the back of your throat with that last one, and a strangled cry is ripped from you. “Understand?”

You whimper and nod at the velvety purr against your throat and he hums in satisfaction. “Good.” He shoves you back down onto the sheets, one hand pinning you to the cot by your neck, the other curling around your waist. Without your hand to muffle the noises, your sounds come without you intending; choppy moans that are only broken by the force of his thrusts. He’s anything but quiet himself, a series of soft grunts and curses coming from the general vicinity of his head as he continues to slam into your body.

Your orgasm peaks without warning, ripping through your body before you can think to prepare yourself for it. The climax ripples outwards from your center, white flashes appearing behind your eyelids as you keen high in the back of your throat. Your floor muscles clamp down on Boba, and his rhythm stutters.

“Angel--” With a curse, he rips himself out of you, painting your ass with his release. You’re in a daze of pleasure as you come down from your high, the sheets smooth beneath your cheek and his cum warm on your back. He pulls the sheet, and you whine in protest as he yanks the comfortable bedding from underneath you. He cleans you up with the cloth, tossing it to the side into a random corner of the room.

It’s dark now. The only light in the room comes from the flickering lamp in the corner. Boba pulls blankets over your cock-dumb body, and you snuggle down into your bed, fully expecting him to leave. He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he naps on the floor with a blanket or two. You don’t expect him to climb into bed behind you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you close to him. You drift before finally surrendering to peaceful sleep.

You wake when he moves behind you. The sunrise glints through the window, spraying warm light around the room. You’d have to get up soon, but not yet. He doesn’t have to go. You turn and look at him.

Your voice is raspy with sleep, but it cuts decidedly through the silence of early morning. “I trust you. You know that, right?” You don’t wait for an answer, because if you don’t say it now, you probably won’t have the courage to do it later, “It’s not hard to earn my trust. It’s hard to keep it, and even harder to regain it.” He’s quiet, and you can feel his deep, even breaths against your front and how his arms tighten fractionally around your waist.

He rolls over, and you feel the mattress dip as he stands. “I need to cover another sector by tonight.”

You turn on your side so that you can’t see the door. Best not to get attached anyway.

---

“Should I be calling you a title or something?” You’re hesitant to refer to him as anything in your mind. He’s just Boba. Not your boyfriend, or your lover, because you only name things you expect to endure. If you find a super cute loth cat, but you can’t keep it, you don’t name it, that's just a rule of life. Don’t label it if you don’t want to keep it. Don’t get attached to something that will not stay. “Lord Boba? King Boba? Master?”

He snorts, “Not necessary, Angel. Though I wouldn’t mind that last one.” You blink at the old nickname, the familiarity of the endearment stirring up emotions that you’d thought had long since been buried. “I’m still me.”

“Are you?” The question slips out before you can think to restrain yourself, the tone more accusatory than you expected. 

“Do you want me to be?”

Now you’re the one caught off guard. You had thought about it, in the empty silence while he was gone, when the bed was too cold and empty after so much time adjusting to his weight on the other side of the mattress. No decision had been made. But once, in the darkest hours of the morning, right after you’d made yourself cum on your own fingers that couldn’t hope to measure up to him, you’d wished. You had wished that you had labelled it when you had the chance. Because maybe you had wanted the relationship to stay. 

---

“Why do you call me that?” The words are whispered into the darkness of another early morning. He’s curled around you, the heat of his body keeping you warm despite the freezing cold desert night. You need to start thinking about getting up soon. It’s a new day, a fresh start, a time to restart. Chores are waiting, like they always are. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to want to move when he’s at your back.

He shifts, breathing in the scent of your hair, “Call you what?” His arms tighten around your midsection and you wiggle slightly in his grip, your hips pressing back against his half-hard length. “Ohhhh, angel you’re going to start something that you won’t be able to finish.” 

You turn so that you’re facing him in the darkness, his features just a ghost of an outline against the early dawn rays glowing faintly through the doorway. “That. Angel. Why do you call me that?” He grinds against you, and you stifle a whimper at his heavy erection against your thigh. “Stop distracting me.” 

He sighs heavily, but he does stop and allow you to regain your focus,  “I call you angel because of that first day. Do you remember?”

You roll your hips against his, “Hard to forget.”

“Yes.” His teeth sink into the bare flesh of your shoulder, licking and sucking until you’re sure that there’s a mark. “I was in that sandcrawler for days, it’s a haze in my memory. Just blinking in and out, hoping that the sound would stop, that the world would stop moving, that those damn creatures would stop jeering at me for just a few minutes.” Your hand slips down and grasps his erection, and he inhales sharply, “And--and then. They’re grabbing me and dragging me out of that hell. And you’re there, standing above me, framed by the suns. And my first thought was that you--” He grunts as he thrusts up into your fist. His cock is leaking profusely over your hand, and you swipe your thumb over his head, “-- you must be an angel. How could you be anything else? You saved my life.”

“Bold of you to think that I’m from heaven.” With a wicked smile, your other hand drops to fondle his balls, massaging the flesh in your hand as you continue to slowly jerk him off. He snarls quietly, hand anchoring in your hair and tugging your head back so that he has access to the bare flesh of your neck and shoulder. 

“Now, you’ve become more of a devil in my bed, my angel of death.” His teeth sink into the juncture of your shoulder, no doubt leaving a mark. You were prepared for the pain, but you weren’t ready for his hand zeroing in on your sensitive clit, rubbing with the exact amount of pressure that could cause you to come in seconds, and you have other plans. 

You roll on top of him, swinging your leg over his hips and positioning his head at your entrance, “So you try to break the arm of every angel you encounter?”

“That was your fault.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hands reach to grasp you around the waist. “For pushing me, like you are doing now.” His hips roll up, and your eyes roll back. The day can wait.

---

The surge of emotions only serves to make you more frustrated, and that’s not going to help matters. You may have a long fuse, but once your anger ignites, it burns hot and long. He knows this, and yet he continues to push you. “I came down here because I owe you one, for saving my ass. So you better talk if you’re going to keep me here.”

“I saved your beautiful ass twice in return.” He’s amused, and that only serves to make you angrier. “So you owe me two, one for coming and one for staying while I explain.”

Hell no, he doesn’t get out of this by throwing in a shabby compliment, though you furiously fight the rising embarrassment all the same, “No, the first one repaid me for dragging your dying carcass out of the sandcrawler. And the welding incident hardly counts, so you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“Angel--”

“No, you are going to stop with this pretentious bullshit and tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing.” Your arms are waving in the air, you’re on the verge of hyperventilating, your voice is rising in pitch and you’re vaguely aware that you shouldn’t be working yourself up like this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, because he’s there. And you’re here, at the foot of the throne.

“Why are you so angry, angel?”

A laugh explodes out of you so forcefully that your throat stings, “Your fucking audacity, is pissing me off. You leave without explaining. You come back, and don’t think to come to find me yourself. You send your incredibly attractive, what are you, his sidekick?” Fennec raises her chin in response, though you don’t know if that’s a confirmation or not. “You drag me down here where I find out that you’ve killed Bib Fortuna and become Tatooine’s newest crime lord. And yet, you still haven’t shown the basic decency of telling me why I’m here. Do you have to kill me because of some new fucked up bounty hunter code? Because you know that I won’t go down easy, whether you have me two to one or not.” You’re scarily aware of Fennec’s gaze boring into the back of your neck.

Silence screams into the empty air as Boba freezes on the throne. “You know.”

“That you’re a bounty hunter? I’m not an idiot. It was smart to not give me your last name that first time I asked. As soon as the hunters told me, I knew. Jango Fett was your father.” The name drops a bombshell in the center of the throne room.

“What do you know of Jango Fett?”

“Not much. Only what Hondo told me.” Hondo Ohnaka. The pirate, the outlaw, the man who had morals enough to take in a starving child rather than leaving her to die.

“Hondo Ohnaka.” He leans forward, clearly interested once he recognizes the name. “But you’re not Weequay.”

“Fortunately, the man cared for children. He wouldn’t abandon one in need. He fed me, essentially raised me.” You’d been caught picking his pocket. Instead of killing you, Hondo took you in. You feel the corner of your mouth quirking up at the memory of the old pirate and the small-time smuggling jobs he’d allowed you to help out on, with your small size and quick fingers. “He’d always remind me that he used to be a feared outlaw throughout the galaxy, and that he wouldn’t be as soft the next day.”

“But he kept you anyway.” 

You shrug, “He lived by a code.”

“The pirate code?” There’s skepticism in his voice, and you don’t blame him.

“Hondo… didn’t exist by societies’ laws. He was honorable, but never good. Told me to be the same.” The advice was the best that you’d ever gotten. It allowed you to move on from guilt, to live isolated from the chaos of the galaxy. It taught you to live on your own and to be independent, to not feel for the suffering of the collective galaxy. But it also commanded you by the morals that saved your life. Don’t steal from the poor, but the rich won’t miss a handful of credits. Don’t hurt a sick child who’s just trying to eat. Don’t kill a helpless enemy, even if he hijacked your ship and crashed it onto a desert planet in the middle of nowhere. Leave him to die in the sand instead. 

“I was stranded on Tatooine a few years ago. I had no money, and no ship. I found the abandoned farm, and put together something so that I could save enough to escape one day.” No communicator either, and you’d only just struck out on your own too. Hondo was lightyears away by the time you’d thought to try to comm him, and none of the technology was current enough to reach that far. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have come to pick you up anyway. “Whe--” Your voice breaks, and you curse your emotionally sensitive vocal cords. You clear your throat, “When you left--” “You think that I could have taken you with me.”

“You could have!”

“It was dangerous, angel. I hated that I had to leave the way that I did, but--”

“You smeared bacta on me and disappeared. Was I supposed to feel happy?”

---

The day he left started the same as any other. The moisture filter needed replacing, but you didn’t have the credits yet. So you had a date with an ancient filter and your multitool. You look up, flicking hair out of your face when you hear the footsteps behind you. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer, as per usual, but he nods and rubs your hair with a gloved hand. “I’m scouting towards the flats today. Only a day trip, I’ll be home before dark.”

“Sounds good. See you.” You turn back to your multitool. You’re too focused on tweaking the settings to allow for a greater flow rate to see him smile, a rare one-sided grin before he turns to leave. His path takes him south, so he doesn’t see the three dark shapes in the heat waves approaching from the north.

The vaporator beeps loudly, protesting the absence of the filter and loudly proclaiming that it needs the filter to harvest water from the atmosphere. You tune out the obnoxious sound. After a ten minute struggle, you snap the filter’s frame out of place, exposing the internal wiring. You’re going to need a smaller drill point to reach the last resistor knob. You walk towards the workshop, wiping the sweat out of your eyes, fiddling with the screen as you do so. You’re too distracted by the tech in your hands to notice the figure slipping around the outside wall of your hut.

You grab the smaller bit and unlatch the last knob, absentmindedly walking outside to get better light into the inner workings. Despite the heat, Tatooine’s afternoons were perfect for mechanics, with the twin suns illuminating all but the tiniest crevices. Unfortunately, with your attention elsewhere, it doesn’t reveal the crime syndicate members waiting outside your door. 

The air rushes out of you as something slams into your midsection, effectively knocking you onto your ass on the sand. The filter flies out of your hands, but you’re focused instead on the helmeted figure standing over you, vibroblade levelled at your throat. “Where is he?”

Your hands are shaking as you raise them in the air, attention fixated on the masked figure. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you almost don’t notice the second one hanging back near the wall. A third, the only unhelmeted one, stands beyond the first, smiling nastily. The blade grazes your throat, and you whimper at the cool metal against your skin. “I said. Where is he?”

“Who? Maker, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fett! Boba Fett!”

Your stomach drops at the surname. The hunter curses viciously, holstering the weapon and grabbing you by the front of your shirt. You’re yanked to your feet, “Intel said that he’s here, so I’m guessing that you’re his little pretty piece on the side.” An arm presses over your throat, and you gasp as your airway is almost cut off. “Where is he?” The question is purred into your ear silkily. 

He must be insane if he thinks that you’re giving him that information. “I don’t know, he said he’s going towards the Dune Sea today. I swear, he’s gone. Left an hour ago.” You inhale sharply as the blade stops against your jaw.

“You’re pretty.” Your stomach turns at the sneer, and you fight the urge to bite him. Better to bide your time. “But an awful liar.” The angle changes so that the point is pressing into your skin and you cringe in anticipation of the cut.

A sharp command rings through the air and your captor stops. You exhale shakily, but don’t allow yourself to feel any hope. Boba’s gone and will be all day. They’re going to kill you, or use you as leverage when he returns. Or both. You’re not getting out of this alive, but you’re not going to lay down and die. Your eyes fix on the knife in front of you, but you’re visualizing where the hunter’s holster is.

Blaster fire explodes behind you, and you duck as sparks shower down onto you and your captor slumps to the ground. You don’t waste a second, ducking to rifle through the hunter’s pockets, snatching the blaster. Boba is there, features contorted in rage. He’s standing over a body, blaster in one hand and his staff in the other. Your eyes lock, and for a moment, you can almost hear him asking if you’re okay. You nod your head almost imperceptibly, but he gets the message.

A laugh rings through the air, and the moment shatters. There is a single hunter left, the one who was hanging by the hut while the other one threatened you. The cocksure swagger tells that this is the one in charge, the one who gave the command to keep you alive. And yet, the favor doesn’t hold any value to you as the helmet tilts up at Boba, “Boba Fett. You’re a hard man to find.” Boba doesn’t answer, instead jerking his head and you move towards him, “Bib Fortuna wants to talk.”

Now Boba responds, “I don’t.”

“150,000 credits to me says that you will.” Another blaster(fucking blasters) points at you, and you stop in your tracks, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s only a few meters away, a dead shot if he decides to let his finger slip.“Because he may want you alive, but not her. And she lied to me. Drop the blasters, or I shoot her now.”

You slowly lay the weapon down, eyes fixed on the barrel. Boba does the same, his hands raising placatingly as the shiny metal plops into the sand, “She’s nothing to me.” 

“You can try to tell Bib Fortuna that, but he’ll believe it even less than I do. I’ll cut you a deal. You come with me, I get my credits, she gets to live.” You focus on Boba’s face, trying to steal some of his stony calm. 

Boba smirks, “You’re even stupider than you look.” Then he’s moving, eating up the meters between them faster than you can blink. The staff arcs up, the wicked point glinting in the sun before smashing into the hunter’s helmet, crushing the metal with stunning ease. Your mouth is still hanging open when white-hot pain flares through your shoulder. Fucking blasters. You drop to the sand, curling in on yourself as your entire body seems to throb in agony. There’s no blood on your hand when you pull it away, but the smell of burnt flesh almost makes you vomit. The suns are too bright and you blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in your vision.

A form crouches over you, blocking out the light. Someone is saying your name repeatedly, slapping your face gently as they support your head and neck, “Wake up, stay with me. Gotta get bacta on that shoulder.”

You blink blearily. The world is swimming before your eyes and nothing is focusing correctly. It’s a struggle to stay awake, never mind focusing on what Boba is saying to you. The sand is so warm. Sleep would be nice. You wouldn’t have to stay awake and focus on the implications of what just went down. You wouldn’t need to feel the hole burned in your shoulder. Fuck, Boba had been shot before? How did he bear it?

He turns away, but he’s instantly back, gloved hands ripping apart your shirt at the shoulder. You mutter, “Leave it. Self cauterizes. Best way to get hurt.” The suns blend into twin slurs of light across the sky. ‘Meteors,’ you think, ‘They look like meteors. Or shooting stars.’ People make wishes on those, right?

Boba snorts, “Bantha shit.” He smears the bacta on the wound, and you shudder as the pain lessens marginally. He starts talking as he works, though it’s a struggle to understand anything when you’re so distracted by the world spinning beneath you. “Angel, I have to leave. They’ll be coming for me. I can’t stay here with you. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.” 

Okay. Okay, you tell yourself it’s okay. You’ve been expecting this day for some time. He’s a dangerous man, it was right to assume that he’s wanted by someone, you just didn’t expect the someone to be the resident crime lord of the planet he is kriffing living on. It’s hard to stay in one place for some time, but he did. For you. And now it’s your turn to let him go, to sacrifice for him because he sacrificed for you. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. You have to settle for a shaky breath and a tiny nod. 

He lifts you and carries you inside, arranging you on the bed. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, a second of tranquility before he turns and begins gathering supplies. You fight against the encroaching sleep, resolving yourself to watch and savor these last moments. He won’t be coming back, not while Bib Fortuna holds the bounty on him, and Bib has a long memory. 

So you commit every detail of him to memory. His grim and stoic face and the deadpan sarcastic humor that you’ve grown to love. His broad shoulders remind you of the first time you met him. It was absolute hell fitting his massive frame through the small doorway of your home, only for him to flatten you to the ground when you moved wrong. His careful and smooth gait that you observed every time he walked out into the dunes and away from you. His lips, which sometimes wear that devastatingly attractive sideways smirk that promises trouble, but more rarely wear a genuine smile that you’ve only seen once or twice. His powerful legs that pinned you to the mattress more than a few times. And you wish on the twin meteors outside that this wouldn’t be your last memory of him.

You try to summon words to your dry throat, but they come out as a raspy cough on your first attempt. “Boba.” 

He’s by your side instantly, so quickly that you would do a double take if you had any strength to do so. “Here.” He offers the water jug to you and you sip, remembering the first day that you met him.

But there’s no time to reminisce, “I know that you have to go. I know that I probably won’t se--” Your voice breaks, but there’s no need to finish the sentence. “But I’ll be here. If you ever come back.”

---

“You broke your promise that last day.” 

“It was self-defense.” A huff of air echoes through the modulator, and he sits back on the throne, “Angel, everytime I kill, I kill for a reason. It’s not senseless.” No, that’s not what you’re talking about.

“You broke your promise when you left Tatooine without me.” You took a chance on him. You trusted him to hold to his word. And he’d betrayed that trust.

“I was trying to protect you. You couldn’t come with me, it would have been too dangerous. You have an entire life ahead of you. Coming with me off-world would have thrown it all away.”

You laugh scornfully, “So what, you just made that promise without ever intending to keep it? Is that all your word as a man is worth?”

“I made the promise intending to keep it.” His voice is stiff, mirroring his posture as he regards you with all of the bearing of a king lording over his subject. You hate it. “But my loyalties changed, angel.” You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, “I couldn’t bring you into my life within good conscience. I promised to save you in any opportunity promised. My way of saving you was leaving you here.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“Angel, if you had come with me, I would have been violating both aspects of the promise. You would have seen killing, pointless and meaningless death. And it would have destroyed you, whatever good hope for the universe you had left.”

You scoff, “I am not a good person. I have flaws, Boba, you just refuse to see them.” You tear your collar open, revealing the tattoo inked into your skin. You’d told him that it was artistic, and it was the most beautiful reminder of your old life that you had. It’s the mark of a thief on your home planet, curling into your skin and reminding you everyday of what you had run from. “I lied and cheated and stole my way through life. I am not too naive to hear the real reasons for you coming back.” Because that’s why he didn’t tell you. He thought you were too pure to know about his job. He thinks you’re too innocent to know why he’s back. Well, you're done with him handling you with kid gloves.

“If you ever cared about me, you’ll explain why you’re here now. Because I won’t stay.” You stare down the emotionless visor, knowing that you can’t hold your ground. Your anger is still burning white hot, but it’s beginning to subside for lack of fuel. You’re exhausted, and you have no power here. You inhale, ready to continue to ream him out except the breath catches in the back of your throat and comes out a strangled half-sob. You continue to stare at him, but all you can manage is a little, “You promised.”

The suit of armor staring back at you holds the power, and he could kick you out in an instant without a backwards look. What’s a few solar cycles compared to a lifetime of independence? But someone is going to have to give ground here, and you’re almost convinced that it’s going to be you when he speaks. 

“Fennec.” Without a single word, she turns and leaves. You watch her retreating back, not knowing if you should feel relieved or trapped. “Do you want to know why I came back today? Or that day?”

A rebellious tear slips down your cheek, and you scrub it away angrily. “Pick one first.”

He’s silent again for several heart breaking moments, and you’re terrified that you’re going to have to leave, “I didn’t break my promise at first. I didn’t leave Tatooine that day.”

“What?” The tears have stopped, and that’s one little victory you won’t have to fight for here.

“The day that I left.” His hand rubs against the visor of his helmet, and you can almost imagine that he’s rubbing the visor of his helmet, right over the bridge of his nose the same way he always used to when he was stressed. “I went to Bib and bargained. A year of my service to leave you alone. I had no choice, it was the only way I could try to protect you after they came after me.”

Your heart drops and rises in your chest simultaneously, making you feel both like you’re plummeting off of a cliff while bound to a torn parachute. Puzzle pieces click into place too quickly, laying out a picture that’s still unfinished, but one that you understand primitively. The next command from Boba is unexpected, slicing through your problem solving.

“Up.” 

You blink, “Excuse me?”

“Come here.” You stand and walk to him. “Give me your hands.” His grip is gentle, guiding your fingertips under the lip of the green painted beskar. His hands stay on your wrists as you carefully lift the helmet, inch by inch, and it’s a good thing that they did because without his support your hands might have been shaking too hard to get the damn thing off. 

He looks the same as when he left all that time ago. Same strong chin, stern mouth, and scarred skin. But you look at his eyes, and you know that he did change in the time away. There’s a soft look in his eye that you had never seen before. 

“What happened to you?” Your hand grazes over his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“I fell into a Sarlaac pit.” The familiar sardonic smirk appears, but you don’t smile along with him. It vanishes, “I--” He breaks eye contact with you, looking down and licking his lips as if he’s trying to gather the words to explain, “I met a man. And a child.” He looks back up, and you almost melt at the muted shine in his eyes, “They reminded me of what is important. I came back.”

You gently set the helmet on the ground and raise your hands to cup his face. “Boba--”

“I came back that last day because I realized that I loved you. I turned around and came back to tell you, and it’s a good thing I did.” His hands come up to cover yours, and there’s the wicked spark of humor in his eye. “I wanted to stay, angel. I wanted to stay so bad, but you were safer if I didn’t.” Your eyes slip closed as you lean down and graze your forehead against his, the way that he taught you. His hand leaves yours to plant on the back of your neck and holds you there. “We couldn't be together until Bib was dead. I was wrong, to come here first and to send Fennec for you. But I needed time to… prepare.”

He had to prepare for the possibility that the bargain didn’t work, or that you had moved on. He hadn’t needed to worry, because you promised that you’d be here. You slip onto his lap, straddling his thigh without moving your head away from his. “I’m here.” 

“Are you still upset?” A hand comes up and ghosts over your hair. You lean into the touch almost subconsciously. 

“I’m working through it.” You pull back and fix him with a stern gaze. “This isn’t resolved.”

“But?”

“We’ll work through it.” He nods, his mouth hanging slightly open in a look of contemplation.

“I won’t stay.” What? You freeze, dread spiking through your chest. He must feel the tension in your body because he rushes to clarify, “I-- uh I, ah shit that was a bad way to put it.” He pulls away and meets your eyes, “I will leave this. I’ll be Boba. Not Boba Fett. Not king of the crime underworld. I’ll be anything for you. We’ll escape off-world together or some shit. We can go find Hondo, if he’s still alive.”

You snort, “That old man is too tough to die.” You tap his nose with your fingertip, “Like one other that I know.”

He snaps his teeth playfully at your finger, and you squeal happily. “My point is--” He looks up at you with such peace in his eyes that you want to curl up against his chest and never leave, “We can do whatever you want. Just the two of us. But I want to stay with you, this time around. That past life is all done. We’ll find something else to do, besides hunting bounties.”

Your eyes track towards the doorway that Fennec disappeared through, and his gaze follows. “Fennec will be fine. I’ll release her from my service. Hell--” He chuckles dryly, “Maybe I’ll leave the throne to her.”

That’s a terrifying thought that you’re not quite ready to consider just yet. “You’d give this all up for me?”

“Angel, that’s what love is. Sacrifice. I just didn’t learn it soon enough.”

You kiss him, a real one this time, melting into his lips, “Love can be compromise. And this is a point I’m willing to give on.” 

“What?”

“I’ll admit,” You tilt your head, a mischievous grin sliding across your face, “Queen of the crime underworld has a nice ring to it after being a moisture farmer for several years.”

He smiles, the real one this time, “I like the title on you.” His hands attach to your hips, holding you down on the hard ridge of his thigh as he grinds the leg up into your cunt. “Makes me wanna act out, Your Majesty.”

You gasp at the surge of wetness between your legs. Stars, it’s been so long that you almost forgot how much you loved the feeling of his body beneath you. “Boba--”

“Ah ah, is that any way to address your king?” So this is how he wants to play? Fine.

“No, Your Royalness.” Wrong answer. One hand comes down hard on your ass, and there’s going to be a mark for sure. “Your Excellency?” Nope, and another spank burns on your butt. “My king?” You brace yourself for another, but the hand stays. 

“Hmmm, I like that one.” His grip tightens, and you know that you’re going to have finger shaped bruises on the pillowy flesh. He captures your lips against his, and you roll your hips downwards onto his thigh. His erection rests heavy against the inside of your thigh, and you purposefully angle your hips to create more friction against it. “Angel, I want nothing more than to take you now, but--” He stands with a grunt, easily hoisting you into the air with his hands supporting your butt. 

“--I’d rather taste you first.”

A/N: Okay wow this took me so long. This project has literally been in the works for months, and I found a way to finish it finally! I’m not sure if the Boba Fett craze has passed yet, but either way here we have Boba. Some throne-fucking for those of you who would care for it. 

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross​

[gryffindors-weasley]

Hues of Pink

Bill Weasley x Reader

Summary: On rainy day at home, Bill paints your nails.

Requested by @am-i-space : “Hey I recently had this thought and I would love to actually read this I think it would be adorable: Bill sitting behind you and and painting your nails, and like little neck kisses and stupid giggles from both of you and him resting his head on yours when he´s concentrating.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of scars, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet and fluffy request, I hope you enjoy it!!

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker)

The rain was steady outside, no intentions of passing any time soon as it pelted relentlessly against the chilled windowpanes. Fortunately, there were no pressing plans waiting for either of you, and the inclement weather had only further decided that it would be a lax day around your home. You weren’t complaining though, work had been rather taxing on the both of you as of late and this gave way to some much needed time to spend together. You would never complain about that, because days like this seemed to be few and far between.

“What are you doing, love?” Bill asks, appearing in the doorway with a yawn. He leant against the doorframe as he watched you curiously over his mug and you smile brightly from your spot at the coffee table.

“Painting my nails,” you state simply, setting down your nail file amongst the assortment of other tools.

You hadn’t had spare minute to do such a hobby in a while and with your newfound down time, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to treat yourself. That, and it had always been a way to alleviate your stress when your mind was feeling rather busy. Though you will admit it does not work wonders in the department of aroma therapy. That much is very certain.

He hums and nods, stepping into the room fully to be with you. He was still dressed in his pajamas much like you were, and his hair had yet to meet a comb that day as it dusted over his shoulders in tangled red locks. You always playfully suggested a trim if he’d insisted on letting his hairbrush collect dust on your nightstand, but your attempts were always declined with an immediate frown. Not to mention the ginger strands you always found in your brush.

Moments later he had joined you on the living room floor, basking in the warmth of his drink that was steaming just under his nose freckled nose.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head in that moment to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tasting of his usual lemon tea and an abundant amount of sugar. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

He scrunches his nose in a quiet protest, pulling away from you with a fond shake of his head and a soft smile. “Must you always tease me?”

You pretend to ponder the question briefly, tapping your finger on your cheek as he raises a brow at you. “I believe the answer is undoubtedly a yes, my love.”

He scoffs into his mug.

“Well, I believe I should stop calling you sunshine in favor of something more accurate then, like trouble.”

“Actually, Bill, I quite like that one,” You say with a laugh, more so when he narrows his tired eyes at you with a disapproving frown. Though no matter how much you may have teased him in good fun, you’d always be the embodiment of sunshine, lighting up his life in every way imaginable.

You tenderly ran your thumb over the pink scars that run across his cheek, his frown fading and the crease between his brows smoothing once more at your touch. “I’m only kidding,” you assure, but he knows that smile anywhere. “But you know I can’t resist!”

He huffs and hides his smile behind his mug as he takes a sip, setting the tattered old ceramic down on a mismatched coaster before focusing his attention back on you. It was something he always found himself to be doing, to him it was rather hard not to. And the way your tongue had poked out just past very kissable lips was only further proving his point; anything thing you did, no matter how simple or grand, always proved his point. He feels maybe he shouldn’t have joined in with his brothers in teasing Ron for the way he’s always gazing at Hermione, because he’s quite sure he has his little brother beat at this point.

He supposes one never truly understands the full scope of love and it’s effects until one is lucky enough have it. Well, he always knew love when it came to his family, he’s never experienced a moment in his life where he found himself without it. But this, this was far different from that. You came into his life and turned it upside down for the better, quite literally too when you had knocked his textbooks to floor outside of potions in your clumsy haze all those years ago. He’s sure he’s never seen someone be quite so flustered over him in all his life. Charlie was quick to take note and embarrass him in front of you once he knew his brother had caught feelings, and he quickly became flustered over you. Regardless, he was and still is profoundly in love with you, that’ll never change.

You loved him for who he is, not what he may or may not have. The scars stretching across his fair skin were of no importance either, for he’d always been beautiful to you. He was Bill Weasley, wonderfully awkward and exceptionally intelligent with a heart of gold. That’s what you loved.

His fingers tapped against his cheek as his chin rests in his palm, watching as you paint on the blush colored nail varnish with a practiced ease. You have a habit of making everything look easy, he’s noticed. For lack of better, less ironic wording, he always felt you seemed to possess a different kind of magic. One that makes the world go round, his world, one that makes everything all the more enamoring. Any spell or enchantment couldn’t hold a candle to you in his eyes.

“Can I do it?” He suddenly inquires, tucking his hair behind his ear even though it rebelliously fell right back into place. He’s decided he’s got to do something other than stare at you all day, though he is perfectly content to do so.

When you turn your head, he’s looking at you curiously, and a smile is quick to tug at your lips. He mirrors your expression with a lopsided grin, a pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

You nod and he scoots in behind you, peering over your shoulder at the spread of polishes laid out on the small table. Before he started, you switch on another lamp with a flick of your finger so he could see a bit better. He snagged the bottle of baby pink polish you’d been working from, uncapping it and gingerly taking your hand in his own. When you opened your mouth to point him in the right direction he hushed you with a quiet hum and you laugh softly, leaning back against his chest as you let him take creative control.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, his head rested against yours as he got to work with unwavering determination. No matter the task, Bill Weasley will always find a way to make it seem as though it was of the utmost importance. Whether it be washing the dishes or being called off to work, that stoic look of concentration never failed to make an appearance. Yes, his hands had been a bit shaky and perhaps it was from the extra scoop of sugar he puts in his tea, perhaps it wasn’t, but so far he hadn’t done half bad.

With your free hand, you snag his mug of tea and take a sip, smiling to yourself at how obscenely sweet it was. If one thing was obvious, it was that he had the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you’d ever known. He made a discontented protest when you moved once more and nearly messed up his progress, though it was one that was easily satisfied with a kiss.

For a while after that things were quiet, save for the consistent patter of the raindrops trickling down outside and his steady breathing in your ear. A cinnamon flavored candle had been gracing the room with its delightful fragrance, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of home. It made everything all the more cozy. The day was nothing short of peaceful and everything you’d dreamed it would be; not even Bill’s lighthearted grumbling over your constant fidgeting could take away from the moment. He was the cause after all, he couldn’t expect you to stay still with the chaste and absentminded kisses he’d been pressing upon your neck. It was only fair.

“I used to paint my mother’s nails, you know,” he murmurs then, still focused on the task at hand. You hum softly in response to urge him to continue on. “Whenever she’d gotten a cold or even just felt under the weather, I’d paint her nails to lift her spirits. It was this ruby red color she always adored. Granted I was fifteen and it looked absolutely horrendous and— love don’t move!”

You giggle out a soft apology and turn your head to kiss his cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile and sighed softly, diligently continuing on with his work. “Now Ronnie gets to do it.”

The thought alone made you smile because the one and only time you’d let Ron Weasley do your nails, and even Fred for that matter, you’d ended up with more polish on your skin than your nails. It had even wound up on them, you recall. They had insisted you were moving far too much and that may have been a little true, but you’ll never let them live down their terrible nail painting abilities.

Bill’s hair had been tickling your skin and you fought the shiver it elicited, but you couldn’t seem to help it in that moment. The tiny brush clutched in his hand had smudged the soft pink pigment onto your skin, and he huffed out a laugh against your neck. He stuck the brush back in its rightful bottle with acceptance that he couldn’t get any more work done before his lips found your neck once more, your laughter relentless when he kissed the sensitive skin. He knew this fact very well, and used it to his full advantage as retaliation. His arm encircled your waist momentarily as he squeezed you close in a half hug, his own laughter mingling with yours in the little living room.

You manage free yourself from his embrace, cautious not to further smudge your freshly painted manicure. He was quick to get on his feet, though, grabbing your wrist and twirling you to face him as he tugged you close.

“Careful! You just might ruin all your hard work, love,” you scold with a beaming smile, but he seems to be far more concerned with you presently.

Your laughter fades considerably in that moment as he envelopes you in his arms once more, and with careful movements you wrap your own around his neck. You’d never quite gotten used to the way he looks at you and you probably never will; it was as if the very world revolved around you. It made the familiar crimson burn and blossom across your cheeks, his smile widening a fraction as you avert your gaze.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, you know,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek while you try and focus on absolutely anything but the way your blush is creeping down your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he chuckles, but he was very much aware of the meaning behind your words.

You cast a pointed stare in his direction, daring to look at him fully. A stubborn chunk of ginger hair had fallen from where it was tucked behind his ear, brushing over his cheek. A sigh leaves your lips and he finds himself resting his forehead on yours, nudging you softly with his nose. You were starting to feel like a moment more perfect than this couldn’t exist. The pungent scent of nail polish was something you could very much do without, but it was only a minor inconvenience. For you were in the arms of the love of your life and not a single thing could surpass that.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his eyes falling closed as a much softer smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Very much.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, not one of mocking, but one of utter joy that had been too overflowing within you not to do so. His chuckle puffs against your lips, his arms tightening their hold. “I love you, Bill Weasley,” you breathe earnestly in the closeness, nearly stealing a kiss before you let yourself finish your declaration. “Very much.”

Both your cheeks were stained in varying hues of pink as your lips melded in the most loving of kisses, and there was no greater feeling.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @loony-loopy-lupinn @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq