#same with the pieces of ginger just leave it all in

[twistedappletree]

also idk if this’ll help anyone else but boiling fresh ginger root in water, then adding fresh squeezed lemon, honey and a dash of fire cider is bomb af when ur sick /js

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Bunch of Quickies

Caption #2: First Job out of Uni

My brain fired off some initial ideas upon seeing these pics, but I just cannot extend it, so here's a bunch of short captions that now have the chance to be unearthed from the depth of my draft

Caption #1: Morning

"Hey there sleepyhead, how's your sleep?" said the attractive guy sitting on top of the marble countertop sipping his morning coffee to the drowsy Gus

"Another form already, huh? What are you up to this morning looking like that?"

"Nothing, to be honest. Just want to look good and fresh, plus, it's nice to be fucking confident because you know you're one hot piece of shit,"

"Well, that's a spot on assessment about that dude. He jogged with the dog again this morning?"

"Different dog, but still shirtless as usual. Added this tattoo to his forearm, just copied it and heck it looks nice, guy really knows his body,"

"Ah, okay, so he's fucking different girl already now,"

"Yeah, but he can fuck a guy if he wants to,"

"Lee, calm the fuck down. This is still fucking early,"

"Well, for you, but for Wade here, it's quite late already. He already finished his running, eating his breakfast and about to hop into his shower. But the girlfriend is one kinky fucker, wanted to taste Wade's musty sweaty cock. Again, Wade prefers boys this time,"

"Oh come on, go clean yourself, will ya, let me have my morning,"

Wade/Lee just smirked and slapped his boyfriend's ass as he walked away to leave Gus to have his morning routine. After reading some news online and drinking his coffee, Gus walked back to his room to head to the bathroom as he's about to take a dump and clean himself. Then, walked another guy out from the bathroom, his expression tense and definitely hungry

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?"

Gus just sighed, Lee really love his roleplay.....

"Everyone will go nuts if I walk in like this," said Barry to the reflection of this random old DILF in the mirror, imagining the loud, borderline animalistic grunt and holler from the packed crowd of the Sticky Situation. Yeah, that's the name of the gay nightclub where Barry frequently danced and partied with his friends. But this will be a new experience for the 22 years old freshgraduate, his first job experience after uni turned out to be something beyond his wildest imaginations, all thanks to his hips that caught the attention of the nightclub manager, who found himself in sticky situation with his boyfriend of 3 years, Daniel. Reluctant to let Daniel go, and swayed by Barry's energetic presence on the dance floor, he concocted a plan to get the naive and horny freshgrad a chance for an upgrade of a lifetime, and of course Barry took that offer. Now, finger cross Barry will decide to stay permanently inside Daniel, that will make things much more easier so he doesn't need to find the occupant of his boyfriend-turned-bodysuit every few months or so.

Caption #3: Recluse Neighbor

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Ck, just how I thought. Well, it doesn't matter, in a matter of seconds, I'm about to be you, Mr. Bay,"

And just like that, the mostly reserved and barely sociable ginger lunged to get himself inside the body of his own neighbor that barely recognized him. Mr. Bay might not be rich or anything seeing that he basically lived in the same building as him, but everything beats living with his deadbeat alcoholic father and that devious cunt he's forced to call mom

Caption #4: Setting Things Right

I suggested them about the takeover ever since Mario shown me how to swap bodies with him by chugging those pills he stashed in his bedside counter. Maybe he trusted me or maybe he was just naive, but I still have no idea why Mario would willingly share such out-of-this-world possibility to me, a mere random hookup of his, as if everyone are bunch of saints that wouldn't take an opportunity to create a new life for themselves? During our third swap, I fucked him so hard using his own body, he started weeping as my hole never really found itself in such distressing lustful pounding. In his weakened state, face & body bruised and stamina drained from the whole mess, I decided to violate our terms & conditions, flipping him over to then proceed to facefuck him like there's no tomorrow. You should have seen his panicked stare and the way he tried to push me off as he realized what I was about to do, but as soon as the copious spunk hit his throat, the resistance ended and his eyes turned hazy as the cum sealed his fate to remain in my body while I took his body as my permanent residence, the swap somehow irreversible if someone came in the other's mouth or practically anywhere else except asshole, possibly indicating that the pills should not be tainted with cum when swallowed within specific time window.

The almost same case went on with Isaiah and Darnell, two of Mario's closest friend and frequent fuckbuddies, that found themselves now locked for good inside Leon, my Salvadoran best friend and Rei, my Japanese-American roommate. Both Isaiah and Darnell also have the same kink of getting fucked by smaller dudes, and when I explained to both big bottoms that the swapping pills would have extra effect if swallowed with cum for heightened senses (I advertised it as popper in pills form), they took Leon's and Rei's cum like some good submissive slut, inadvertently sealing their own fate to be trapped in the body that now preferably more fitting to their sexual desires. Talk about setting things right, because all 3 of us wanted to be older and stronger ever since we connected in college a couple years ago and these 3 daddies just wanted to waste their big bodies to bottom

Caption #5: Unexpected Swap

Frankie was sobbing in his bedroom after getting locked by his evil stepfather Darius after he found Frankie jerking off in front of his laptop to a shirtless guy in the other side of the call. To make things worse, Darius found his socks right next to Frankie's body, his eyes filled with hatred and disgust as he punished the 19 years old boy he viewed as mere burden and now, shame, to his name.

"You fucking faggot, I know you're just some up to no good failure, have some shame will ya? Worthless piece of faggot shit! Sniffing my socks too, getting off on my odor? God, you are disgusting!" Darius said, one of his rant in between the beatings

Frankie cried himself to sleep, both for the physical pain inflicted by his father that beat the shit out of him and also the mental anguish of thinking what would happen next after Darius arrived back. Of course he would never expect to found himself suddenly standing up in the middle of the gym, exasperated from the intense workout he just went through

Workout? Wha--- his thoughts came to a halt as everything started to get its footings. He's in the middle of the gym, feeling pumped, and the shirt.....this is unmistakably one of the shirts he usually found in the laundry room.....Darius shirt

As he looked down and then flexed his biceps to get a good look over his physique, he also started to feel the snaking blood rush to the monster he called his own now, the humungous cock attached to Darius's body. Oh he's about to have fun getting off directly from the source

[l0standn0tf0und]

Remus John Lupin headcanons, but it gets more angsty with each paragraph

pt.2

TW: mentions of chronic pain, self-harm, blood, grief, trauma, anger issues, smoking, sexual content.

Remus John Lupin, who loves and hates rings at the same time. He likes how they look, he likes the idea of them, he thinks it's the nicest type of jewelry but he can't stand the feeling of rings on his fingers. They shackle him even if they are a few sizes bigger and gonna fall off if he shakes his hand. Wearing a ring feels worse than a mosquito bite that constantly itches for him.

Remus John "the tallest Marauder" Lupin

Remus John Lupin, who wears meaningful rings on a simple chain around his neck. He genuinely wants to wear them like normal people do, but that's the only option that works for him. Remus John Lupin who reassures himself with the fact that this way the rings are closer to his heart after the thought of making another failed attempt has crossed his mind.

Remus John Lupin who picks at scabs of his unhealed wounds when he's nervous. And Remus John Lupin, who only realizes what he's doing when he feels the stickiness of blood on his fingers.

Remus John Lupin, who needs a cane. Not all the time, but after particularly tough moons. It's just for a couple of days, and he knows it. Remus John Lupin, who, each time, looks at this piece of wood with a special kind of hate in his eyes and sighs heavily before taking it and starting his day.

Remus John Lupin, who limped through the Hogwarts corridors, gritting his teeth in pain because he refused to use a cane. Too ashamed to admit his weakness and the extent of the damage he had done to himself.

Remus John Lupin, who limped through the Hogwarts corridors, gritting his teeth in pain until James got knocked off his broom in the dying minutes of one of the matches. Which led to his broken leg, several weeks of proud stag gait on crutches, and even more stag-like attempts to persuade Remus into the "high speed" race through the corridors. And also led to Remus coming to terms with using a cane.

Remus John Lupin, who you look at and can't figure out what he's like. Is he a shy nerdy guy who reads books voraciously? Or is he a thug who's gonna break your nose if you look at him the wrong way?

Remus John Lupin, who can't figure out himself what he's like.

Remus John Lupin, who hates the cane even more now. Remus John Lupin who looks at this piece of wood with a new kind of rage in his eyes and sighs hopelessly because each and every time he hears the echo of James's laughter after he finally agreed to the race and recalls as amusement gave way to confusion and then back to unbridled joy on Prongs' face when they almost crashed into Minnie on their way.

Remus John Lupin, who's gonna actually break your nose if you make him angry.

Remus John Lupin, who actually reads books voraciously.

Remus John Lupin, who has anger issues.

Remus John Lupin, who wears the coziest "grandpa's" sweaters.

Remus John Lupin, who genuinely wants to quit smoking.

Remus John Lupin who burned his couch once because he fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand.

Remus John Lupin, who throws the most punk leather jacket over his cozy "grandpa's" sweater.

Remus John Lupin, who lit up a cigarette right after extinguishing the fire. Because his biggest regret in this burned couch situation is the ashes, that got on the photo, leaving a burnt hole instead of the month, in the " September 1st at Hogwarts, 1976" in Sirius' neat handwriting.

Remus John Lupin, who questions himself if he was born with uncontrollable anger or if it's his "fluffy problem." And in general, what of his character belongs to him, and what to the wolf?

Remus John Lupin, who hates to call it the "fluffy problem." Because why for fucks sake use the word "fluffy"? Fluffy, it's something nice, sweet, and comforting. The wolf inside him is far from being nice, sweet, and comforting.

Remus, who cried himself to sleep because a random ginger girl knocked on his door, trick or treating.

Remus John Lupin, who gets extremely needy and horny before each full moon.

Remus John Lupin, who regrets that he didn't tear himself apart completely after each full moon.

Remus John Lupin, who can't stand to see anyone during the first few days after the full moon. Because it makes him think about Peter, who used to sneak chocolate past Madam Pomfrey to cheer him up during these first few days in the hospital wing.

Remus John Lupin who tries to hold back his tears and fails each time he hears "Happy Xmas" by John & Yoko.

Remus John Lupin, whose war was not over until he took his last breath.

And Remus John Lupin, who had known since childhood that his war would not be over until he took his last breath.

masterpost

[gojos-espresso]

Him reacting to you wearing your sexy crochet lingerie you made-

Pt-1

A/N: Just made this sexy crochet bra top and now I can't it of my brain on how my favs will react to it.

Warnings: slightly suggestive

Kaveh/Alhaitham/kaeya/childe x nb!AFAB! reader

His eyes didn't leave your hands as you twisted and pulled through the threads of your new "project". You often made cute plushies or sweaters for him and yourself but this was a little different. You won't tell him what it was you were making which caused his curiosity even more. He tried peeking into your phone as you worked or tried his best to figure it out, but you just won't budge. Here you are standing in front of him, eyes wide in shock, as a small trail of blood ran down his nose.

Inspiration

KAVEH

He just couldn't believe his eyes, Standing awkwardly at the entrance, mouth agape. So this was what you had been working on all along? A pink lacy baby doll with matching panties. Shyly walking towards him you slightly twirled showing off the airy material and your sexy figure. "You made this!?" He squealed as he reached out to you, holding onto you firmly. He adored your creativity, and all the gifts you gave him were cherished by him. But seeing you use your talents to such an extent, just for him made him so hard. Pining you to the wall, he slid to his knees as he slowly kissed up your thighs, kneading your ass. He softly kissed you over your panties before making eye contact with you. His red eyes were darker than before.

"What did I do to deserve you? My reward for your hard work will be rich and sweet. Come on open up your legs more"

ALHAITHAM

The only time he would put his book down in the first go is when you are the one calling him. Sighing he looks up to see you shyly walking up to him. The green of the garment caught his eyes quickly. On closer inspection, he realized it was the yarn you begged him to buy just last week. "What do you think?" You inquire whilst adjusting your top which became a little too see-through. Keeping the book down he reaches out to you pulling you onto his lap. "It's perfect" he replies whilst pulling onto the strings of your top, inspecting every detail as his hand slid down your body and resting on your thighs.

"What other ways are you going to use to pull me into you? Well, you aren't going anywhere" tomorrow."

CHILDE

The Shneznayan cold made you pick up crochet. Sitting with the village grannies and making sweaters and plushies for the kids was your biggest source of happiness other than that one ginger-haired sweetheart. He loved your creations. Your sweaters were an instant hit with the townspeople but also with your lover. Hearing the clinking of keys you ran out of the room covering yourself in a blanket. The harbinger oh so ever tired made himself known in the house grumbling about how tiring it was. "Like seriously why does- NAME!" He cut himself off before shrieking out. A hand now covering his agape mouth as you twirled in the red piece you made." I had some scrap yarn left from your sweater so-Hey!!" He threw you over his shoulder and made way for the bedroom.

"Sweetheart you ain't leaving the house for the next two days"

KAEYA

He hadn't been home for a week, the trip to Sumeru was exhausting, the heat getting him. The sun had already set in Mondstadt, the purple hues scattered in the sky. Groggily he climbs the stairs of his apartment, a wine bottle in hand to enjoy with you. "I'm home!" He calls out as he enters the house. The living room was a mess scattered with yarn everywhere. He chuckled being reminded of your love for crochet. Dropping his bags he walks towards the bedroom hoping you are asleep, instead, he is greeted by the sight of you wearing a lacy baby doll in baby blue, the same color as the yarn scattered around and checking yourself out in the mirror. Walking swiftly he hugs you from behind causing you to yelp. " Darling when did you mmph-" He kissed you square on the lips as his hands opened the strings of your top.

"How do you become more and more irresistible every time I'm away? I believe my thirst for you will never be satiated."

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly. 

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?” 

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands. 

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.”  You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.” 

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her. 

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her. 

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd. 

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you. 

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile…. 

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.” 

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over. 

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love” 

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base. 

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred. 

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Lion | Azriel (Hogwarts Au)

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: light swearing, slight team rivalry, mostly quidditch, slightly suggestive at the end — it would've been smut but I didn't feel like writing it today aaaannnnnddddd it's kinda rushed because I didn't know what else to write.

Game day.

Nervous energy gathered in the great hall as you entered with your teammates. Air was forced into your lungs by the pure necessity for survival, body on autopilot. 

The Gryffindor table practically burst at the seams when they caught sight of their players, all seven taking seats at one end of the table. 

Bets were placed, passed around like a flask of firewhiskey in the common room after curfew. Cheers of smug assumptions, pleas for Gryffindor to win, and well wishes invaded your senses. 

“Don't go easy on them.” Cassian warned from beside you, forcing a piece of buttered toast into your hand. Crumbs fell to the red and gold sleeve of your quidditch jersey that carried the number five, wiped away hastily as you forced yourself to take a bite. 

Your stomach twisted into knots and you felt nauseous, but you had to eat. Couldn't play on an empty stomach — learned that the hard way. 

The bite of toast slid down your throat and you finally looked over at Cassian, clad in his own jersey with the number three on it. 

You rolled your eyes and took another bite. “I don't need your reminders, Cass.” You spoke around the mouthful of toast. 

“We're playing Ravenclaw. Your boyfriend is Ravenclaw's seeker — enough said.” He replied, biting into his own toast. 

Azriel. One of Cassian's close childhood friends, who was practically a brother to him. You'd only been dating him for four months, having got close at the end of the last school year and over the summer. 

“Again, I don't need your reminders. . .” You groaned. “I can play without getting distracted by his pretty eyes and perfect face.” 

“Sure.” Cassian drawled out with a smirk. 

“You're insufferable.”

“I'm adorable.” 

You snorted and then finished breakfast, standing at the same time as the Ravenclaw team captain. Nerves filled your body with electricity, a warmth spreading through your body as the remainder of the Gryffindor team rose around you, their captain. 

Wordlessly, the team followed you out of the great hall, all the way down to the locker rooms. 

You paced back and forth while they sat on benches, attempting to gather the raging thoughts in your head. Finally, with a sigh, you faced the team, staring at them for a long moment. 

“Alright, listen. . . Ravenclaw has a good lineup this year, I won't lie to you. . . But we have something they don't.” You said, meeting each of their gazes individually. “An advantage.” 

A small smirk drew across your face. “We have one of the best teams this school has seen in over fifty years. . . We have two outstanding beaters.” Your gaze fell to Cassian and a fifth year boy with blue eyes. 

“We have an amazing fuckin’ keeper.” Your eyes drifted to a fellow sixth year with ginger hair, before drifting to another sixth year boy with black hair. “A seeker who can win this for us.” 

“And then you have the three fastest chasers in history.” You pointed to yourself, Mor, and a girl with light brown hair, the two females silent with nerves they couldn't hide. “We got this.” 

Just as you finished speaking, the song from the Gryffindor stands reached the locker rooms, immediately filling the room with an electrifying, buzzing energy. 

You're like an empress

You've got fire running down your cheeks

You burn everything you see

Gold are your fingers

Leaving traces everywhere you go

Diamonds in your skin

My blood flows

Cassian stood. “Let's win this shit.” He cheered, the rest of the team following suit as they prepared to make their entrance. You stood at the very front of the group, your beaters flanking you like massive bodyguards. 

Bring the lion out

Bring the, bring the lion out

Electricity thrummed in your veins as the Gryffindor team stepped out on the pitch, a mixture of cheers and chanting. 

Bring the lion out

Bring the, bring the lion out 

Each step was threaded with anticipation and confidence, your gaze set on the center of the pitch. Rather, who was already standing there. 

Hazel eyes and a perfect smirk on his usually stoic face — the face that was anything but stoic around you. Your heart fluttered in your chest slightly, yet your determined expression didn't falter as you came to a stop and his eyes raked your form. 

“Captains, shake hands.” 

You didn't hesitate to reach your hand out, fingers splayed slightly as you awaited his hand. The moment his warm skin touched yours, your fingers wrapped around his firmly, perhaps gripping a little bit tighter than necessary. 

Bring the lion out 

Bring the, bring the lion out

“Azzie.” You hummed with a small grin.

“Darling.” 

“Watch for bludgers.” You shook his hand firmly as the cool, autumn air drifted across the grounds.

Azriel squeezed your hand gently and backed away, his small smirk never faltering as his hand fell from yours. The two of you shared a look that said ‘good luck’, before brooms were mounted and each team shot to the sky, getting into formation.

Bring the lion out

Bring the, bring the lion out 

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Cassian and Morrigan gathered around you, each of them cheering just as loudly as you. 

Ravenclaw caught the snitch, but even with the 150 points added to their score, Gryffindor won by 20 points, all because of the two goals you made.

Despite losing, Azriel approached you once the pitch had mostly cleared of the sea of red and gold. His hands came up to either side of your face, staring down at you with admiration, loving the look of glee that took over your features at the win. 

He gently placed his lips to yours before pulling back slightly. “Good job, my darling lion.” He murmured. 

You laughed lightly, a softer smile gracing your face as you stared up at him, his hazel eyes boring into you. “You weren't too bad yourself, Az.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment and leaned back in, his lips barely grazing yours before they landed a little more firmly. 

You immediately melted into him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. 

“Get a room!” Mor called out, causing a loud barking laugh to come from Cassian. . . Azriel pulled away with a small sigh, resting his forehead against yours.

“Remind me why we're friends with them again?” He asked softly.

You snorted and pulled away, resting your hands on top of his. “Moral obligation at this point, I think.” You murmured, your tone teasing. 

“Yeah, that's probably it. . . Would you want to skip the victory party with me?” 

“As if you have to ask.” 

“You're seriously skipping out on the party?” Cassian asked incredulously, his eyes darting between you and Azriel. “Y/N, you have to at least show up. You're the team captain!” 

You groaned and nodded. “Fine.” You muttered, knowing full well you'd be sneaking off with Azriel and having a victory party of your own.

You ended up showing up to the party after dinner and staying for a while, having your fill of butterbeer before you were practically dragged out of the portrait hole by Azriel, who was more than eager to get you away from the party. 

And so the night went out with a bang. 

[ange1sang]

kinktober d.3: gallavich + oral fixation

minors + under 18s pls do not interact ty

gallavich (ian x mickey); 2k words, smut, college au, crushes, blowjobs, oral fixation

a/n: this one's an au but i swear it's good so pls give it a chance!! <3

Mickey’s never been one to stare. He knows how to mind his own business, fuck you very much, and on top of that he doesn’t find most people all that interesting. Some of them are hot, some of them are boring, but most of them land somewhere in the middle that warrants a few glances at most before he makes a move or leaves them alone. He’s a direct person, for better or worse, and doesn’t find much fun in the whole playing footsie under the table and biting your lip at each other. If he’s into someone he’ll come out and say it, so no, he doesn’t spend much of his time staring at people. But this one ginger fuck — well, he’s an exception.

Mickey sees him for the first time in his Entrepreneurship class. This shouldn’t mean anything, really, because there are at least three hundred people crammed into the lecture hall, but the redhead is hot and sitting a row down just to Mickey’s right so that he’s got a good view of him. He’s hot enough that Mickey considers asking if he’ll be at the student bar later, but instead he finds himself watching him the whole class. In particular, he finds him watching his mouth.

The whole class, the redhead has something between his lips. At first he’s chewing gum, which he neatly folds away in a piece of scrap paper ten minutes into the lecture and replaces with the end of his pen. At first he’s just running it back and forth across his lips, almost like he’s flirting subconsciously with someone, but eventually he starts chewing on the plastic, teeth digging into little grooves already formed there. Even during the break when he’s chatting idly with the person sat next to him he runs his tongue along his bottom lip between sentences, bites at his top lip so that it’s slick with spit when he starts to speak again. Mickey’s captivated, and by the time he’s packing his notebook away he realises he didn’t learn much of anything from the lecture.

Next lecture, he looks around for the ginger head of hair and sits behind him again. He tells himself this time he’ll ask where he’s staying, find something to talk about that makes it clear he wants to hang out, but then the redhead unwraps a lollipop and all of those thoughts vanish. It’d be one thing if he just sucked on it like a normal person, but every few minutes he grabs a hold of the stick and rubs it back and forth over his lips like he’s applying gloss. Once again, an hour and forty five minutes are lost to watching this guy’s mouth. Watching how he leaves his lips shiny with sugar for a second or two before licking it away, over and over until the lollipop is gone. Even then he keeps the stick in his mouth, moving it up and down then side to side with his tongue. Mickey’s glad the pull up desk is close enough to his lap that no one can see the boner he spends all class willing away.

This happens again, and again, until Mickey feels like he’s going insane. He hasn’t mapped out anybody’s face this well, couldn’t tell you if his flatmate had any beauty marks, but he’s got the freckles on this guy’s face committed to memory. And his mouth. He has an embarrassing amount of daydreams (and real dreams) about his fucking mouth. It’s a nightmare. Every time he checks his timetable and sees Entrepreneurship his stomach does a little flip-flop of anticipation. And if Mickey’s never been one for staring, he’s definitely never been one for stomach flip-flops.

It’s the eighth lecture when he gets to class and doesn’t spot the redhead there, which unnerves him slightly because he’s always weirdly early. But whatever. The lectures aren’t mandatory and with the amount of people in the class it’d be impossible to see the same people every time. He sits down towards the back and pulls out his notebook and pen (free of teeth marks, unlike that redheaded fuck’s). It’s almost like clockwork, what happens next. As soon as the cap on his pen comes off, the seat next to his is being pushed down and— shit.

“Cool if I sit here?” the redhead asks, even though he’s already sat down, pulling out a notebook and his signature chewed up pen.

“Guess so,” Mickey mumbles, and realises far too late that he’s been staring at him. He’s gotten so used to doing it that it’s almost like second nature, but now that the guy’s sitting close enough that he can feel the warmth coming off of his arm it’s painfully obvious that he’s looking at him and his mouth.

They sit in silence until the lecture starts, at which point the redhead leans into him and speaks softly around the pen cap between his lips.

“My name’s Ian,” he whispers. Mickey glances at him and instantly feels a familiar warmth in his stomach when he twists the pen cap back and forth between his lips.

“Mickey,” he whispers back, averting his eyes before he digs himself any further into this hole.

“My friend said you were staring last lecture,” Ian goes on, voice taking on a teasing lilt that has Mickey cussing under his breath. “And the one before that, and the one before?”

He phrases it like a question, like Mickey should say something to defend himself before he jumps to conclusions. There isn’t much to say though, not when the conclusions are probably accurate, so he just shrugs.

“You’ve always got shit in your mouth, man,” he mumbles back, meeting Ian’s eyes for a split second and then looking down at where he’s sucking on his bottom lip for what he hopes is just a split second. “’S fuckin’ weird.”

“Weird?” Ian whispers, breaking off into a giggle just loud enough to make someone in the row ahead of them turn around. Mickey nods, even though he can feel warmth climbing his cheeks to the tips of his ears, watching how the other wipes the spit from his bottom lip with his thumb. “Sure it’s not ‘cause you want to put something else in my mouth?”

If Mickey hadn’t already given himself a Pavlovian reaction to this godforsaken class that sentence alone would definitely be enough to do it.

“Maybe,” he gets out without sounding too embarrassed. He looks at Ian and finds him with the end of his pen between his teeth, tongue running along the bite marks on the end of it. Paired with the knowing smile on his lips it’s enough to give him a semi. “You gonna do somethin’ about it, red?”

“Soon as class is over,” Ian says, grinning like he’s told a joke. Mickey feels like he’s been handed a sentence instead, checking the time on his phone and realising there’s an hour and a half left of class.

.

The second they’re out of the lecture hall Ian’s grinning at him all over again. Mickey chooses to ignore how his cheeks are burning in favour of rummaging around in his bag for his cigarettes.

“Don’t light anything, my place is just across the street,” Ian says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him towards the exit. Mickey raises an eyebrow.

“You’re eager,” he comments, which makes Ian snort.

“Like you said, I’ve always got stuff in my mouth,” he replies like it’s nothing.

Ian’s place is a cramped studio, about as disorganised as any college student’s place, but Mickey doesn’t get to look around for more than a couple of seconds before Ian’s reaching for his jeans, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them without looking. His mouth is centimetres from Mickey’s, and even now he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling at Mickey as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers.

“Wanna sit on my bed?” he asks, even as he’s pushing Mickey’s jeans down his legs.

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey shrugs. He couldn’t care less where he’s standing or sitting as long as he finally gets to feel this guy’s fucking mouth on him. He doesn’t have to worry or wait much longer because as soon as he’s siting down Ian’s got his pants around his ankles and leans forward to land an open-mouthed kiss on the head of his dick.

He doesn’t start stroking him to get him hard like Mickey half-expects him to do. Instead he runs his tongue all over him, licking up along one of the veins on the side of his length and swirling his tongue around the head, flicking it against the frenulum and moving his face down to suck on his balls. He barely uses his hands and yet he has Mickey’s dick spit-coated and hard in nearly record time.

“Feel as good as you thought it would?” he asks while he’s rubbing the slit against his lips, smearing precum across them like it’s lip gloss. Mickey’s reminded of him doing the same thing with his lollipop in the second lecture they shared and groans.

“Fuck yeah,” is all he gets out before Ian starts sucking him off in earnest and god fucking damn. All that staring did nothing to prepare Mickey for how the redhead takes him to the hilt like it’s nothing, drooling all over his dick and coming up for air with strings of spit still connecting them. Ian smiles at him with an oddly out of place schoolboy charm, and leans in to suck along the side of his cock.

His tongue is skilled, which Mickey had already figured, but the way it drags along his skin has his brain melting, first the tip tracing along every sensitive spot he can find and then pressed flat against the underside of his dick as he leans down and takes him all the way. Mickey finds himself unable to do much other than swear as Ian stays down for longer than should be possible, nose buried in his pubes as he swallows around his dick.

“Motherfucker,” Mickey grits out through clenched teeth, letting his head fall back when Ian finally comes up to breathe. Even as he catches his breath he doesn’t stop, running his lips and tongue over every inch of him until he’s covered in a thick, sticky layer of saliva. It doesn’t put Ian off either — if anything he’s more excited about lapping up all of the precum and spit on Mickey’s skin.

“Tell me when you’re gonna cum,” he demands suddenly, voice just a little rough, and it’s all Mickey can do not to laugh.

“Any fuckin’ second,” he admits, earning him a grin from the redhead before he’s bobbing his head again. He feels like heaven, Mickey thinks for a split second, and then his tongue is rubbing right against his frenulum and good fucking God. He moans embarrassingly loud and Ian seems to get the cue because he pulls up just in time to catch every spurt of cum on his tongue.

Mickey watches, captivated like he always is by Ian’s mouth, as the redhead used the head of his dick to spread cum evenly over his lips and then licks it all away and swallows.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re fuckin’ good at that.”

Ian shrugs, sitting back and taking a deep breath. Mickey keeps watching for a moment, notices how for the first time since he’s seen him his mouth stays totally still. No lip licking or biting, no fingertip stuck between his teeth to chew on. He’s surprised — pleasantly or otherwise, he’s not sure.

“How come you’re always putting shit in your mouth anyway?” he asks. The question instantly has Ian’s tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

“It’s an anxiety thing. Nervous tic or something,” he says, looking flustered for the first time. Mickey smirks.

“You stopped doing it for a minute there, y’know,” he states, and watches as his freckled cheeks turn pink.

“Yeah, well don’t get ahead of yourself, we haven’t been on a date or anything,” he says with a smile, getting up and throwing a towel in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey stifles a laugh. At least he knows what he’s asking him next lecture.

[runninriot]

Inspired by the prompt Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared by @quinns-shadowy-arts for @steddielovemonth day 20

Give and Take

wc: 1737 | rated: t | cw: mentions of drinking and smoking weed | tags: Hurt Feelings (past), Fear of Rejection, Eddie realises he has a crush on Steve, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers

  

Eddie is just about to leave when Wayne calls after him. Tells him not to stay out too late and to say Hi to Steve. And then he ends how he always does, never lets Eddie go without:

„Love ya, son."

Eddie smiles, gives his uncle an affirming nod before making his way out of the door.

He's heard it so many times now, these words his uncle says so easily, and he wished he could do the same.

It's something Eddie struggles with a lot; telling people he loves them is generally scary as shit.

Because in his experience, to love means to hurt because loving always comes with a price, a piece of your heart you give away with no chance of getting it back.

He’s given away too many of those.

Gave a piece to his mother when he was six. Proudly holding up the card his teacher helped him write for mother’s day. “I love you, mommy” it said on the heart-shaped paper and Eddie smiled, toothless and wide. Got a dead-eyed glare in return when she threw it on top of a pile of unopened letters. Not saying a word, not even acknowledging his extra neat hand-writing or the colourful flowers he’d drawn on the back.

He gave one piece to Jenny in grade 6. The girl with the blue eyes and rosy cheeks who was always so nice to him. One day after school she took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. Eddie felt like flying, told her he liked her a lot, thinking she might feel the same. But Jenny just scrunched her nose, pure disgust written on her face when she told him “Eww, no. It was just a dare.”

He lost a large piece in high school, gave it to Nick. The pretty boy with the seductive smile who dragged him behind the bleachers and stuck his tongue down Eddie’s throat. The kiss was too wet and too sloppy but Eddie thought maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Let Nick push him to his knees and willingly opened up wide. Not once, not twice, it went on for a month. And Eddie felt wanted but apparently wanted too much when he asked him to be his boyfriend.

Eddie learned to keep his mouth shut. To keep the remaining pieces to himself.

-🖤-

Steve is already waiting in his car that’s parked outside the Munson’s home, waving happily when he sees Eddie step outside.

They’ve made plans to spend the evening at Lover’s Lake, have a couple of beers and maybe a smoke while watching the sunset.

They do that often, just hanging out together. Enjoying the long summer days and each other’s company.

It’s always nice to spend time with Steve because with him Eddie never has the feeling he needs to tone himself down. Can ramble and rant, can be as loud and impulsive as he naturally is without having to worry about scaring him off. Steve never makes him feel bad about himself, accepts Eddie as he is.

Being with Steve always feels right.

They get along. They’re friends now. And the more time Eddie spends with Steve, the more he understands him, sees him.

He’s vulnerable, like Eddie. Has had his fair share of people misjudging him based on what they see on the outside. Where people assume Eddie is scary and mean, they think of Steve as being strong but dumb. Where they think Eddie’s only interests are metal and nerd games, they think Steve’s life revolves around nothing but sports and girls.

But Eddie knows better. Knows all of Steve’s layers.

Sure, Steve does love his silly ball games (something Eddie will never understand) but he also loves to cook and bake. He hates the taste of ginger and is afraid of moths. He can’t sleep with his back turned to the door and he likes the sound of heavy rain pounding against the window. He hates to read but he loves to listen if someone takes the time to read to him.

Eddie cherishes Steve’s honesty. The way he’s not afraid to ask questions if he doesn’t understand something. The way he’ll tell you, straight forward, when you’re being unreasonable.

Eddie likes the way his eyes sparkle when he’s happy. Likes the way Steve snorts when he laughs really hard. Eddie likes the snappy tone he uses when someone (usually Dustin) gets on his nerves. He likes Steve's fierceness, and his courage, and how much he cares.

Liking Steve is easy because he’s a genuinely nice guy with a big heart who never lets his friends down and always gives so much.

Eddie feels lucky to have him in his life, would give everything to keep him there.

-🖤-

They are lying side by side on a blanket, their minds comfortably buzzed from the joint they shared, while the sun sets over Lover’s Lake, painting their bodies in a dark orange hue. A gentle breeze caresses their exposed skin, just a warm touch of air drifting over their sun warmed bodies.

It’s quiet out here, now that most of the people that came to enjoy a day at the lake have already gone home.

Eddie thoughtlessly turns his head to look at Steve who is lying there with his eyes closed, basking in the tranquillity of the moment. Calm and content, so still and at peace. So different from his usual demeanour – always alert, always a little tense, always ready to step in if someone requires his help.

He's... beautiful like that.

And suddenly it is like something snaps in Eddie's brain.

He can’t tear his eyes away, lets them wander over Steve’s soft features and the expanse of his body. Wonders, foolishly, what Steve’s skin would feel like underneath his fingertips, what it would be like to hold him, maybe even get a taste of his lips.

    Oh no. Oh fuck.

Something in his gut coils and twists, ripples through him like an electric shock wave when the realisation hits.

It was inevitable, really, and maybe deep down he already knew for much longer than he’d ever admit.

It’s a bitter truth to accept but the confession comes easy now that he allows his heart to speak.

He’s in love with Steve.

Can’t have him, clearly. But that’s just how it is. That’s always how it is.

Eddie turns his head back, eyes pinched close in frustration as he tries to breathe through the stinging pain in his chest. His heart pumps so fast it makes him dizzy, makes him feel a little like spinning on a carousel that’s going too fast.

    SHIT! Eddie thinks or did he said it out loud? Because Steve startles beside him and Eddie can feel him ruffling at their shared blanket when he moves.

   “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

Eddie looks back at Steve who’s suddenly so much closer than he was before –  brows pinched together in question, with small worry lines showing on his forehead, his face hovering over Eddie’s.

   “I just realised something,” Eddie answers too honest, doesn’t know where to go from here but he can’t find it in him to lie.

    “Oh,” Steve breathes out, his expression softening as the seconds pass. “Wanna talk about it?”

   “Uh, I- no. I’d rather not.”

The look Steve gives him shouldn’t sent him spiralling even more but goddamn does he look cute with that stupid smirk tugging at his lips.

Eddie wants to bite him, feels a deep red blush take hold of his face. Maybe he can put it off as a sun burn?

   “Who knew that the great Eddie Munson could be so timid?” Steve jokes and okay.

So much for trying to play it cool.

   “I’m not-“ Eddie takes a deep breath, “It’s just something I can’t tell you.”

Steve sits up and without being prompted, Eddie does the same. For a moment they just look at each other.

   “You know you can tell me everything.”

If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d think there’s something like disappointment ringing in Steve’s voice.

   “Yeah, hah, uh- not this, I guess.”

Eddie looks away, can’t hold Steve’s gaze. Nervously he starts to play with the rings on his fingers until a warm hand stops him, causing him to look back up.

   “Try me.” Steve’s voice is soft and Eddie knows he can trust him but-

    No.

He can’t. This isn’t worth losing him over. Eddie knows how this is going to go. He can’t give anymore pieces away.

   “I-“

Only now Eddie realises Steve’s hand is still resting on his own, his thumb gently rubbing circles over the back of it.

Steve has never touched him like this before, so tender it almost doesn’t feel real.

   “I like you a lot, Steve.” The words sputter out before he can even try to hold them back.

Eddie winces, tries to avert his gaze but before he can turn his head to the side there’s a hand on his cheek and a firm press of lips on his mouth and-

Eddie can taste weed, and beer, and the chips they shared. Steve’s breath is hot as he sighs into the kiss, his lips are plush and soft... they’re so fucking soft Eddie feels like sinking right into them.

He allows his eyes to flutter close as he deepens the kiss, wants more of the taste, more of Steve. His hands find their way to Steve’s hips, digging and pulling like he just can’t help himself, needs Steve closer.

They part when their startled laughter breaks the tension as Steve tumbles ungraciously on top of Eddie, looking down at him with glistening eyes.

   “Fuck, Steve.” Eddie feels giddy, breathless.

   “Yeah. Fuck.” Now it is Steve’s turn to blush.

Somehow their lips find their way back to each other, like it’s easy. And maybe it is.

Maybe it is easy because they both want it.

   “Want you, Eddie. Wanted you for so long but I was scared to tell you that I-“ Steve inhales shakily.

Maybe they both feel the same?

   “I love you, Steve.”

This isn’t just a piece. This is his whole heart he holds it out for Steve to take, hoping that this time, he’ll maybe get something in return.

Eddie holds his breath, feels cold sweat running down his spine as he waits for a rejection that never comes.

   “I love you, Eddie.”

[konaiiro]

AU if Ian is in the military and Mickey is inevitably waiting for him. 

Started as a sketch then i got carried away. For A.U.gust (Hosted by @gallavichthings). Some accompanying drabble bc I fell in love when drawing them:

The last time Ian Gallagher was back home, he was doing time at Cook County for breaking parole. Only for a couple months, but Micky had missed the man by a week when he had left for another tour. A failed drug test had just costed him more than he was ready to pay. Ian had come to visit him anyways, wore his camouflage gear with badges and all; the security guards always loved a man in uniform. Still, it hadn’t been the same through the glass. So close he could see Ian’s chest rise and fall, his dimples sliding on to his face with amusement as Mickey had ranted on about his cellmate - so close to touch but all he could do was pretend until the fifteen minutes were up. 

This time, Ian hadn’t even told him he was in town - only finding out when he opened his front door with a beer in hand with a singlet and boxers on. “Hey, Mick.”

He knew his face must’ve looked stupid because Ian cracked up before going in for a hug. Micky let him, not giving a shit about his family inside and folded his own arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He had never gotten changed so quickly, desperate to get Ian to himself, as the man lounged on his bed and pretended he wasn’t watching Mickey by fiddling around with the decade-old kunai knifes. They stopped for booze and a pack of smokes on the way. After a quick makeout against the alley wall, the two of them continued on, pushing and shoving to give each other a reason to touch. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as it was just them where Mikey could do more than take glances at Ian’s army issued cargos. He looked good - ginger hair shaved on the sides, his shirt fit snug, skin tanned as much his pale Irish genes let it. There was the scar too - a slash across his cheek that won’t fade completely. Ian hadn’t mentioned it, so he wouldn’t either. 

They dumped their haul on a secluded bench and drank a disgusting whiskey-and-orange juice combo. Ian said it was good enough, but Mickey blamed that on the moonshine shit that he must’ve usually had on hand in the middle of trying not to get shot. They didn’t talk about his tours, in the same way they didn’t talk about court mandates or prison or deals gone wrong. The closest was if there was a stupid story to get a laugh out of each other. No point in talking about all the fucked-up stuff in their lives - they’ve only got until Ian has to leave again. The two of them drank some more, smoked a bit, kissed, jerked each other off until Ian turned around, placing the barely alive joint into Mickey’s mouth before bending him over the bench. They had a lot to catch up on. 

Before this last tour, Micky had been in prison. Two tours ago, they had first held each other in Ian’s childhood bedroom, knuckles split and bodies bruised from the brawl with Terry. He tried not to think about how his life was now segmented into pieces by the brief lapses of Gallagher being back in town - even if it was true. Micky thought about the inevitable homecoming party for Ian at the Alibi tonight and tried not to think about how two weeks was not a long time at all. 

[whoistartaglia]

come one, come all

there’s a fabulous magic show in town hosted by the two most famous magicians in fontaine. you unknowingly meet one of them—lyney, a man with a smile full of secrets—in a quiet bar in monstadt.

lyney x reader (pre-release)

there’s a curious man sitting next to you at the bar.

the tavern you frequent is located in a small village at the edge of monstadt, known to host the occasional traveler and adventurer, but none as peculiar as him. his clothes are clean and fashionable, and there’s a look on his face like he knows more secrets than you, has more tricks up his sleeve. moreover, what’s stranger is that he ordered only one drink and has yet to touch it, only observing it, faintly reminding you of a moth studying a flame.

“is something wrong with it?” the man breaks out of his hypnosis at your teasing question, and looks up in suprise. you explain, “i know the bartender, and he’s really great. if something’s the matter with your drink i know he’ll replace it.”

“oh, no,” he says dismissively. “it’s nothing like that. i was just interested in it—we don’t have this brand of wine where i’m from.”

“and where’s that?”

“fontaine,” he replies simply, and yes, now that he says it, you can hear the distinct accent.

“why are you in monstadt?”

“for the same reason everyone else is, i imagine,” he replies, taking a ginger sip from the glass. “for the show.”

ah, yes, the show. a magic show, famous in fontaine and most of teyvat for its impressive tricks and wonderous miracles. you’ve been hearing of it since the twin magicians announced their arrival to monstadt to entertain and wow the masses.

that’s why there are more than an abundance of travelers, adventurers, foreigners, in monstadt. some of them have tickets; many don’t. they hope the magicians will take pity on them and spirit a ticket to them in the middle of the night. or maybe they intend to steal one from actual holders. perphaps a bit of both.

“are you also going?” he presses.

you purse your lips and look down. “no, i’m not.” the tickets were too expensive and too difficult to get your hands on.

“did you want to?”

“of course i did,” you respond, the words coming out more bitter than you intended. it’s the closest thing to magic the world has to offer. tricks to make you forget it’s only an act; displays to dazzle even the most prudent of disbelievers. card tricks, doves from hats, sawing a lady in half and convincing the audience she’s actually been split in two.

of course you want to go. anyone in teyvet would, especially you, who comes from a small town in monstadt, who may never see anything like it again.

“i see,” is all the man says.

there’s an uncomfortable silence you feel obligated to break, and you ask after a second, forcing the lingering bitterness out of your tone, “are you going to watch?”

“yes,” he says, hesitating. “i am…going.”

“do you have a good seat?”

he smiles faintly.

“the best in the house.”

“i’m glad.” you swallow and stand up, placing down enough coins for you and the stranger. he watches you with veiled interest, especially the way you straighten up and conceal the frown creeping on your face.

“i should go,” you tell him. “i’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“yes, you do” he says faintly, agreeing with you. before you can opine on the strange statement, he smiles. “it was wonderful to meet you.”

you turn and leave, waving to the bartender wiping down the bar as you do. before you’re out the door, he calls, “i shall see you tomorrow!”

you pause and turn back around, intent on correcting the man, but he’s already gone—leaving nothing but a golden, shimmering ticket left in his wake.

•••

it’s a trick, a lie, a falsity. your subconscious screams at you that the piece of paper in your hand, that reads admit one in black inky letters, is a fake. it can’t be real—there’s no way.

yet you find yourself traveling to the shining capitol, with the ticket clutched in your hands. the wind begs to rip it away and the crowded streets tempts it to get lost and stolen, but you hold on tight, your grip only loosening when you hand it to the collectors at the front entrance.

they let you in without a second glance, and still in a state of disbelief, you find your seat, front row, center spot. best seat in the house. you look around for the man you saw last night but he is nowhere to be found, and a part of you wonders it he gave up your ticket for you. but that doesn’t make sense, you just met, it’s too peculiar, too much like a fairytale, a magic spell, come true.

your wandering thoughts are caged and tamed at the diming of the lights. you turn and face the center where a spotlight shines and a puff of smoke reveals two figures. the twin magicians. lyney and lynette.

the crowd errupts in applause, it’s the first trick of the evening, and you join in, until the smoke fades, and the magicians come into view. the sister with cat-like ears smiles adoringly at the crowd, and the brother does the same. but whereas lynette’s eyes are roaming, meeting as many fans as possible, lyney’s have yet to leave you.

at your shock and surprise, lyney dips his head slightly, and smiles, all too familiar from last night. turning back to the main crowd, he introduces himself and his sister, and announces to the crowd.

“come one, come all! we have a great show in store for you! magic will be casted, miracles with be had, and...” his eyes find yours again, and winking he continues, “hearts will be stolen, tonight.”

[melancholymegumi]

melody's current thoughts…💭

yandere!shindo with a girl that really , really needs to shut the fuck up.

content warning : yo’s 2 faced and he snaps , spankings , figging , neglect , reader doesn't eat food properly , belt use , shit writing it's the afternoon and I'm surviving of a granola bar , Yo is referred to as “daddy” , mentions of reader getting 'grounded', ddlg , implied yan dad bf!yo tell me if I need more warning..

Shindo’s tired. he loves you by all means, that's the whole reason he kidnapped you after all! he loves you, and never wants to let you go. But god , for fuck sakes you are a handful. He's nice, he brings you food, gives you freedom to explore the outside of the house (that is covered with trees and bodyguards, but is equipped with slides , swings and classic playground stuff.

He gets that getting kidnapped and only having access to a TV and only allowed watching shows that he approves are a bit boring, especially since all of the movies are pg 13. He's just worried for you! He doesn't want you to see all the nasty blood stuff– you're not ready. It's why he kidnapped you in the first place. But still, why can't you leave him alone or be good for one second? Eat your food. It's not hard, but because it isn't your usual food– of course you're not eating it.

Untill, he finally fucking snapped. “you know what sweetheart? You don't wanna eat? Fine. You don't wanna talk to me because you're throwing your tantrums? Good. Since you don't wanna talk, I'm not fucking talking you either. Not until you have some fucking manners and respect.” and he just walked off, slamming the door of his room shut. Don't worry, you can't escape. He has cameras everywhere afterall.

Finally, after about 2 hours he came out of his room. Familiar white-tee hovering over his body with his hair still wet, making the shirt low-key see through. You walked up to him, trying to sit next to him as he flipped through the movie on the TV. That's weird. He usually pulls you onto his lap. “daddy?” no response. That's when it hits you, he's actually ignoring you. He didn't even utter a word , pushing you back on the floor by his feet. Which made you tear up, sniffling and hugging his legs.

He's still ignoring you— what the fuck. He just kept watching the movie , not even acknowledging your existence. Not until you started apologising. “s-sorry! ‘m sorry daddy! won't be a bad girl again– please! you're being mean.” that's when he sighed, giving you relief. But you knew that's not it. there's no way he'll forgive you that easily.

Your suspicion soon came true– when he muttered under his breath, his voice pretty yet poisonous. “go in your room. I'm gonna go to the kitchen, and you're gonna go pick out a belt. I don't fucking care which one is it, if you still hasn't chose one we're gonna use the paddle. I don't want to hear any noises when I'm spanking you , got it? and after that you're going to scoot your ass to the toilet , brush your teeth and go to sleep. I'm not cuddling you tonight, since you wanna be a big girl and run your mouth. Be grateful I'm not washing your mouth out with soap.”

you , of course ran straight to your room. But there's still an unanswered question. What was he doing in the kitchen? regardless, you picked out a belt, one of the belts that probably doesn't look like it hurts the most. It's the one which he wears outside everyday , a Calvin Klein’s belt that was somehow thick and thin at the same time. He soon finally came into the room – something. “so you do know how to listen. Over my lap. C’mon.” You whined at his words — only for him to shoot you a glare, which was enough to make you shut the fuck up.

He laid you over his lap, shoving two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to gag on it. with the one hand he had left , he suddenly shoved something into your ass – it was a piece of ginger. The sudden burning and uncomfortable sensation made you squirm , trying oh, so hard to not bite his fingers– and then he suddenly spanked you.

“If you squirm, I'm hitting you with the fucking belt and that's how many days you're gonna get grounded. Start fucking counting.”

[scribesoflex]

hi !! can u do angst for ethan?? where hes really distant & the reader thinks hes cheating because it really seems like it but in the end its all a big misunderstanding! thank you! ♥️♥️

seal your fate

fem!reader x ethan landry

warnings; sexual implications, jumping to conclusions, im no good at angst, litro wrote it and posted it so spelling and grammar errors!

a/n; I hope this is what u wanted, even though I did change it a little, or at least close :p and sorry it’s like super short but I’m really not good at tear jerking angst or like tooth rotting fluff. also title inspired by this

It’s been months since you met Ethan. Months of back and forth, and lingering touches at a frat parties. Compared to the troubles of your past, Ethan had become an easy constant in your life.

Through jokes of more, or Tara and her constant teasing – friendship had grown into a fit of butterflies in the pit of your stomach if he so much as glanced at you. Your friends swore it was obvious that Ethan was beginning to feel the same way; and you’d began to believe that. Now your mind is muddled with doubt, and your finger are wrapped around a solo cup a little too hard.

A ginger has her thin arms slung around Ethan’s neck, the boys back pressed to a door frame. Ethan’s hands are hovering awkwardly in the air, and he looks flustered. He really looks uncomfortable. You just can’t see past the way the girl fawns, glossy lips spreading into a charming smile as she teases him. Blush spreads across his nose bridge, and he does that thing where he chuckles, nervously tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

Your fingers tingle at a memory the scene strikes, one wherein you straddled Ethan’s lap - and toyed with the curly hair in that same spot, lips slotted between his like a puzzle piece, breathing in his quiet whines and pleas for more.

You turn to the guy at your side, lips etching into a tight smile, before you bid a quick goodbye and head for the kitchen - tossing your full cup into the overflowing trash can and slipping out the patio door.

You’re not even out of the yard when your phone pings from your pocket, a text that has you frowning lighting up your phone

e 😵‍💫 : where r you??

and for the first time in months, you leave him on read.

Weeks of avoiding, and missed calls don’t seem to deter Ethan. He’s relentless in his efforts to get a reply from you, to the point that he has chad questions you and your reasons for ignoring his new best friend. It’s frustrating, and you actually want to laugh aloud when Mindy corners you in the bathroom, prying at you for an answer.

“He’s not as into me as you think okay, just stop pressing me” you rolled your eyes, demanding she not bring it up again. For once — Mindy actually listened to you. Or so you thought.

Walking along aisles and aisles full of textbooks and biographies, you let out a frustrated groan, glancing down to the paper in your hand and back up at the shelf. You squint at the spines, reading off titles and authors quietly until you reach the end of the section your book should be in. Crumpling the paper in your fist you spin on your heel, ready to give up when your slammed into a firm chest, and large hands wrap around your biceps.

Warmth fills your veins, and your body relaxes into the embrace on impact, eye lids fluttering closed when the scent of his after shave fills your head.

Your body collides with the books shelf, his hands caging you in, dark eyes glaring down at you. Rarely have you ever seen Ethan upset. The way his jaw clenched as he contemplates what to say to you has your breath a little uneven, and you can’t help but swoon, you’ve been without Ethan for far too long – even if you’re the reason for not seeing him.

“Why’re you telling Mindy I’m not into you?”

“ ‘cause you’re not Ethan”

“What the hell are you talking about”

“I saw you at that party with that girl, she was very pretty E, you don’t need to act like you’re into me - if you’re worried it’ll make things awkward it won’t - ”

Ethan’s brows crease, a low groan slipping past his lips “What girl? There is no girl” with the way he’s looking down at you, it’s almost easy to believe you could be with him.

“Yes there was. I thought we had some sort of agreement, or that our feelings were mutual. I should’ve expressed I’m not interested in sharing, that’s completely my fault -“

“Good god, Shutup with whatever you’re on about, and please believe me when I tell you; I’m not interested in sharing either, and whatever you think you saw was not what it looked like because I am really fucking into you”

Your lips part in shock, face flushing red, eyes widening as you stare up him, watching as his lips etch into the sly smirk you’ve been deprived of “you want me, you’ve got me” he mumbles, head tilting downwards ever so slightly, lips gently pecking yours.

“but! you can’t introduce me as your boyfriend”

you frown

“it’s gotta go like “this is my husband Ethan” or something”

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

Lily couldn't stop crying. Sirius had never seen her like this and it made him really uncomfortable. If it would be any other girl, at least Sirius would say something funny to cheer her up. Although with The Ginger it was different.

Instead of helping her or comforting her, Sirius observed how thick tears fell down her cheeks, ruining all her makeup. And how she blew her nose with the same piece of paper over and over again. Disgusting. Sirius wrinkled his nose.

That girl was something strange all together. Sirius had never met someone like her.

She wasn't a pretty girl for him, but she wasn't ugly. She was loud, upfront and annoying. But at the same time, so innocent and naive that it was unbelievable for a girl her age. They were both intelligent but Sirius was all about fun. Lily was all about effort. Teachers loved her. Students loved her. Remus loved her. And James adored her. Sirius didn't understand why.

Sirius had learned to like Marlene and Mary, even other girls like Dorcas, and Alecto.

But there was something about this girl that Sirius simply couldn't stand.

He didn't understand how James could be so obsessed with her. Sirius kind of resented her for how she had treated him over the years, how she had rejected him. For Sirius, James was so amazing that he deserved so much better.

However now, Sirius was surprised to see how Lily cared for James. After the nasty accident during rugby with a rough visitor team, in which James had hit his head so hard, it started bleeding through his untamed curls and he passed out, they all went through a tense moment. They all cried scared for James's wellbeing. Sirius was still kind of shaking.

But it was over now. James had gotten some stitches. He was still unconscious because he lost too much blood but Poppy had said he would be fine.

Sirius hadn't wanted to leave his side. Neither as Lily. The way she stared at James through tears was something Sirius had never seen before. The way she grabbed his hand and kissed it. The way she whispered encouraging things to him.

Seeing that, made Sirius sentimental. He even felt goosebumps. And he knew in that instant that no one would love his best friend like Lily Evans in that moment.

Although Sirius was allergic to vulnerability. He was still learning to embrace his feelings for Remus. Sirius simply didn't want to admit Lily Evans might be the love of James's life. They were still young. So young.

"Jesus Christ, Ginger" Sirius exclaimed when Lily bursted into tears once again "This is not Prongs's funeral, alright? He is fine"

Even joking about James's death made Sirius feel a cold shiver. He just couldn't imagine it. So he added:

"He will be just fine" trying to convince himself of it as well.

Lily sniffed wiping her tears again.

"I got so scared of losing him" she said as she caressed his cheek "I... I love him, Sirius. I love him so much"

Sirius moved uncomfortably on his chair.

'Who do you think you are?' Sirius thought 'I love him more. Nobody loves him like I do. Nobody got as scared as me'

Sirius didn't say any of that.

"He's fine" he mumbled "Don't exaggerate"

Lily's red puppy eyes focused on him without discretion. Sirius looked away. He hated how sometimes she scanned people as they were interesting books.

"Hey Sirius..."

"Shsh..." Sirius silenced her "You're gonna wake him up" he whispered pointing at James.

Lily ignored him.

"You know, I've been trying so hard for you to like me. For us to get along. But it is impossible" she said with a sigh "What did I do for you to hate me so much?"

Sirius was surprised by this conversation. He took a look at the door, begging for someone else to come back and mediate. Well Remus, only Remus.

"I don't hate you" he shrugged.

"You are jealous because you think I will take James away from you, don't you?"

Sirius leaned in defiantly. She mirrored his position. James sleeping between them. "That's ridiculous!"

'Nobody can't take James away from me' he thought 'Right?'

Lily smiled teasingly as if she was reading his thoughts.

"I am in love with him, Sirius" Lily leaned back on her chair, crossing her arms comfortably. Something odd considering the fact she was drowning in a sea of tears minutes ago. And she looked ridiculous with a pinky nose and ran makeup "You love him as a best friend"

Sirius almost rolled his eyes.

"I am not leaving him. Not now, not ever" she snapped "And obviously you will always be his best friend" then she leaned in again. "Seems to me we will have to learn to stand each other. Right?"

Sirius suddenly felt a knot on his throat.

He might've looked tense because Lily softened her expression and reached his hand.

"Sirius, I like you" she said with a soft smile "We could be good friends"

Sirius stared for a second at her hand on his. Then pulled his hand away.

The girl was trying. Sirius was a difficult best friend. James was better. He obviously accepted Remus as Sirius’s boyfriend. Of course they were best mates after all. But Sirius knew whoever Sirius fancy, whoever made him happy, James would try his best to like them as well. James was a gentleman like that.

It was about time Evans realized how amazing James was. Sirius couldn't live without him.

Now he felt tears filling up his eyes. So he looked away. He was so pathetic still.

Lily sighed in disappointment and turned to look at James as he was waking up.

They both became alert.

James groaned and moved from side to side before opening his eyes. He had been sleeping for hours and hours because of pain killers. Poppy did say his head would ache when he woke up.

Although he smiled when he saw them.

"Hey"

Sirius smiled but before he could say anything, Lily was speaking.

"Hey, hey darling..."

Sirius wanted to tell her to give James some space, she was too close.

"How are you feeling?" she added.

James seemed happy but he was closing his eyes.

"Kind of dizzy..." he swallowed "Everything is blurry"

It was Sirius who grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. Lily grabbed the glass of water from her side.

"Here you go, mate"

"You must be thirsty"

They both spoke at the same time, handing James their respective things.

"Thank you, gorgeous"

James said as he took his glasses and put them on. But also took a sip of water. So Sirius didn't know if he was speaking to him or Evans. He was flirty with both like that.

They both waited for James to blink and wake up for good, but he seemed sleepy still. Maybe the medicine had been strong.

James noticed how his girlfriend and best friend were very pendant of him and smiled.

"Am I dead and reached Heaven?" James asked dreaminly. "I think I am surrounded by angels"

They both laughed realizing James was still under the effects of the medicine.

"God is real, mum. You were right" he added "And he blessed me with angels who look exactly like my two loves"

Sirius and Lily looked shyly at each other, hiding smiles.

"My beautiful girlfriend" James squeezed Lily's cheek "And my beautiful best friend" he patted Sirius’s cheek.

Sirius let out a giggle. He was so happy James was okay.

Meanwhile, Lily's eyes filled with tears again.

"God! I was so worried about you, Potter!" then leaned in to kiss him on the lips "Don't ever scare me like that!"

James smirked, eyes half closed.

"Oh smoochy angel! You kiss just like her..." James exclaimed "Just like my Lily"

Lily laughed happily "You are an idiot" she kissed him again.

Sirius noticed how they were intertwing fingers at this point. But James's eyes were on Sirius.

"Do you kiss as well handsome angel?" James asked raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Sirius laughed because he knew it was not the medicine. It was just James. His silly James.

"You wish, Potter" Sirius pushed James's face away as he continuously blew him some kisses.

"Lily won't tell Remus, I promise"

Sirius snorted and Lily shook her head with a smile.

"Speaking of Remus" Sirius stood up from his chair "I'll let everyone know you're awake"

Sirius was relieved now that James was fine. He was fine. Now he wanted to leave before he bursted into tears. Maybe he understood why Lily was upset and crying before.

They both loved James. Differently but as intensely. And maybe she was right. They would have to learn to share James. And be civil about it.

"I'll give you some time as well, Mr. and Mrs. Potter"

He said this looking at Lily. And almost smiled. Almost.

Lily, on the other hand, was giving him a bright smile. Sirius hated how good she was.

Before Sirius walked away, he hesitated but turned to James. James Potter was Sirius’s family. He was Sirius’s home.

"Hey Prongs"

James looked at him.

"I'm so glad you're okay"

And luckily he finished talking before his voice broke.

James smiled at him and extended his hand for Sirius. The latter grabbed it breafly before walking away to the door.

Sirius turned once more to see the mellow couple in front of him. The way they looked at each other, the way they whispered things to each other. They way they touched each other's faces delicately. And the way they kissed...

Sirius couldn't get between that. His best friend was in love with Lily Evans, she made him happy and viceversa. So Sirius would have to learn to like her. He was not going to be a bitch anymore.

[cillivnz]

gunplay [percy de rolo]

PAIRING — LORD PERCIVAL FREDRICKSTEIN VON MUSEL KLOSSOWSKI DE ROLO III x F!READER

WORD COUNT — 2502

WARNINGS — cursing, alcoholism (it’s vox machina, what do you expect), slayer’s take!reader, dark!percy, full-fledged jealousy, implied vex’ahlia x percy, implied reader x vax’ildan and reader x kashaw, fighing, percy points a gun (the gun) at reader, degrading themes, degrading name-calling, pet names, gun-play, mention of gun penetration, fingering, orgasm denial, breasts/nipple play, cum-eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, biting, possessiveness, sex/pillow talk.

A/N — just a little somethin’-somethin’ for my favourite noble.

you had no idea how you ended up like this.

except it came to you, bits and pieces, as you rubbed your temples. despite having done it this long, you could never get accustomed to the hangovers that came with partying with vox machina. you were bare, not a strip of cloth covering your skin. about to get up and leave, when you felt a calloused hand wrap around your arm, and a strong arm pulling you in place. “stay,” an all-too-familiar voice requested, expect raspier, an underlying tone you’ve never heard in it before.

your eyes widened at realisation; the same very moment, those arms pulled you back to bed, keeping you flush against a cold chest, the same arms wrapping around your waist. your ass was pressed against his crotch, and the realisation elicited a groan from him.

“percy!” the realisation dawned on you when you saw the glistened, new-and-improved pepperbox on the nightstand in front of you.

HERE’S HOW IT STARTED: you’ve been with vox machina for a while; not an original member, but you were tasked with assisting them on the pursuit of the vestiges of divergence. the slayer’s take became cold and indifferent towards you, hating your departure, that they claimed to be your betrayal, but the order came from none of other than osysa, so every mortal was to oblige.

from the minute they barged into the home of the take, you had eyes on the white haired assassin. sure, vax’ildan was cute, but he seemed to be too out of it from the beginning. you also soon found out the ginger ashari claimed “dibs”, so you proposed a friendship instead. percy avoided you during team split ups, ignored your presence and voice entirely during plan discussions, and volunteered to go with vex’ahlia instead, whenever you offered to team up with him.

you never let it get to you, though. perhaps, it was just hostility rather than dislike because you weren’t a part of vox machina, but then again, grog and scanlan called you one of them on numerous occasions.

HERE’S HOW IT HAPPENED: after grog’s gruesomely glorious victory against his uncle, the then thunderlord of the herd of storms, the lot of you have been chugging barrels after barrels of booze. you had a high endurance to alcohol, but befriending vox machina turned you into the alcoholic you didn’t know you could be.

right now, you were seated between keyleth and pike; keyleth blabbered about vax while pike gazed nonchalantly at something you couldn’t make out in the corner of the room; vax just wandered out on his own, but no concern grew. “where’s-” ah, there he is. percy was with vex, her arm on his shoulder, a flushed grin on his face, vex twirled her braid in her other hand while saying something that caused percy to rupture into laughter.

you scoffed, downing the rest of your drink. getting up, you made your way to the bar, which was right behind them. “great,” you rolled your eyes, walking towards them. with swift strides, you picked up an unattended drink from a random table on the way, letting the oddly fruity taste stream down your throat. the contrast from your favourite grimly bitter drink was revitalising.

by the time you reached them, vex’s sultry voice only cheered the word “darling!” while hearty laughs roared in the room. they didn’t notice you, not until you made them. bumping into him so hard, almost dislocating your shoulder, you made mercy drop the pepper box, eliciting a gasp from vex.

he looked at you, an eyebrow raised at your audacity, while his jaw, one you know could cut a diamond into two, clenched, once he realised it was you. “watch. where you’re going.” he spoke through gritted teeth. “fuck off, de rolo.” you spoke with disdain. “excuse me?” he questioned your audacity. you flipped him off, a crimson and black flame of magic dancing behind your hand. “it’s foolish to disrespect a noble, slayer.” again, with the constant reminder that you’re not one of them. “especially,” he paused, and in a flash, the dropped weapon was in his hands, “an armed one.” he finished, pointing the pepperbox right at your temple. “percy, darlin-” “don’t bother, vex’ahlia.” you interrupted her. “i’d like to see ‘percy darling’ try.” percy snarled when the nickname left your tongue, the sound of it turned his face pale with disgust. “now that you don’t have a demon in there, i do wonder what you do with it.” his eyes, narrowed to slits at your remark.

yeah, you knew about orthax. osysa gave you enough information about each and every member of vox machina before you departed. plus, keyleth is an oversharing drunk, so this fact was backed up.

“well, don’t leave me hanging, baby. are you gonna shoot me? because,” you slowly turned towards him, closer to him with every word you dragged flirtatiously, “i’d like to see you put that thing to other use.” you finished, letting the tip of the gun graze your lower lip, softly pulling the plump lip down.

AND THAT’S HOW YOU ENDED UP HERE; in lord percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo III’s room. he’s still obnoxiously dressed, barely parted with his cravat, while you’re stripped to the bone; either leg placed on his sides, spread wide for him. one of his gloved hands is snaked around your waist, firmly holding you in place, dismissing your squirming, while lo in behold in his hand, the pepperbox — tracing your jaw, the valley of your breasts, and finally resting against your lips. “open.” he ordered, and you hesitantly did. the tip of the gun snaking in your mouth. you groaned when the brutally cold metal came in contact with your tongue. “suck it.” you pulled out, “percy, i want your cock…” he ‘tsked’. “no. you asked for this, and this is what you’ll get.” his authoritative tone made your cunt ache.

“now open your fucking mouth.” he demanded, the dominance in his tone was mocking you, so degrading, as if percy were a god, sick of hearing your endless devotions. being his devotee, you had no choice but to comply to him, your god. complying, you began sucking on the metallic weapon, tongue lapping at it, wetting the barrel. “good girl, at least you’re capable of something.” he halfheartedly praised, pulling the gun out of your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound. you knew he was lying when he said that, he did too. on countless occasions had you saved their asses, single-handedly. tonight, however, was not the night to let you know; praise you in any way, unless you fuck your way for it.

“i am capable.” you stated, relieved that your voice hadn’t given out. “are you now?” he questioned, amused. his fingers trailed the skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. before you knew it, the grip on your tightened. you were left gasping for breath, only when your eyes clouded with panic did he let go and grabbed your mouth, forcing it open with a rough squeeze of your flushed cheeks. he shoved three of his fingers in, and you were quick to wrap your tongue around each of them, earning a rewarding groan from percival.

his digits began gagging you, pulling away, before shoving in deeper. his wet fingers then reached down to your weeping cunt; spreading the with his index and ring finger, percy showed in his middle one. “fucking drenching, just like i imagined.” “fuck, percy!” you moaned when he added the fingers spreading you, into your hole. “slow, please-” you gasped, your cry falling on deaf ears. “now, you say you’re capable,” he had an animalistic look in his eyes. you’d only heard of this craze, this ferocity dancing on percy’s face in stories told by vax, back when orthax was rooted in his soul. now that it’s in front of you, you can’t help but clench around his fingers, pummelling your cunt like a man (still) possessed. “yet,” he continued, “you’re so fucking tight — barely able to take in my fingers.” your half open eyes met his green ones, darkened with lust. “how on earth will you take in this, hm?” he used his other hand to press the cold, wet barrel of the pepperbox against your clit. you moaned so loud, you were sure the adjacent rooms were aware of your devilment.

he slowly began to move the weapon against your swollen clit. “don’t tell you weren’t planning on having it inside you. what’s the fun if you’re not gonna be fucked with it?” the relentless pace of his fingers, his dirty mouth — the smirk plastered on it, his gun on your clit. “but don’t worry, by the time i’m done with you, you’ll be stretched enough to take it,” he chuckled sinfully.

the darkest of your fantasies unravelling today, you were at the mercy of this assassin, and you loved every bittersweet bit of it. you knew your smartmouth wouldn’t last a second in his chambers, and he proved to be above you, oh so cruelly, the erotic feelings becoming unbearable.

he straightened his posture, easily moving you with him, as if you were featherlight in his embrace. his lips parted to let out his tongue, it circled your hard nipple, before engulfing it whole. his mouth was contrasting the icy feel of his fingers inside you and the metal that mocked your clit with every graze. it was blazing, as his mouth pulled and tugged on your nipple, before taking it between his teeth. you moaned a shriek. “fucking hell,” he pulled away, his tongue drawing wet circles around the bite. how he managed to stimulate every inch of you left you flabbergasted. “is this what you wanted?” percy looked at you through his lashes, “having my fingers inside this hot pussy, my mouth on these perfect fucking tits?” you moaned his name in response, he nodded with a smirk. “didn’t know nobles could talk dirty.” you managed to taunt between a moan. “not all, just me.” he clarified. “just like not every noble gets to fuck this pussy, more like anyone from now on.”

“who’s pussy is this?” he questioned, curling his fingers inside you; all three making your legs twitch. “yours, percival.” you whispered without thinking. “even when i’m flirting with vex, and you’re all alone pity drinking?” your ego was jabbed over, and over again. “yes, percival.” “aw,” he teased, “even when you were flirting with kash when we stopped by?” “yes, percival.” “ha-ha, and why’d you turn him down, baby?” “because… fuck, i’m gonna cum-” his movements halted. “answer me, my love.”

my love, what— “fuck, no, please let me finish!” you begged, the pressure of stopping coaxed tears out of your eyes. “you’re crying, my love? pathetic.” “i… i said no to him because i saw you and i… fuck, i wanted you from the moment i saw you, percy. i knew only you could do me right, and it fucking hurts when you don’t.” you were fucking relieved to surrender to your feelings and let them be known to the man eliciting them.

“kiss me,” he closed his eyes, swollen lips parted in wonder. “kiss me while i make you cum for me.” he patiently awaited your lips, ones he’s craved since the minute he set foot in vasselheim, and when you brought your plump lips to his, his movements resumed in your cunt, as did those of the pepperbox.

when your tongues danced to the fiery tune of the squelching sounds your cunt made, every fibre in your being raptured. this was unlike any feeling you’ve ever felt.

“oh, percy!” was all you chanted, while he cooed praises along the lines of ‘good girl’, ‘so good for me’, ‘that’s it, cream on fingers’. he placed you on the bed, the gun, beside you on the nightstand, and fervently discarded his clothes. shirtless, he climbed on, spreading your pussy once again, before diving in. “percy, i can’t- oh!” you moaned when his tongue wriggled inside you. he ate you out, you grabbed onto his ivory locs, using that beautiful face you’ve spent day and night fantasising about, to ride your high.

often, you had wondered what de rolo would be like in bed, obviously not anticipating that he and you would ever be sleeping together. even when you and the gang were camping in the open, he would make sure to sleep as farther away from you as the proximity of the fire would allow him to, so yeah, to say ‘surprised’ would be like reducing osysa and kamaljiori to mere kitties.

“fuck, percy, just like that.” you moaned when he began sucking on your clit. “god, you’re gonna make me cum again,” your voice was getting shriller, hand gripping on to the sheets for dear life. “good,” was percy’s response, and he lapped at every drop flowing out of your fucked out cunt, fingers pinching the clit to coax more out.

you saw white, yet again, when he had you coming undone on his tongue. your legs threatened to shut close, but percy didn’t falter, still determined to overstimulating you, as if that were your punishment for the bratty behaviour today.

the last thing you remember was him tucking your naked frame in the sheets before he spooned you, arms wrapped around your waist as if you were a celestial dream that would fade away at the brink of dawn.

NOW: you were being held on to for dear life, while you thought of a way to slither away from his embrace. deciding to try your luck, you just grabbed his, surprisingly muscular, arm and placed it on his side, ready to make a run for it — about to get up and leave, when you felt a calloused hand wrap around your arm, and a strong arm pulling you in place. “stay,” an all-too-familiar voice requested, expect raspier, an underlying tone you’ve never heard in it before. “we’ve done what we wanted to, let me leave.” you said without facing him.

“well, i’ve got a lot to apologise for, and so do you.” he spoke, nonchalantly.

“best way to do that is by submitting to me like you did last night.” he piqued your interest, “you— remember it all?” you asked, slowly turning toward him. “of course.” he chuckled, the sound made you rub your thighs against each other.

“kind of hard to forget the women you fancy getting her clit rubbed by your gun.” wait did he just— “yes, i do fucking fancy you, dummy. i’d tell you all about it if you could just sleep with me for five more minutes.” he said before he yanked you towards him; landing on his cold chest, you let him soak in your warmth, his large hand holding your shoulder, while yours placed on his heart, felt it beat, for you.

main masterlist. more from ‘the legend of vox machina’.

[vibrantbirdy]

You are so incredibly talented! I love reading all of your works! : )

Could I request a Cal Kestis x female reader (or OC, no preference really). I’ve been super into the game recently and just love his character. Maybe a really strong female character, but she gets flustered by Cal’s confidence, and how much she has grown to like him more than friends. I totally see him being a complete flirt (but still sweet). Haha. I’ve always had this idea that it would be cool for a force user to show someone what it’s like by holding their hand and pulling something to them (like aiding them in using the force). Stupid maybe I don’t know lol, basically Cal being suave and laying it on thick. Fluff, crack, little spice, I’m here for whatever creative piece you get going ❤️

Firstly, thank you for your lovely words! Secondly, yay, Cal! Thank you, I'm glad someone's asked for Cal, this is a cute prompt.

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Proximity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order/Survivor Games Setting: Prior to events of Jedi Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Fluff - This is tooth-rotting fluff with a little added spice as requested ;) Warnings: This fic is 18+ so please heed and respect the adult rating. Descriptions of sexual longing/arousal; one scene of strong consensual sex - nothing too descriptive but probably on the borderline of (hopefully still sweet) mild smut. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 5.5k (Because I have no self control) Summary: You are an accomplished Coruscanti thief who has been recruited by the Rebel Jedi, Cal Kestis. As you join him and his crew on their adventures aboard the Mantis, you and Cal have to navigate your growing feelings for each other.

You are standing in some Imperial-worshipping Senator's private vault in a bank nestled deep in the heart of Coruscant's palatial financial district. You've just located your prize - a data stick containing the names of high standing political and military figures within the Empire who have Republic, perhaps even Rebel leaning sympathies.

It's the Senator's insurance policy, his get out of jail free card - something he can produce at the eleventh hour in case his unwavering loyalty to the Empire turns out not to be enough to save him from the pull and push of the Imperial tide of oppression swelling across the Galaxy.

You'll sell the data stick to one Rebel faction or another, whoever is willing to pay most for your service in getting information out of Imperial hands and aiding the Rebel's recruitment drive in the process.

You're in the middle of internally congratulating yourself on successfully extracting the data stick from its complex security casing when a male voice, almost conversational in tone, rings out behind you.

"I can't let you leave with that."

Startled, you whirl around to see a man standing no more than a meter away from you. You wonder how long he's been there, watching you.

He has bright ginger hair which is swept back from his face, short at the back and sides, but longer on top and slightly ruffled. His matching red stubble sits on his cheeks, chin, upper-lip and travels up his well-defined jawline to his ears. He is dressed simply in a fawn shirt, dark grey pants, and sturdy brown boots.

A small red and white droid, bipedal, with a flat rectangular head and two photoreceptors, one slightly larger and beadier than the other, hangs almost casually off his shoulder like a pet. It's a BD unit, you think.

Both the man and the droid are rather dirty, but then, so are you after squeezing your way through a maze of dusty ventilation shafts. It makes sense the only possible way they could have gotten in here is the same way you did.

The stranger is holding something metal in his right hand that glints occasionally in the vault's dim security lighting, but you can't quite work out what it is. A weapon?

You raise your blaster.

"Don't!" he shouts, holding out a palm towards you, "The vault is magnetically sealed, if you miss, that bolt's going to cause us both a world of problems."

You raise an eyebrow because one, you already know that, and two...

"Bold of you to assume I'll miss at point blank range," you say levelly.

You keep your weapon trained steadily at the young man's chest.

He adjusts his grip on whatever it is he is holding and a green beam of light extends from the hilt of what you now realise is a lightsaber. A deep thrumming sound resonates around the small chamber.

A Jedi. Great.

You thought they were all extinct after the Emperor's purge. Briefly, childhood memories of evening strolls with your parents past the monumental ziggurat of the Jedi temple glowing golden in the low Coruscanti sun flash through your mind. You remember the thrill of excitement at seeing the Jedi, elegant and regal in their grand robes, lightsabers clinking at their belts as they swept by on important Republic business.

Right now? Here? This is the last place you want to see one.

The light from the blade illuminates the young man's face which, you have to admit, is a rather attractive combination of youthful and rugged. His nose and cheeks are peppered with freckles and his eyes contain green irises so deep in colour that they almost match his blade. A thin, red scar runs almost horizontally across the bridge of his nose, dipping down onto his right cheek. The ghost of a smirk is now playing on his lips and it has the irritating effect of making him more handsome.

You don't know why, but for some reason, you trust him instinctively not to try and cut you in half with that humming beam of hot, vibrating energy. At a stalemate, you lower your blaster. He follows your lead by deactivating the blade of his saber immediately.

"If you make me a good offer, you can have this right now," you say, one hand on your hip, the other waving the data stick in front of him impatiently.

You never like staying on the scene of a job too long and you are starting to feel on edge.

"I've got ... uhhh ... one hundred credits?"

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he speaks. He knows it's a stupidly lowball offer and you scoff loudly to let him know you think so too.

"Look, I know the ISB would pay a lot for information like this but..."

"I don't sell to the Empire," you snarl, cutting him off.

He holds up his hands in a gesture of apology which seems genuine enough. He tries again.

"I really need to get this to a contact in the Mid Rim..."

"The Mid Rim?" you interrupt abruptly, "that's off-world."

"Yeah..." his brow furrows and a slow, quizzical smile spreads across his face at the obviousness of your statement.

You curse yourself for being as predictable as a cheap holo novel. All your life you've lived on Coruscant. You've never been anywhere else. These days, the endless maze of unnatural, lifeless spires and struts and blocks of artificial construction seem to press in and in and in on you so that, despite the sprawling size of the metropolis, it feels like you are living in a tiny metal cage.

Still, this stranger didn't need to know that, and you realise you've given him his angle - a bargaining chip.

"I can't buy it off you," he reasons, "I don't have the credits, but I do have a proposal. Work with me and my crew. It's regular and we're rarely on one world for too long..."

There it is...

You got in here," he continues, gesturing around the vault, "we could use someone with your skill set. And, you get to piss off the Empire in the process."

You consider his offer. You are used to working alone and you don't like the complications that come with relying on others. Trusting anyone is difficult after fending for yourself, all alone, so successfully and for so long....

But with the Empire continuing to close their fist around all aspects of daily life, work was difficult to come by on Coruscant these days. Thieving in the city from Imperial targets in particular was becoming more and more fraught with danger.

While it riled you that he was able to read you so easily, really, what did you have to lose? Because by the Force did you not want to get off Coruscant? Isn't this what you'd been waiting for your whole life? An adventure?

"One job," you counter pragmatically, extending your hand to shake his, "And we'll see how it goes from there."

"Cal Kestis," he introduces himself with a disarmingly friendly smile, "And deal."

*************************************************

One job turns into another then another and another. Weeks turn into months and soon you've been on Cal's ship - well, borrowed ship you had come to learn - the Mantis for nearly half a year.

You've grown close with the crew of the Mantis. Cal, Gabs, Bravo and the two hulking Klatooinine twins, Lizz and Koob. This type of camaraderie is new to you. You really thought you'd struggle with it, that your independent nature would rail against the confines of living in close quarters with ship mates and fitting your own whims and desires and wants around others. In reality, you've never felt more at home. You didn't realise how lonely you had become before.

And the missions you run with the crew are exhilarating. This new life is so much more than just pilfering here and there from the Empire. You feel like you are really making a difference, like you're spitting directly in the face of the Imperial machine with every job. You feel like a Rebel.

It's not all sabotage and espionage and fighting Stormtroopers though. Off duty, life on the Mantis is mainly based around friendly joshing and winding each other up. And the dull minutiae of life still goes on.

Like now.

You and Cal are patching up the Mantis while the others are out on a supply run. You are currently crouched on your haunches so that the service hatch you are examining on one of the walls inside the ship is at eye level.

Cal is stood behind you, arms folded across his chest. You've been arguing good naturedly about what the problem is with the engine cooling system for an hour and you are now impatiently waiting for BD-1 to finish his scan to find out which one of you is right.

The little droid crawls out from the tangle of wires and gives you little nod and a boop of approval. You pat BD on his rectangular head and he scurries up your arm and on to your shoulder.

"I told you that was the problem," you say, craning your neck to look up at Cal with a triumphant grin.

You gesture to the wiring tool in his hand.

"Give that to me, I'll do it."

The Jedi looks down at the small instrument in his hand then tosses it up in the air and catches it again. He has that mischievous look on his face, the one you've learned to recognise as a sign that he's about to do something really annoying.

"Kestis..." you warn standing up, unable to stop your lips curling into a smile.

You make a lunge for the tool in his hand, but he's too quick. In a flash, he's holding it up above his head. Cal is almost a head taller than you and there's no way you can reach that high, even when you stretch up onto your tiptoes.

Instead, you decide to play dirty. You jab him hard in both his sides with your fingers where you know he's ticklish. He makes a funny sort of snorting noise in surprise and his hand drops for long enough that you manage to snatch the tool from him and make off with it at great speed.

Cal darts after you, both of you careering in to the kitchen of the Mantis, the thud and scrape of your boots on the ship's durasteel grated floor ringing throughout the ship in chorus with your laughter.

BD-1 takes this opportunity to leap of your shoulder and onto the kitchen table with an indignant whirr, determined not to get involved in this organic tomfoolery.

Cal is on you in seconds. He grabs you around the middle and lifts you off the ground with ease, spinning you around and deliberately tickling you in between making grabs for the wiring tool.

You squeal and let out perhaps the most ridiculous giggle to ever escape your mouth. You can't let him get away with forcing you to make a noise like that so you elbow him in the stomach. It's only a gentle prod really, but it's enough to make him grunt and let go of you.

As Cal doubles over, winded, you sprint back around to the opposite side of kitchen table holding the instrument aloft and performing a little victory dance.

Across the table, Cal straightens and, with a cocky look on his face, he stretches his arm out towards you. You stumble forwards slightly as if pulled forwards by an invisible rope tied around your wrist as he uses the Force to tear the tool easily out of your hand and bring it flying through the air to rest in his own outstretched palm.

"That's cheating!" you say, breathlessly.

Despite your half-hearted admonishment, in reality, you're delighted. And you're certain Cal knows it. The more time you spend with him, the more that old fascination you held as a child with the strange powers of the Jedi has returned. You are always enchanted by Cal's displays of Force ability.

"Alright kids, we almost ready to go?" Gabs' voice echoing through from the Mantis' doorway signals the return of the others.

Cal shrugs at you and you both grin, panting from your exertions. Keeping his green eyes locked on yours, he backs casually towards the door to help Gabs and the others load up the supply crates. Just before he exits the ship, he tosses the wiring tool to you underarm and you catch it with an elaborate flourish and twirl that makes him laugh.

You return to your work fixing the Mantis's cooling system with BD-1. You try to concentrate, but you feel slightly giddy. You can still feel Cal's strong arms against your body as if they remain wrapped around you. His masculine scent, pleasant and earthy and fresh like petrichor, seems to linger in your proximity and on your skin.

BD-1 tries his best to keep you right. He trills or nudges you every so often either to correct your wiring or to encourage you to stop staring into space with that inane, absent-minded smile.

When you lie in your cot bed that night, the hum of the Mantis' hyperdrive lulls you into a comfortable drowsiness and your thoughts return, unbidden, to Cal.

Over the past few months, it's like the very idea of him nestled deep into your brain and now refuses to budge. Every morning when you wake, you look forward to the sight of his honest, open, expressive face. The warmth of his slightly crooked smile. The way his red brows arch when he finds something funny before he squeezes his eyes shut so tight that they crinkle at the corners as he throws back his head, letting out peels of joyful, open-mouthed laughter.

Even when he has those strange moments of quiet introspection which you don't quite understand yet, you find it hard not to watch him. You can't help it, even although you sometimes feel like you are intruding on a private, sacred moment of reflection. It's always the same. His eyes glaze over as he stares out into the distance at nothing, a muscle works in his chiselled jaw, and then his head drops as if in dignified, melancholic prayer. These periods never last too long - not when he has a crew to lead.

There's no point in denying it anymore, at least not to yourself anyway. Your feelings for Cal go beyond comradeship; beyond friendship. And a hopeful notion has formed in your head that he might actually feel the same way about you.

It's both frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

A sudden heat blooms deep within your very core and rises in your cheeks as your mind conjures the image, no, the feeling of Cal's solid, toned body, pressed against yours in a feverish, impassioned embrace, your limbs entwined, fingers woven tightly through the flames of his red hair

Force, you want him.

You place a palm against the cool durasteel wall above your head that separates your room from the Jedi's. You wonder what he's thinking of on the other side of the thin sheet of metal.

****************************************

Cal Kestis can't sleep. Like most Jedi, he can't actually read the thoughts of others, but his connection to the Force allows him to feel the emotions and state of mind of those around him.

Over the past few months, the Jedi has noticed your feelings for him blossoming into something more than friendship, mirroring the growth of his own affections for you.

But tonight, Cal can sense that something in your emotional frequency has changed. Evolved. A clarity, a new and vigorous and glorious certainty in your desire for him radiates incandescent through the Force. It's like the smouldering embers of a fire have ignited into a ferocious blaze.

As the feeling permeates through the thin sheet-metal wall dividing you, the intensity of it, the heat of it, drives him crazy. He wants to rip through the flimsy partition separating you and give you everything you want from him and more. His whole body is aflame with almost painful arousal and he is aching to bring himself release.

Cal resists, teetering on the very edge of giving himself over to his desire. Is this voyeuristic? Is he trespassing? Crossing some unspoken line? Should he be trying to block you out? He doesn't know.

The Jedi hisses through his teeth in frustration. Reluctantly, he rolls out of bed and, sinking to his knees on the floor, surrenders himself to the Force in search of whatever temporary solace he can find in meditation.

Even as he does so, he knows that the only real relief he'll be able to get now is if he can find it with you.

***************************************

The crew of the Mantis are taking some time to rest after a run of particularly eventful jobs. You've landed on the quiet world of Brax at the edge of the Mid Rim. It's a beautiful, lush planet adorned with meadows of wildflowers, glassy lakes and sprawling coniferous forests.

Everyone is making the most of their down time.

Gabs and Bravo have gone off for a hike in the nearby woods.

BD-1 is having a well earned oil bath on the Mantis.

The twins are snoozing in the meadow amongst the flowers. When you'd crept past them earlier, you'd smiled fondly - the peaceful serenity on their faces was such an odd juxtaposition to their usual chaotic enthusiasm for life.

Having successfully sneaked past Lizz and Koob without waking them, you are now sitting atop a large slab of rock which juts up and out of the meadow. You alternate between admiring the view of the lake and cleaning your blaster.

It is a warm day, but a gentle cooling breeze keeps the heat at bay. A gust suddenly whips up the heady, sweet smell of wildflowers all around you. For some reason the scent triggers something inside you, your heart suddenly full to bursting with a strange concoction of melancholy and joy.

To think that all this beauty, all this Galaxy was just out here, waiting, your whole life. And if you'd never met Cal, you might still be crawling through filthy ventilation shafts smelling of metal and damp and darkness just to get by on Coruscant.

You are just about ready to reassemble your weapon when you look up from your task towards where the Jedi is meditating with his back to you. He's kneeling a few meters in front of you on the sandy shore by the still water. You always think it's strange how he chooses to sit on his knees, rather than cross-legged. It looks uncomfortable to you, but he seems to be able to sit like that for anywhere up to an hour. Maybe you'll ask him about it one day.

Cal is shirtless. Even from here, you can see the freckles littered like celestial constellations across his strong back and down his broad shoulders and muscled arms. You take the opportunity to admire the outlines and angles of his taut, athletic body.

You start as the Jedi begins to stand. You'd rather not get caught staring at him quite so openly and you quickly shift your gaze back to your blaster which is still in its various component parts.

Cal turns and advances towards you up the beach and onto the grassy meadow. You pretend not to have noticed him at all, but you keep catching glimpses of him in your peripheral vision. He walks a few paces, then stops and looks around as if he's searching for something on the ground. Then he crouches down. He does this several times.

What is he up to?

"Hey," Cal says casually as he finally wanders over to you.

He has to crane his neck to speak to you, perched as you are on top of your rock, and use a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He's hiding something behind his back you realise.

"Oh, hey," you reply, as if you're surprised to see him there.

He pulls his hand from behind his back and reaches up to you. In his grasp is a bunch of wildflowers, beautiful pastel blues and pinks and purples.

You exclaim softly in surprise, a rather giddy sound that makes Cal beam up at you. As you take the blooms from him, his fingertips, calloused and tough from years of wielding a weapon in combat, brush gently against your hand. Even that small touch feels like a spark of electricity arching between you.

"See you at dinner," he says, and he's clearly pleased with himself as he retreats towards the Mantis, head held high, a jaunt in his step.

As you twist in your seated position to watch him disappear into the ship, you realise you were so enchanted by the gesture that you forgot to say thank you.

That's the thing about Cal Kestis. He's completely disarming. He has a rare, effortless charisma and an easy, flirtatious way about him that is somehow both sweet and suave at the same time. Few men you've met have ever managed to render you so flustered.

You look down at the delicate blooms in your hand and bring them to your nose, inhaling their fresh scent. Smiling to yourself, you shake loose the functional way you usually wear your hair to keep it out of your face and retie it, carefully weaving the wildflowers that Cal has picked for you through your locks.

When you come in for dinner - Bravo's turn to cook - Cal is already sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up and inclines his head to the side as he takes you in, his eyes widening. You blush furiously to see the genuine pleasure at the sight of you and your decorated hair written so openly on his face.

Amid the usual convivial hubbub and chaos of dinner in the Mantis' kitchen, you and Cal steal glances at each other across the table.

**********************************************

That evening, the moon is low and yellow in Brax's dark sky, hanging like a ball of golden light above the lake. You have an hour or so before you all depart for a rendezvous with a contact on Naboo. It's the twins' turn to do pre-flight checks and you find yourself on the shores of the water, skimming stones with Cal to kill time.

Before joining the crew of the Mantis you'd never skimmed a stone in your life. Not many places to do that on Coruscant. But Gabs in particular is an ace at it and she's taught you well.

Cal spots a likely candidate for his next projectile and he brings it flying casually into his hand using his Jedi abilities.

"What does it feel like like?" You ask, suddenly.

Cal smiles at you, seemingly understanding that you are talking about the Force. He hesitates for a second, looking down at the stone in his open palm. Then he places it back on the ground in an obvious position, nestled in the sand a few feet in front of you, and moves round to stand behind you.

He's so close you can feel his heart beating against his chest. Instinctively, you lean back into him, enjoying the safe feeling that his nearness gives you, and the warmth of his body against yours in the chill night air.

"It's time for instruction," he says softly.

He's said that phrase before when he's showing anyone how to do something new. You've come to understand that it's a fond impression of his late Master's dignified voice - a touching habit you've always thought.

Tonight it sounds different. His tone is light and teasing, but the smirk you can hear as he speaks makes the words sound almost seductive in a way that causes something to flip then tighten in the pit of your abdomen.

"Hold out your hand."

You extend your right arm, holding your palm outwards as you've seen Cal do many times. He places his own palm against the back of your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours.

His other hand comes to rest at your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer into him. He doesn't need to put it there and you both know it. Nor does he need to rest his chin on your left shoulder, so close to your cheek that his stubble almost tickles your skin.

Yet you can tell that you are both revelling in this rare, private opportunity for proximity between the two of you, and it is as thrilling as it is maddening.

"Focus. Breathe."

You realise you've been holding your breath. You feel Cal's chest rising and falling against your back and you match your own breathing in time with his. You can't help but notice it's at a slightly elevated pace.

"See the stone in your hand."

You nod and exhale, your eyes boring into the rock as if you really are going to levitate it yourself. You try and fail to stifle a sudden giggle at the ridiculousness of such an idea.

"Concentrate," Cal scolds quietly in your ear but you can hear the smile in his voice as the hand round your waist tightens its grip ever so slightly.

"I am," you mutter, but it's only half true.

You wonder if it's just your imagination, but in the seconds that follow, you think you can feel an deep, vibration flowing through Cal and passing through his body and into yours, binding your lifeforces together.

The rock flies so suddenly into your palm that you jump. You just about remember to close your fingers around the stone's cool, smooth surface as you shout out in surprise and delight. Cal lets out a good-natured laugh at your reaction and you glow as it rumbles through his whole body and yours.

You've just made up your mind to twist around in his arms kiss him when BD-1 comes running through the grass at great speed on his little legs, beeping and chirping urgently.

"Ok buddy, ok, we're coming," Cal says kindly to the little droid, but you can hear the exasperation at the untimely interruption in his voice.

*******************************************

Course set, the Mantis is travelling at lightspeed and, nestled safely in the cradle of the hyperlane, you will probably make it to Naboo in about six hours.

You suspect the rest of the crew are all sleeping soundly. The Mantis takes care of herself for the most part when travelling through hyperspace. With the life you lead, the importance of catching rest when you can cannot be underestimated.

You, however, cannot sleep. Thoughts of Cal and your interrupted moment by the lake race through your mind. The wildflowers he gave you are still in your hair and every so often you catch the ghost of their aroma, reminding you of your almost idyllic day on Brax.

You sigh and drag yourself out of bed, deciding to go and sit in the empty cockpit of the Mantis for a while and watch the stars race by as you hurtle through the hyperlane. Although it should really be frightening, you love to watch great swathes of the Galaxy disappear in a flash before your eyes as the Mantis catapults through space. It's a novel experience for you still - being off Coruscant, light speed travel, new worlds.

You wave your hand over the control and the door to your room hisses open. You jump to see a figure already standing there in the corridor. With a jolt of excitement, and with a strange feeling that you've summoned him somehow, you realise that it's Cal.

"Uh, hi.."

You don't let him get more than two words into his sentence. You grab him roughly by the front of his loose night shirt - which is slung low, revealing tufts of ginger hair on his chest and the elegant lines of his collarbone - and pull him into a deep kiss.

Not breaking away from your lips, and hardly hesitating, he picks you with almost alarming ease. You wrap your legs around his waist and curl your fingers in his red hair as he carries you back into your quarters. He places you up onto your workbench situated against the opposite wall as the door slides closed behind you.

"You look so pretty with those flowers in your hair," he mumbles into your neck you shiver with pleasure as his mouth brushes against your skin as he talks.

"Yes, it's a shame you're about to make such a mess of me," you whisper into his ear.

He pulls back to stare at you for a moment, green eyes wide as if dumbfounded by your forwardness. His delighted, slack-jawed expression forces a loud giggle from deep within you.

"Shhh," Cal warns emphatically, keenly aware of the proximity of the rest of the crew and how thin the walls of the Mantis are. He presses a kiss to your mouth in an attempt to silence your outburst, but you can feel his body shake with his own barely contained laughter as he grins against your lips.

Once your stifled mirth subsides, you hastily start to undress each other. You barely have time to appreciate the now naked, muscular form of the Jedi before you, when, in his enthusiasm to remove it, Cal accidentally rips your flimsy night dress away from your body. As it comes apart in his hands, the fabric makes a loud tearing sound, louder even perhaps than that of your previous bouts of laughter. You both freeze, as if anticipating someone will burst through the door and catch you in this compromising position, before dissolving into poorly restrained giggles again.

As he drinks in the sight of your body, Cal's expression changes into something primal. His brows knit together as if he is trying to understand how you could possibly be sitting in front of him like this. Then, his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare before he crashes his mouth back down on to yours into a deliciously rough kiss.

You don't move from your position on your workbench, and you coil your legs around Cal as tight as you can as he starts to move in you. The pace is urgent. You don't mind. There'll be opportunities for languid and gentle love-making in the future. Right now, this is a matter of need for both of you. The cord of tension that has been tightening between you for months finally snapping in a glorious, frenzied, explosion of mutual lust.

As his pace increases and his movements start to become uncoordinated, Cal moves a hand down between your bodies, splaying his palm against you, and settling the pad of his thumb between your legs at the very place you most need it to be.

At this, your hand which was tangled in his flaming hair flies down to join the other at his back and he growls as you claw your fingers in to his flesh between his shoulder blades.

You press your lips hard into his shoulder to muffle your cries as you approach your peak and then, suddenly, you are crashing over the edge and seeing stars. You gasp out his name, over and over, open mouthed and breathy against his ear.

This, combined with the sensation of your body in rapture, sends Cal hurtling towards his own oblivion. You cling to him while the great, strong muscles all over his body tense and release, and he lets out a long, shuddering groan into your neck that is almost a whimper.

The sight of him, the sound of him falling apart in front of you is beautiful.

Once you've both caught your breath, Cal lifts you gently off the table, and carries you to your tiny, single cot bed. You manage to position yourselves fairly comfortably in the snug space by lying on your sides. The Jedi has one arm laced underneath you with the other slung over your waist, hand resting on your stomach and holding you close to his warm chest.

As you are lulled almost into a doze by the sound and feel of his slow and steady heartbeat, you take in the rather sorry sight of the flowers which once bejewelled your hair, now scattered in ruin across the functional durasteel floor.

"I told you those flowers wouldn't last," you muse drowsily.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Cal removes his hand from your waist and reaches out his arm, palm splayed open. A blue bell flower, stem and petals astonishingly still intact- a brave survivor of the onslaught of urgent hands through your hair - floats lazily up from the floor and towards you on the bed.

Cal plucks it out of the air and gently weaves the bloom into your locks just above your ear. Then, he kisses you gently on the cheek and then on your shoulder, his beard tickling your skin, before sinking back down on to his side and resuming his previous position curled comfortingly around you.

For some reason, despite the eroticism of what you've just done together, this sweet gesture makes you flush disproportionately and you feel your cheeks turning pink.

You're starting to realise, perhaps hope, that the heady feeling of being slightly flustered in Cal Kestis' proximity might never go away.