#so I’d like push the two beds together so I could sleep in the middle and be squeezed together

[thedevilundercover]

Some autistic/ADHD people like Deep pressure therapy and I headcanon a bunch of the batfam as some sort of neurodivergent so I was thinking, Bruce and Jason are huge

Like I bet they could tofu press the sad out of people

I think it starts like when Tim and Jason start to have somewhat of a mutual truce and they start working on cases together and one day Tim’s just all over the place and he’s like:

Tim: hey jason

Tim: could you like just lay on top of me

Jason: what

Tim: yk, like a weighted blanket

Jason: ooookayyy?

and everyone else starts coming too and it devolves into batfam puppy piles

[enwoso]

Possibly leah can propose to alessia, and get lovie involved or leah moves in permanently and lovie only wants to sleep with them. Hope the writers block goes away

SLEEP SCARES — alessia russo x leah williamson x child!reader

i’m back! well sort of-

just a quick lil something as i feel as though i’ve lowkey forgotten about yall. but i promise it’s with good reason, life’s been busy and i’m on holiday rn but im hoping when i get home i can get back to normal and start to get some more fic/blurbs out for you all🙃

grumpy masterlist

as a baby and as you grew that little bit older, alessia could generally say she had been quite lucky with how easy it was for you to get to sleep.

she had never really had any issues with you waking up during the night — of course there had been the odd occasion when you’d been poorly but other than that, you liked sleeping in your own bed.

however, ever since your little mind had discovered the secret of your mummy and leah and the fact they were more than friends. your bed and room wasn’t as comfy and cool anymore. you instead now wanted to be in your mummy’s bed watching whatever silly adult show was showing on the tv sneaking a few sweets which you really shouldn’t be having after brushing your teeth.

this cycle had occurred more often when leah was staying the night, “how long do you think it’ll be until lovie’s wondering through the door?” alessia whispered as the two were lying tangled together in bed, the only light coming from the tv which was on a low hum.

“hm i’d give it at least thirty minutes” leah rasped out as she ran a hand through alessia’s hair, alessia humming in response, sinking deeper into leah’s arms.

the two knew that there time together wouldn’t last long until you were tip toeing sleepily into the room with your elephant under your arm as your eyes were filled with sleep.

alessia and leah had dosed off, the tv playing adverts as the door creeped open. you tip toeing so lightly, as you climbed into the bed from the bottom. sinking yourself inbetween the two.

alessia feeling the movement, as her eyes opened slightly. “lovie? what you doing?” your mummy questioned as she sleepily yawned, moving a little from leah’s warmth. you sat in the middle of the bed on your knees, a sleepy look on your face.

“can’t sleep, there noises in my room” you pouted as your shoulders sunk down. a flash of worry came across alessia’s face as her brow furrowed downwards slightly.

“what do you mean noises?” alessia asked as she sat up, her back resting against the headboard of her bed reaching over to turn on the side lamp. moving with much caution hoping not to wake the sleeping blonde beside her. knowing the grumpy mood she would wake in if she was woken up from her slumber.

are you sure it’s not just the wind?” alessia pushed more knowing sometimes the sound of the wind can sometimes make some scary noises.

you shrugged, a small yawn falling from your lips. “i sleep in here” you cutely asked, your eyes forming a pleading look as a small sigh came from your mummy’s lips.

“do you not want mummy to come and lie in your bed with you?” she asked, hopeful that would be the best solution. but you shook your head, the bed slightly shaking as you did so.

alessia surrendering as she whispered out a yes, not wanting the hassle of trying to coax you back into your own bed as admittedly she just wanted to get back to sleep herself.

your mummy moving slightly to make a small gap in the bed for you to lie in as a small smug smile of victory flashed across your lips as you flopped into bed. your mummy placing a kiss to your cheek as she whispered good night in your ear, circling small shapes on your back.

it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep as your chest started to rise slower indicating you had fell asleep, alessia still tracing shapes on your back as she noticed leah starting to move around.

leah’s eyes opening for a split second before they closed but even through the darkness alessia never missed the small smile which was on her lips.

“at least it was longer than the thirty minutes we thought” leah whispered out as a quiet chuckle left alessia’s lips.

[macabrebatz]

A SIGHT TO BEHOLD (Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson/F!Reader)

Summary: Wade gets spit-roasted. That’s it.

Author’s note: This is my first time writing a smut one-shot! I literally don’t know how I feel about how this came out. I had a dream about this exact scenario involving Wade and I woke up in the middle of the night to write it. Literally had to write out my fantasy so I could go back to sleep. I hope you enjoy it because I’m NERVOUS. I’m a mere newbie smut writer.

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, MMF threesome, Wade gets some special treatment, or in other words you & Logan fuck Wade, pegging/anal (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), throat fucking, a little bit of voyeurism, established relationship, open relationship, Honda odyssey mentioned lol, self indulgent, not beta read

Word count: 2036

Logan didn’t intend to interrupt. He was headed to the bedroom, about to go take a nap when he heard it. A quiet moan from an all too familiar voice. Logan found himself quietly walking down the hall of the apartment, listening to the sounds. The door was cracked open just a bit and from his position in the hallway, he could see your nude body hovering over Wade.

For a moment, he turned to walk away, to leave the apartment for a bit and let you two have your moment. Logan and Wade had their fair share of you together and you and Logan had plenty of fun alone as well. But the sound of Wade's moaning and your soft voice talking to him piqued his curiosity. It was calling him in like a siren’s song.

He slowly pushed the door open. Wade was laid out in front of you, his head buried in the covers of the bed with his ass up. You were between his legs, slowly pushing into him with a red strap on.

Logan’s hand pushed the door a bit more, causing it to creak. You turned your head at the sound.

“Hey, Logan,” you said with a smile.

“Well, ain’t that a nice sight to see. Never seen you so speechless, Wilson. She’s barely even gotten started yet,” Logan said.

He leaned on the doorway, watching the two of you. Wade looked up from his place below you as you paused mid-thrust. Your hand gently rested on Wade’s back.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t take you for the type of guy to watch in the corner but here we are, Peanut,” Wade said, glancing at him.

Logan rolled his eyes a bit. A small smirk was forming on his lips.

“Couldn’t help myself. All of those sweet sounds you were making,” Logan trailed off.

“Glad you like it,” Wade said, pushing his hips back a bit.

“You’re welcome to join us, Logan. It’s been so long since the last time,” you said, slowly thrusting the rest of the way into Wade.

He let out a whimper, laying his head to the side away from Logan.

“Fuck,” he moaned, pushing back against you.

Logan walked over to you, putting his hand on the nape of your neck. He pulled your head back, making you look up at him.

“As much as I’d love to, Princess. I think watching you two is enough this time around,” Logan said.

He kissed you on the lips and then the cheek.

“I knew it. You hear that, he’s one of those guys that watches in the corner. I mean, I’m not complaining or anything,” Wade said.

Logan pulled away from you and slowly walked around the bed, staring at the two of you before kicking off his shoes and sitting near the head of the bed.

You leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses up Wade's back. You lingered, kissing his shoulder and then his neck.

“Shall we continue?” you asked quietly.

Wade nodded his head.

You leaned back, gripping Wade’s waist, and pulled him in closer. The bed began to creak as you began to slowly thrust your hips back and forth.

Your thumb grazed against his skin, drawing little circles on his side. You wanted to take your time with Wade. Your thrusts were agonizingly slow and drawn out, each one drawing out a long moan from Wade’s lips. With each thrust of your hips, you would fill him to the hilt with the toy before almost pulling out. And you'd stay like that sometimes, with just the head of the silicone cock in him before he was begging and pushing back onto it.

This wasn’t the first time that you had gotten Wade in this position but it was the first time Logan had ever seen either of you like this. When Logan was involved it was usually you getting fucked. You didn’t mind being passed around by Wade and Logan nor did you mind being sandwiched between them. You enjoyed it a lot. But today it was Wade's turn.

His hands gripped the side of the bed, burying his fingers into the sheet. You had barely even started to fuck him and he was already a mess.

“Fuck, oh my god,” Wade mumbled into the bed.

Logan was sprawled out on the bed, his head resting on the headboard. He had already taken off his shirt. He unbuckled his jeans and one of his hands rested on his knee, the other slipped into his pants and palmed his growing erection.

You rubbed your hand across Wade's ass, squeezing a bit as you picked up speed.

Logan shifted where he sat as he pushed his pants and boxers past his hips. His erection flopped out, resting against his abdomen. He reached down stroking his dick. His thumb grazed across the head, smearing a bit of precum over it.

“Enjoying the…show?” Wade questioned in between moans, turning his head to look at Logan.

“You know I am,” he said.

His chest heaved a bit as he jerked himself off. His eyes scanned across the scene before him.

Wade's head rested on the bed, his hands still holding onto the blanket. His eyes were locked on Logan's cock. You had a grin on your face as you continued to pump the strap-on into the merc beneath you. Your breasts jiggled ever so slightly with every thrust. Logan moaned as his cock pumped into his hand. It truly was a sight to behold and Logan wasn’t sure how long he’d last watching you and Wade. Every time you’d glance over at him, locking your eyes on him. Every time a little whine or a quiet plea would escape Wade’s lips. It was enough to drive him crazy.

You were in a trance. Wade was falling apart. You had bent him over in just a way that was causing you to hit that sweet spot in him with every thrust. You weren’t being stimulated but the sound of Wade's whimpers, Logan’s moans, and the lewd sound of every thrust was almost enough to make you come.

“Ah, fuck. Please go harder, baby,” Wade begged.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Your hands gripped his waist a bit tighter and you picked up speed. Wade's jaw fell and his eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowing.

“Oh my god, yes,” he moaned.

He gripped the bed tighter, whimpering as you pounded into him. If he latched onto the bed any harder you swore he could’ve ripped holes through the sheets. He whispered something about his cock which had been hard and throbbing since you had first begun. And now it slid back and forth on the covers with every thrust. You knew he couldn’t take it much longer. And neither could Logan who was so close to the edge.

His hips thrust into the air as he watched Wade become undone below you. The bed shifted a bit as Logan stood up and walked over to Wade, cock in hand. You watched him saunter over to Wade, figuring he had decided that he was done just watching. He needed more.

“Tired of being the guy in the corner?” Wade asked.

“Open,” Logan demanded.

Without another word, Wade parted his lips and let Logan fuck his mouth. Logan groaned at the feeling of Wade's warm mouth. He couldn’t help but thrust his hips causing Wade to gag a bit, drool dripping down his chin.

“Fuck, you’re so good, Wade,” Logan grunted.

He hummed in response, a small thank you, causing Logan’s hips to buck at the vibration.

Wade was close, you could tell. His thighs were trembling under your touch, something that often happened when he was on the edge.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you said.

You reached down, kissing his back.

Logan was close too. The thrusts of his hips had become erratic as he cupped the side of Wade's face. Wade had become a drooling mess, moaning around Logan’s cock. Logan had never received head from Wade before but you knew that it must’ve been good. Wade had always had a way with his tongue. There were many times when he had made you see stars while eating you out.

There was a particularly long moan from Wade, humming around Logan once more. And that was all it took.

Logan gently gripped the side of Wade's head, grunting as he pushed his cock further into Wade's mouth. His nose gently grazed against Logan’s pubic hair. Cum shot down his throat and he swallowed around Logan’s cock.

“Knew you’d be good with your mouth,” Logan said.

You were still thrusting into him as he removed his mouth from around Logan. Logan sat back down, this time in a chair directly across from you and Wade.

Wade had become unglued. The feeling of you fucking him, his cock moving against the bed, the taste of Logan still on his tongue. It was all too much.

“Please, please,” he whimpered.

“What do you want, baby?”

He could barely make a coherent sentence, mumbling about his cock and his desperate need to come. Whispering in incomplete sentences about how close he was. It was a bit unusual for both you and Logan. Wade was usually very mouthy in bed. But he was a sputtering mess. And you loved it. And by the looks of Logan, who was watching intently, he loved it too.

“Such a good boy,” you whispered.

Wade’s hips bucked into the bed, his head buried into the blankets. You placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him harder into you.

“God, fuck. I’m gonna cum,” he groaned.

“Go ahead, baby. You’ve been so good for us,” you said.

You were moaning yourself, just the sight of Wade like this with Logan looking at the two of you was turning you on. You didn’t even need them to touch you.

Wade’s breath hitched, his mouth hanging agape. He was seeing stars, a white vignette around his eyes as he came. He rutted his hips against the bed as you pushed into him slowly. His body shuddered as he looked into Logan’s eyes in a silent wave of pleasure.

You slowly pulled out of Wade with a grin as he collapsed onto the bed, closing his eyes and panting. Logan had gotten up, disappearing into the bathroom. You unfastened the sex toy, taking it and the harness off, and sitting it aside.

You pulled Wade up, moving him towards the head of the bed. You lay down beside him, placing a kiss on his forehead. Logan emerged from the bathroom, wash rag in hand. He gently cleaned up Wade and tossed the rag aside into a hamper. Then Logan got into the bed, laying on the opposite side of Wade.

After a few moments of blissful silence, Wade spoke.

“That was fucking amazing. Holy fucking shit, who taught you how to do that?”

You giggled. It seemed Wade being speechless was only a temporary thing.

“What I’m hearing is that you enjoyed it?” you asked.

He nodded his head, smiling.

“And you,” he poked Logan in the chest, who huffed in response.

“You couldn’t resist me even if you tried. Honestly, I knew it. Ever since we were in that Honda Odyssey. I get not being able to resist her,” Wade pointed at you, “she’s perfect. But I guess it took you a bit to realize that I’m also a catch-“

Logan interrupted Wade, kissing him hard. It took Wade a bit by surprise but he softened, opening up and bringing his hand up to Logan’s face. You looked on from your position in the bed. Seeing them like this made you more happy than you had ever expected.

“Wait a minute. What about you?”

Wade pulled away from Logan’s kiss, turning his head to look at you.

“What about me?” you asked, curling up beside him.

“Last time I checked only two of us came,” Wade cooed.

“You know what, I think he’s right, Princess,” Logan chimed in.

The two men had mischievous looks in their eyes. You knew you were in for a long night.

[dojunie]

MISDIAL; LJN [CH6] DND

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

info;

lee jeno x fem!reader

college au

chaptered

very slow burn

genre; not-quite-friends to lovers, older brother mark lee, brothers best friend lee jeno, light angst, yn is a menace to society, story/character driven

warnings for this chapter; none

chapter wc: 11k

a/n: i don't even have an excuse. when i tell you i was struggling with this... anyway, to not dwell on the bad, lets talk about the good; i rewrote the ending and finally feel excited about it, so hopefully i dont face another deeply evil and unforgiving block again. thank you for sticking around :)

current tl: @hibernatinghamster / @jenoxygen / @eaglesnotravens / @donutswithjaminthemiddle / @jvjsssnaa / @huangrenhyucks / @luvenshiti / @shiningdery / @jaeminsbebu / @aliceinwhateverland / @bebsky / @gem-gem / @jkjkseo / @jenosbliss / @pewpewpwe00 / @ti–red / @philanarose / @softbbyg0rl / @aaasteroidsky / @carelessshootanonymous / @en-boyz / @jlsavyy / @roseymerrie / @bangchanisemo / @skuezk / @jaehyuns-adorable-dimples / @ourbeautifulaffair / @jeonnyread / @jvjsssnaa / @episkeyjeno / @bockhyun / @jenojammin / @zarastrawberry / @peachie-bear / @itadaramaterasu / @alymii / @cuteejeno / @episkeyjeno / @nohunlee / @ooojisoo / @luv4jeno / @jydivrs / @pinkysinnerbaby / @jenojenoyes / @maeyoung / @axmdocs / @nctzennikki09 / @tynlvr / @saucyjaeyun /

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OF ALL THE THINGS A GUY COULD CATCH YOU FAKING, BEING ASLEEP USUALLY ISN’T THE MOST MORTIFYING.

Usually, you take care to point out.

Because nine times out of ten, getting called out for pretending to be asleep is something to be mulled over with a laugh. Like when you pretend to doze off in the middle of a boring story to make your friends roll their eyes and get to the point, or when you’re young enough for it to still be feasible, in an attempt to get your parents to carry you to bed after a long car ride home. You know. That type of cute, charming thing.

But when there’s nothing cute or charming about the night you’ve just had, Jeno telling you point blank that he knows you’re awake (and has known you were awake the entire time) feels less like a joke that you’re both in on, and more like you’ve just been dropped naked into the middle of Times Square.

“Pizza doesn’t stay hot forever you know.”

Mortification rips through your body like a live current and you jerk around as if someone’s just cocked a shotgun behind your back.

You freeze afterwards, your head only turned enough just enough to peek over your shoulder, like there’s still some speck of a chance that Jeno isn’t actually talking to you— but that speck is swiftly sucked into the vacuum of reality when your eyes meet.

He’s smiling right at you. Eye-crescents and all. Arms folded over his chest, leaning back into the couch cushions like he’s just asked for you to change the channel instead of rouse from a fake nap.

“I was starting to think I’d have to roll you over.”

God forbid.

“How—” Your voice is several octaves too high for the feigned nonchalance you’re trying to push. You swallow. It doesn’t help. “How did you... know?”

“When I used to sleep over at your parents house I’d hear you snoring through the walls when I passed your room. Even through a foot of wood and plaster it still sounded like you were choking to death right out there in the hallway with me; after the pizza guy left I realized it was way, way too quiet in here. Put two and two together.”

On a different day this answer would’ve made your face burn for the next half an hour but considering the other bomb he’s just dropped, it doesn’t even register on the radar.

After the pizza guy left?

“You knew I was awake the entire time you were talking?”

“Of course.”

For five too-many beats, you’re staring at him like he’s just started speaking Simlish.

Your first instinct is to grimace, hard. Because how fucking stupid you must've looked curled up on the couch like that when he’d known from the very beginning that you were awake, stone still and pretending you couldn’t be seen like a toddler hiding behind the window curtains, Jesus— but before the embarrassment of that can really take shape and cringe you into a coma, the actual problem with his confession comes to light.

He… knew. He said all of that knowing that you were listening. High school, the graduation, the day you both met, everything.

He said he liked you back.

“What?” you finally manage. “But— Why? Why would you tell me all of that? Now?”

“Because after what happened on Saturday, I felt like I was being…” For the first time all night, maybe all week, Lee Jeno breaks eye-contact first. “I’m still having trouble figuring out the specifics but ‘unfair', might be the best fit. You told me how you felt and I only stood there and listened even though I knew I could’ve told you that it wasn’t nearly as unrequited as you thought, but I got nervous and then said something dumb and everything fell apart. Even if you still never talked to me again afterwards I needed to explain. To make sure you understood that it wasn’t just you who felt how you did.”

He laughs a little, sheepish, like he’s embarrassed. “I guess I overdid it with the trip through history, though. Just wanted you to know I was looking at you, too.”

You’re staring at him and he’s staring at the ground, neither of you seemingly knowing what to say to fill the following silence, when you see another thought shadow over his face and his gaze find you again.

“And I didn’t want you to think it was because of Mark.”

The mention of your brother snaps you out of your stunned reverie in an instant. "What?"

“I was scared of changing things between both me and you and me and him, back then. He didn’t tell me anything about you. I— That’s something I needed to say no matter what. I didn’t want you to think he’d do something like that.”

Without really meaning to, your eyes narrow.

Because. Well. Despite the words that have literally just left his lips about why you weren’t supposed to blame Mark for Lee Jeno never telling you how he felt while he still felt it, Mark Lee is already not your favorite person right now, and tar-like agitation bubbles to the surface anyway.

“So he might not have said anything to you. Okay. Sure. But because of the way he acted, you were under the impression that you’d lose him as a friend if you did like me. Right? You told me that yourself. You refused to even acknowledge the idea that you might’ve ‘liked me like that’ because it was clear how Mark felt about anyone who showed even the slightest interest in me. You said you ‘knew better.’”

You try to scoff. It comes out a little more like a sad, tired huff instead. “So yeah, actually, I think I will continue to think that Mark is the reason you didn’t say anything, because that’s the truth. He spent years and years and years finding something wrong with every guy who looked in my direction and because you felt like he’d throw you away too, you knew how I felt and did nothing when you felt the same way. No matter how you slice it, that’s what happened. That’s why I’m— That’s why I was so upset on the balcony. You understand that, right? Because if he hadn’t, Jeno, then things might’ve—”

Worked out for us, is what you’d been about to say, before you caught yourself.

Chills blossom up your spine. Wow. If those words aren’t a shrapnel-loaded bomb of obvious longing and regret, a flashing neon-sign clear with your inability to get the hell over the past, then you don’t know what is.

You must still be drunk. Or exhausted.

“He’s your best friend. We’re never going to see it the same way.”

The next words feel so heavy on your tongue, but you manage a smile anyway. “But you can forget about it now, if that’s what’s been keeping you up all week. Everything’s out now, right?”

Everything is clearly not out, if his split-second-too-long beat of silence means anything. But for your own sanity you pretend you don’t notice it. You pretend you can’t feel the tension underneath his perfectly blank expression, you pretend that your own secrets aren’t heating up in your mouth like hot coals, you pretend— like you’ve been doing a lot in his presence lately— that you’re completely fine with everything and anything and all of this especially. You’re fine.

You will be fine.

“Right,” Jeno says. “All out. So we’re… okay?”

“We’re okay.”

“No more avoiding?”

“Avoid—?”

Avoiding. Yeah. The past few hours have been such a clusterfuck that you nearly forgot the last six days of pointedly being anywhere other than where he was, pawning off the ‘coincidence’ on preparing for the showcase.

“I wasn’t… avoiding you. Not totally. Not explicitly. I was busy.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You haven’t looked in my direction once since last weekend. I was starting to think you’d seriously never talk to me again.”

You scowl. “Are you going to sit here and tell me you’re confused about why I might not have wanted to see you so soon after what happened on the balcony? Embarrassment was eating me alive. You should be lucky I stuck to being busy, instead of going with the Plan B of faking my own kidnapping.”

He laughs. Your eyes flicker back to him. The sound is soft and muted but it’s real; his eyes disappearing with it, the first time in what feels like days that the smile has really reached the rest of his face. It’s more reassuring than it has any right to be. When he says his next words, standing up to head for the kitchen, you can even manage a genuine smile in return.

“You didn’t sleep away your appetite, right?”

And of course you didn’t.

Actually, once you’re reminded of the pizza sitting on the coffee table (this time without anxiety subduing the hunger in your stomach) you realize that you’re properly ravenous; the last things you’d consumed today were a chocolate muffin and four cherry-flavored jello shots. And the hunger is clear, probably, in how you’re already halfway through a slice when Jeno returns with a pair of plates and two popped soda cans.

The game show (apparently European in production and definitely weirder than previously assumed) somehow becomes the main entertainment while you both eat; X-Men First Class isn’t brought up again despite it still clearly spinning around in the DVD player.

Things stay quiet.

Not the loaded kind of quiet, or any sort of painfully awkward silence. Just… quiet. Oddly relaxing. Much too comfortable. Once you’re done stuffing yourself, your fingers wiped of tomato sauce remnants and soda long ago finished, the couch pulls you further and further into its pillow-like cushions with every passing minute.

The first thing that either of you say after half an hour is when Jeno asks you for a translation for an English thing a contestant says that the subtitles don't catch, and your response comes after a badly stifled yawn. He, unfortunately, notices this.

“Why are you torturing yourself by staying up to watch this? If you’re tired, go to sleep.”

“M’ not that tired,” is your automatic reply. “And I want to know who wins. Cassandra needs that Prius.”

He sniffs under his breath, quietly, like you’re already asleep and he’s trying not to rouse you. You probably look half gone— you’re staring at the TV through slits, your posture on his couch closer to horizontal than vertical— but you don’t want to admit that you’re running on empty. Maybe it’s residual little-sister-ism, refusal to agree simply because someone else suggested it first, but admitting that you’re spent feels like defeat when he still looks completely conscious.

“This is a rerun.” Jeno clicks something on the remote. “Of a show from 2012. You could just look up what happened to Cassandra.”

“Not the same. I need to see her win live, so she can rub it into Helen’s face. She’s so snooty.”

A beat, and then Jeno hums. “She is snooty, yeah, but the show has another ten minutes left. She’s going to be snooty for another five of those before the finale. Why don’t you brush your teeth in the meantime? Since you’re not tired?”

The lilt of his voice makes you glance at him. It’s familiar. Mark trying to convince you not to eat an entire bag of candy at once, Mark trying to bribe you with a popsicle to get you to do your homework, Mark trying to trick you into accidentally getting ready for bed by challenging you to a race.

Distantly you wonder if this tone, too, is another thing Jeno has subconsciously picked up over the years from watching how your brother interacts with you.

“You don’t need to baby me, you know.”

“Of course I know. Only babies make up reasons to stay up when they’re clearly exhausted. You’re not a baby. Right?”

You can’t even glare. It would give away that he’s completely onto you. And yet, he smiles like he’s already got you in the bag.

“Exactly,” you mutter, “No babies here.”

“So you understand that Cassandra will still be around when you’re done washing up?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Come on.”

And he’s up off the couch before he can even catch your rolled eye. Annoying.

Even more annoying is the fact that he’s right. He didn’t say as much when he’d suggested you brush your teeth sooner rather than later, but you knew it was because he thought you didn’t have much longer in you, that you were going to be too far gone in fifteen minutes to have any energy left to get to your feet and wash up— once you get through opening the new toothbrush he gives you, speeding through scrubbing each of your molars with his absurdly fancy toothpaste (because of course he has Premium Ultra Mega Super White Charcoal Anti-Cavity in Spearmint and Sunshine sitting on his counter instead of a regular man’s Colgate, considering all of the perfect teeth sitting in his mouth)— and as soon as you flop back down onto the couch just in time to watch snooty Helen get her comeuppance, a physical weariness settles into your bones and all but cements you to the couch.

It’s so serious that you don’t even realize your eyes have closed until they fly open again at a shifting of the cushion beside you; Jeno, dropping a giant gray duvet on the couch after returning from the bathroom himself. A duvet. A blanket. Sweet, sweet, sleepy salvation.

“Thanks. This looks perfect.”

“Only one of those is for you.”

“One? There’s more than one here?”

“Yeah.”

You blink up at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m sleeping out here too?”

Holy crap. What? This almost makes you sit all the way up. “What sense does that make, in your own house? Why the hell would you sleep out here when you have a perfectly good bed twenty feet away?”

“Because it’s—” Only now does he seem to realize how odd this looks, “It’s sleepover etiquette.”

“Sleepover etiquette?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly. “I didn’t make the rules, I’m just used to it happening like this. The only time I sleep in my own bed when someone is over is when Jaemin is here, because he’ll sleep in it even if I don’t, but anyone else, we just divvy it up on the couch. Sleepover etiquette. No one gets the bed, or everyone gets the bed.”

As crazy as it sounds right now, it rings true. At your own sleepovers, anything under five friends and you’d all be piling into the bed of whoever hosted the event: squishing together like giggly sardines, waking up and not knowing where one of you ended and the other one began. But Jeno equating this— your definite last-minute intrusion in his house— to a sleepover? Like this is some every weekend thing?

“As noble of a sacrifice as that is, I can’t ask you to sleep out here. You realize that I’m an interloper, right? That you’re doing me a favor by letting me crash here? Hardly the circumstances of a normal sleepover.”

A long second passes as he appears to genuinely think about this, and for a moment you think he’s going to take your advice and try to get a good night's rest after everything else you’ve demanded of him today, but—

“It’s normal to me. You’re sleeping here tonight. That makes it a sleepover. Which one of these do you want?”

Non-negotiable, he's saying. We’re both sleeping out here, take it or take it, punctuated by him flopping down onto the couch beside the pile of blankets. You want to sigh but you should’ve known. It’s chivalry until the end with Lee Jeno.

So you ignore your brain screaming about how weird this is, you and him out here bunking like buddies, and just take the blanket he hands you. You settle in underneath it, cozier than you’re willing to admit, and refocus your attention on the next thing that’s started on TV after the game show; something just as foreign and bizarre but entertaining enough to keep your attention until the near silence weighs down your eyelids instead.

Mark’s apartment is never this serene. Whether it’s the jet-like humming of the fridge out in the kitchen, or the noisy college students below you and their random but guaranteed twice-a-week smash tournaments, or the rattle of the air conditioner above your bed that you’ve been meaning to look at for nearly a month now.

The quiet is… nice. Weird, but nice. You can hear your own breathing. You can hear Jeno’s breathing too; shallow, slow, and even.

It’s how you know he’s still awake twenty minutes later.

He commented on your snoring but little does he know, he snores too— just not as violently. For the premier of Spider-Man Homecoming coming out on DVD, Mark had a celebratory sleepover in the basement of your parents house that you were cordially invited to (along with two of your own friends,) back in your sophomore year. You all huddled up amongst the couches and recliners with millions of blankets and billions of pillows, everyone just falling asleep wherever they laid; and though you could’ve sworn he’d been halfway across the room when you closed your eyes that night, you’d woken up the next morning with Jeno’s forehead pressed into your shoulder and nearly screamed.

You didn’t, though. You sucked it back down just in time.

Instead, you sat there and ogled him in the still-blue sunlight, reveling in how it was even possible for a human with such sharp bone structure to look so squishy when he slept.

It was also how you noticed that, when he’s asleep, his nose makes this tiny but unmistakable whistling sound— like a tiny person is up there blowing through a kazoo whenever he exhales.

There’s no whistle sound now.

“When did you stop liking me?” you ask.

And to his credit, even though you’re listening very hard for any sort of change, Jeno’s breathing doesn’t miss a measure. There’s just a second of silence before a quiet shift of fabric, maybe like he’s rolling over to face you, but you’re not sure because you’re staring at the ceiling like you might explode if your eyes meet. Which you might.

“I don’t know,” he says, just as plainly as you’d asked. “I don’t remember there being a day where I decided I should.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?” he’s surprisingly quick to add. “When did you stop liking me?”

“...Would it be a cop out if I just said the same?”

“Without a doubt.”

You manage to crack a smile, but a yawn cuts it off. “Sometime after your graduation, I think. I don’t have a concrete day for it or anything. I only remember realizing that while you were gone, I was thinking about you less and less. After a while the idea of you stopped…” Hurting, as much. “Hovering.”

“Right,” he says. “Yeah. That makes sense." He clears his throat. "That you’d forget me a little, I mean. Once you started going out more.”

Another yawn on your end. This time your eyes aren’t as eager to reopen, and the exhale saps the very last ounce of energy you’ve got. What time is it? One? One-thirty?

Majorly past your bedtime.

“I didn’ forget you,” you reply belatedly, but it comes out more like a murmur, a little lost in the noise of you shifting around to get more comfortable. “There’s no forgetting someone like you.”

If he said something in response it was either too quiet to be heard through your cocoon of blankets or simply came after you fell too deep into the first REM cycle. Distantly you thought you heard something, a breath of an answer, but by the time you placed it as a possibly whispered, “You either,” you were already much, much too far gone.

Pancakes.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes.

Jeno’s apartment looks so different in the sunlight that for a second, even though the memories of last night trickle back faster than expected once you open your eyes, you almost don’t recognize the place when you sit up.

Snapshots pop into your brain like fireworks as the seconds tick on; the showcase, the party, punching Jeon Soyeon in the face. Your brother’s best friend driving you to his house as you cried in the aftermath, confessing his feelings two years past the expiry date, the both of you falling asleep out here like you’re a couple of old pals who do this sort of song and dance all the time.

In the span of 24 hours, you’ve faced more highs and lows than you have all year.

And before you can even wipe the crusties from your eyes, the worry sets in.

Soyeon wasn’t popular for no reason— would her minions be coming after you, now? Had they already started? Bombarding your social media, spreading rumors, flocking protectively around their Queen Bee after you dared to lose your temper on her last night? What fresh hell would you be walking into when you finally checked your phone?

And what about Somi? You’d probably left her with quite the mess after causing such a scene; did the party continue alright? Did you ruin the cheerful atmosphere? You didn’t even get to say goodnight.

And… And Mark, too.

But you weren’t even sure where to start when it came to him.

God. Maybe for the sake of your currently-not-awful mood, you should just not start. About him, or last night, or any of the things that are surely going to be a pain in the ass to deal with in the following days. Those headaches will still be there in a few hours— sorting out the most immediate issue of the person who’s house you’re hiding in, will not.

It’s a sunny, cloudless morning in Seoul.

You turn to the smell of the pancakes and find Jeno standing in his kitchen with one earbud in, back to you. He’s bobbing his head and murmuring under his breath as he flips the batter in the pan, head to toe in what looks to be work-out gear; black leggings under charcoal basketball shorts, one of those skin tight athletic tanks stretched taut across what you can see of his shoulder blades from your dent in his couch.

You’re in the middle of being annoyed at how broad he is when, despite being careful to not to ruffle the blankets or anything, Jeno glances behind him. You’re caught off guard by it— because what the hell? Does he have a secret eyeball hiding amongst those locks of inky black hair?— but then you belatedly understand that it’s the lack of noise that’s tipped him off. With how violently you snore, a sudden silence is basically your jingling cat-bell of attention. Annoying.

“I was just about to wake you up,” he says. “Do you mind flipping the last few of these so I can take a shower really quick? Breakfast is just about done.”

“You went to the gym?”

It’s less a question, more of an observation, but Jeno hums in agreement. “The one in the building, I didn’t leave you for too long. I would’ve waited until tonight if I didn’t already know that you never wake up before 11.”

There’s a momentary blip of something odd in your brain at the concept of him just knowing something like that about you, but it’s gone— by force— as fast as it appears.

“Okay. Just have to flip?”

“Just have to flip.”

And so you just flip. Jeno passes you with a smile as he leaves the kitchen, looking the perfect picture of casual, as if this is an everyday experience. It’s so casual that it makes you wonder how this might look to an outsider, someone with no context for what last night was like— and then it makes you acutely aware of how loudly the 15 year-old version of you would be hollering right now if she could see five years into the future and witness this scene herself. You, in Jeno’s clothes, flipping pancakes in his kitchen on a beautiful Saturday morning, as he showers in the bathroom you’d shared last night, washing the toil and sweat of physical exertion off of his body.

Yeah. Without context? 15 year-old you probably would’ve screamed until her head exploded.

Jeno thankfully isn’t gone for long, and by the time you hear the faucet turn off, you’ve finished with the very last pancake. You pile it on top of the half a dozen others, a beautiful stack of fluffy dough and sugar. (And, okay, sure, you’d gotten a liberal with the chocolate chips on the last few after realizing you’d misjudged the cooking time on some of the earlier ones and left them chocochipless, overcompensating by pouring all of the remaining dollops into the last two or three for the sake of not wasting them— but whatever. Even with the gooey, more-chocolate-than-bread pancakes sitting on top, your work could surely still make the cover of a Martha Stuart cookbook.)

You don’t see him come out because you’re moving the plate of food to his dining table, but you know he’s close because he laughs when he spots the brown pancakes. You know he’s laughing at the brown pancakes, because:

“You’re really pushing the limit of what can be considered breakfast with that last one there, don’t you think?”

“You’re not going to care what meal of the day this is once you actually taste it.”

“Why? Because it’s hard to tell the time when you’re in a sugar-induced coma?”

You sniff. “If you’re so worried about your health you could always let me have it. I made a few that don’t have any chips. You can have those sad ones then.”

A moment passes and you turn to look at him. Bad choice. Hip bones and pale skin everywhere— it’s like a flash-bang of narrow waist, courtesy of Jeno raising his arms (and therefore the hem of his t-shirt) to dry the last drops of water from his hair with the towel he’s brought out with him. You rip your eyes back to setting the table before he notices, feeling like your eyeballs have just been physically zapped.

“I never said I was worried about my health,” he replies, wandering a little further into the kitchen. “Split it with me?”

There’s no need for that. There’s like, three of them. We can each have one. But for some reason you instead say, “Only if I get the half that has more chips.”

“I thought that was already obvious,” he smiles in return.

Fifteen minutes later, with two-thirds of your stack messily decimated and his entire plate basically as clean as it was when it came out of the cupboard, Jeno must decide that your morning of peace has gone on for long enough.

“Mark called me last night,” he announces.

(Technically he says it very normally, at a perfectly acceptable volume for general conversation, but because you’d both lapsed into silence after a few sentences of small talk at the table— a compliment from him about your showcase, about how cool you’d looked up there, how impressive your choreography was; a mumbled thanks from you, that there was another one happening after winter break— it comes out like an announcement anyway. An announcement you’re none too happy to hear.)

You’re hoping he doesn’t notice how your face goes a little stiff. “Did he?”

“Mm. He said he got worried because you weren’t answering your phone.”

You probably would’ve been dodging his calls regardless but the truth is that your phone is still somewhere in Gawon’s car and has probably been since before the party even started. You’d realized that last night, after changing your clothes in his bathroom and not finding it in any of your jacket’s nooks and crannies; seeing in your mind the exact door pocket you’d left it in, then thinking you’d definitely remember to grab it before you got out. You didn’t.

You could only imagine the carnage of notifications you’ve amassed since last night.

“And?”

“And, once I told him you were alright here, he said he’d leave a voice message that he wanted me to pass on to you. I told him I’d let you hear it in the morning once you had the energy, after you slept off whatever was in your system.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes.

“Are you ready for that?” he asks carefully. “I haven’t listened to it, if you want to be alone when it plays.”

“What’s the point in that? It’s not like he isn’t going to relay my scolding to you later anyway. Press it.”

“He’s not going to scold you—”

You flick your gaze at him, silently asking if he really wants to get into this again, and apparently he thinks better of whatever gushingly optimistic sentence he’d been about to follow up that observation with. “Please just press it.”

He presses it.

“Hey— Hey, tiger.”

And then Mark is here. Vocally. In the flesh. Through the uncomfortably clear speakers in his best friend’s phone.

“I hope you’re doing better than you were when I last saw you.”

The cadence of his voice twists up your lungs for a reason you can’t immediately place, and then you realize it’s because he’s speaking in English, which he only resorts to when he has too many things to say and not enough ways to say them. This makes your insides sink even further.

“Listen, before I get sidetracked, I want you to know that I know what I did was… stupid. The last thing I should’ve done was help her up after what she said, but I— I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t know about any of… that stuff, you and her hanging out or whatever, until she said it, and that probably would’ve ticked me off anyway because of some other things I had going on with her, but then she mentioned whatever happened there— that she apparently left you at some night club, alone, with some fucking guy—?”

A sigh and a ruffle this time, like he’s passing his hand over his face in agitation. It takes so much for him to curse in front of you and yet he’d just dropped the most serious one of them all like it was nothing. But while this would usually send your blood running cold, it doesn’t. Because it… it kind of doesn’t sound like he’s actually mad at you. What?

“I asked her if it was true because I was so... Honestly I didn’t realize how it looked until after you left, you know? Like I was siding with her or something? I asked her if it was true because I couldn’t believe that she’d do something like that to you. Not because I would’ve ever trusted her word over yours or something, she’s already proven… God, okay, this message is already at like, two minutes…”

Another sigh. This one is much more miserable than the previous.

For some stupid, distant reason, as the shock wears on from the realization that he isn’t mad at you, you find yourself wondering if Jeno is having a hard time following along. The only class he’d ever come close to failing in high school was English.

“Can you just call me? Please? Or better yet, can you just let Jeno drive you home? I’ll explain everything so much better once you’re in front of me. M’ sorry, again that I… You’ve got a great right hook by the way. You shouldn’t have punched her, violence is never ever the answer. But she was leaking like a faucet for long after you left, Tiger— might’ve snapped something in there. Really laid her out.” A short, weak laugh, and then,“Yeah. Please call. Or come home? Please.”

The message ends with a cheerful beep.

And you sit there in silence for a good, long moment.

Because that wasn’t anything like the drawing-and-quartering you were expecting.

If anything, Mark actually sounded angry on your behalf. He’d helped Soyeon up, probably without thinking, because he was asking her if she’d really done something that awful to you. Not because he actually…

“You’re gonna let me do what he wants right?”

Jeno’s expression had, at some point during your staring off into space, contorted the closest you think you’ve ever seen it get to an outright, I told you so. And you guess he did. You didn’t get scolded.

“I— I was going to stop at my friend's house to get my phone,” you say, still a little shocked. “Left it in her car last night before I got to the party.”

“Where does she live?”

“Gamyeon.”

Jeno only shrugs. “We'll pitstop then.”

“You— You’re going to drive me all the way to Gamyeon?”

“Isn’t it only twenty minutes out of the way?” He blinks. “How were you going to get it before I was going to take you home?”

“I… I was pretty gungho about sneaking out of here at the crack of dawn via Uber, last night?” It comes out like a guilty question. “I had a bit of a plan of action. But that was before I woke up to the smell of pancakes, of course…”

“The pancakes you didn’t know I was making until half an hour ago? At 11AM?” he asks innocently. “If what you really mean is that getting up at the crack of dawn turned out to be a little ambitious for you, you can just—”

Jeno laughs as your hand shoots out to swat him. He smartly decides to change the subject, and this new topic ends up being about the dishes; specifically about him loading them into the dishwasher while you go and gather your belongings into the little drawstring book bag he’d left by the bathroom for you. When you ask him why you don’t just change back into what you had on last night so he doesn’t have to go without his hoodie and sweatpants for however long it takes you to do laundry, he shrugs it off. “You look more comfortable in this than the dress. And I’m at your place more often than I’m in my own, it’s not like I’ll miss it for too long. Keep it for now.”

(And you can’t argue with that. Especially not when he’s right. These sweatpants are way nicer than the tightly ribbed-nylon of Gawon’s mini dress.)

While brushing your teeth, you wonder what to do with the toothbrush.

Leaving it feels… odd. In a stupid way it almost feels like you’d be leaving it to return to. Like there’s any chance that after today you’ll ever be spending another unannounced night in this apartment, which there isn’t if you’ll have anything to do about it. But taking the toothbrush with you, or throwing it away, feels weird too.

In the end you decide to just toss it in your bag and take it back to Mark’s. Jeno won’t say anything about it, you know he won't, but if he miraculously does seem to care, you can just say that you’ve been meaning to get a new toothbrush and that it’s not like he has any use for this one anymore anyway. Maybe you’ll even offer to give him five bucks to make up for the thievery. (God, why are you thinking so hard about this? Like he's going to waste his time chasing you down for a fucking toothbrush?)

And after all that brainpower he doesn’t even say anything. Once he comes out after using the bathroom himself, if he’s even noticed it missing he doesn’t let it show. He just asks if you’re ready to go, and when you nod, that’s the end of it. He leads you out, follows you down the corridor, and then pushes the button for the elevator to come and pick you both up. Easy as pie.

It’s only when you’re in the descending cabin that it hits you, that this is the last time you’ll be here.

You try not to think too hard about why your lips inherently want to frown at that idea.

Twenty minutes to Gamyeon feels more like five, with how much catastrophizing you’re doing in the passenger's seat. Soyeon and her crew will have surely started the city-wide search for you by now, right? Should you be telling Jeno to take back roads? To roll his windows up on this beautiful late August afternoon, so no one from SNU recognizes either of you from the party and tries to run you both off the road? God.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you blurt.

And even though you’d literally asked him for it, you’re a little astounded when he just hands the thing over without question. You shouldn’t be though. He’d done the same thing with the music change request three weeks ago.

(Still no password, either, when you swipe at the screen. What is this guy's problem?)

“Do you need to call someone?”

“No,” you murmur, already scanning through the pages to find Twitter, “I want to see if Soyeon put a hit out for me yet.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

You blink over, a little dubious that even someone as sweet as him can’t fathom why Soyeon could have it out for you after what you did, but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“Uh, I don’t know, Jeno. There’s a possibility that she might be a little upset since I punched her in the face a few hours ago.”

“You didn’t even hit her that hard.”

You balk at him. “Did you not hear the part where Mark said I might’ve broken her nose?”

“I did.”

“And it’s confusing to you that she might be really, really mad at me for that?”

“No,” Jeno mutters. “It’s confusing to me that you think she wouldn’t have come to her senses by now, considering how close she came to getting her ass kicked last night. As far as she knows the only reason you didn’t get to finish her off was because I got in your way. If Soyeon isn’t stupid, she’ll understand that it’s in her best interest to stay off your radar from now on.”

He sounds so unsympathetic that your jaw nearly drops. And he’s not even done. Like your worry has uncorked his own agitation, now.

“I wouldn't have pulled you off of her if I’d known that she was the one who sent that freak out after you behind the bar, by the way. I didn’t hear anything either of you said before you hit her. if I knew why, I would’ve let you get a few more swings in, at least. Sorry.”

“Sorry! You’re apologizing for not letting me beat someone else up?”

“Yes,” he says unflinchingly. “This once. Don’t go around getting in fights for the hell of it though, I won’t be there to haul you to the cool-down corner every time.”

He’s joking now, lightness returning to his smile as he turns into Gawon’s neighborhood, but you’re still a little stuck on how serious he’d gotten just now. Never in your life would you have expected Jeno to be in your corner when it came to your less than stellar impulse control; and not only condone it, but applaud it, just because Soyeon had done something that could’ve gotten you hurt.

...Jeez. Something like appreciation (but more ravenous and embarrassing) worms its way into your heart. You allowed it to simmer there for a one warm, full second before stamping it out with the heel of self-preservation.

You don’t even get to check Twitter. Gawon’s apartment building is more squat than most, only four cozy stories all encapsulated within an open-air stairwell, which means you can keep an eye on Jeno’s car all the way up to your friend’s front door. Coming unannounced, you’ve already prepared yourself for the possibility of her not being home (and therefore having to deal with her scary roommate instead) but thank God, it’s her round sleepy face that opens the door after your quick three knocks against the wood.

She doesn’t remain sleepy looking for long though.

"Holy shit!” And without greeting, Gawon yanks you into her house. “You— Well, first things first, you’re here for your phone, right? Let me go and get it, I brought it inside, but bitch, you have some explaining to do!”

Considering how loud she’s being, the scary roommate must not be home this weekend. You wince. You’ll be getting the full degree, then.

“People are texting me that I haven’t talked to in months just because they know I’m friends with you! Does that make sense?”

“It’s that bad?” you ask warily, as she disappears into her bedroom.

“Bad? Is what bad?”

“Soyeon’s warpath.”

“Soyeon?” Gawon returns to her living room with your phone in hand, eyes wider than you’re expecting. “Uh. No. After last night—” She frowns. “You haven’t talked to your brother yet?”

“No? I haven’t been home since before the showcase. And your car ate my phone so I haven’t really talked to anyone else since last night either.”

But her eyes get even bigger, if that’s possible.

“So you have no idea what happened after Lee Jeno plucked you out of there, then?”

“No.” Your grimace is nearly audible as you sit down, sensing trouble. “You guys didn’t just laugh, turn the music up, and party even harder? You know, like I was hoping you’d all do after that mess I caused?”

“Oh, yeah, we did that,” Gawon says with an unconvincingly casual shrug, before finding your eye and trying (and failing) to hide her widening grin. “After your brother tore Soyeon apart in front of everyone for fucking you over!”

“He— What?”

“Dude, it was crazy, Mark— I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him raise his voice even once but the second the door shut after Jeno took you away, whatever it was she said that made you punch her finally seemed to compute in his head, you know? And he just went, ‘You left her alone with someone she told you was creeping her out?’ like, so loudly that you’d swear it was just the two of them in that whole house!”

For the second time in ten minutes, your jaw has hit the floor.

“And I thought Soyeon would start yelling back at him or something, but she’s just standing there staring at him like she’s stunned, probably that it’s him of all people laying into her, saying that he almost can't believe how selfish and pitiful she is, but oh yeah, yes he can, because only someone that doesn’t have respect for themselves would do she did to him last year; that he would’ve helped her if she just asked. And you should’ve seen her face when he said that. It looked like she’d seen a ghost.And he didn’t even air out whatever it was that she did, which I’m salty about, because… What did she do, you know? I’m so curious! But whatever, that’s not even the best part.”

Not the best part? How? This is pretty fucking insane to you already.

“Mark backed up after dropping that bomb like he was about to leave, to go after you maybe, but then he turned and got right back in Soyeon’s face, and said, ‘I don’t want to see you in front of her again, Soyeon. Take this advice as my parting gift, yeah? Because she’s not going to let you get away with only a graze next time, and you better believe that I’m not going to get in her way either.’” Gawon squeals. “All badass like that, I almost fucking screamed! He and all his friends left after that but I swear everyone was talking about it for the rest of the party. Your brother probably has quite a few new admirers…”

You’re staring at her in an awed silence. Mark stood up for you, too. After hearing everything Soyeon said, he still stood up for you. It really wasn’t like how you thought it went at all.

A few hours ago you’d thought your brother was done with you for real, and that Soyeon would be coming for you with pitchforks for embarrassing her in front of all those people at Somi’s party. And now you’re learning that, without your input at all, those two problems have sort of canceled each other out. Your brother threatened Soyeon into leaving you alone on your behalf.

(And if you weren’t so weirdly flattered, you might’ve been incredibly offended. What is it with him and Jeno and talking like you’re some sort of rabid dog that goes around fucking people up for fun? You’re not that violent!)

“That’s… kind of awesome,” you admit, trying not to smile as you stand up from her couch. “And very, very reassuring. Thanks for the rundown. Maybe I’ll actually be able to show my face on campus on Monday without worrying that I’m about to be struck by a G-Wagon.”

Gawon laughs as she follows you back to the entryway. The two of you chat about a few smaller things before you tell her you have to go, mostly about the plans for dance class on Monday now that the showcase is over and how worried Somi was about you after you left in such a tizzy last night, when she stops you right after cracking open her front door.

“But you know,” she begins, “None of that was what I was referring to when I said you had some explaining to do, missy.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No! Well, people were talking about it, sure, but not nearly as much as the other thing you did in front of everyone last night.”

“Which was?”

“Elope.”

You blink at her.

“I’m talking about the denim-wearing superhero that swooped in to save you from yourself. Hello? Lee Jeno?”

Oh. Your expression flips from confusion to alarm in the blink of an eye.

“People were talking about that? What is there to talk about? He’s my brother's friend!”

“Duh. That’s why people were talking about it. You know how much they love to make up stories about who-was-seen-doing-what-with-who. And honestly even as your friend I have to say that it was pretty fucking crazy last night watching this guy practically teleport across the room to get to you. And yes, you argue that he’s your brother's friend, blah blah, it’s obvious that he’d help, blah, but you fail to notice that Lee Jeno was standing around in a group of all your brother's other friends too. Why didn’t any of the others do something, then? Why specifically Lee Jeno— especially when that guy is the most quiet and subdued of the lot of them? Everyone was tittering about that.”

Her face slips into something a little more suspicious when you only swallow unsurely. Unsure, because you actually don’t know either. You, obviously, had been a little preoccupied before Jeno appeared behind you; you had no clue what he or the others had been doing in the moments before he hauled you outside. Learning that he’d been the only one out of all of them to jump into action makes you feel off-center.

“But as the awesome friend that I am, I told all the people who came up to me looking for details to get lost, because I’d obviously be one of the first to know if you had something going on with Basketball Hottie, and I don’t. And I was telling the truth, right? I would know if something was going on there. Right?”

“Of course!” you reassure quickly. “Which is why you don’t know. Because nothing is going on there. Nothing will be going on. Ever.”

She squints.

“I’m serious! Jeno’s just a really good guy. Super chivalrous, down to the bones. He takes his duty as Mark’s best friend very personally, so he gets involved in stuff with me that the others might not figure out as fast. It’s nothing crazy.”

Another beat passes before she unfurls her arms. “…Okay. I mean, I assumed as much. It makes sense. Especially since Somi said you’ve all known each other for something like, a hundred years— no wonder that he’d basically see you as a sister too after so long, I guess.”

You’re not at all expecting that statement to sting, but it does, in a surprisingly raw way.

At least Gawon doesn’t notice your smile falter, because she’s too busy asking her final question as you step out past her front door. “How’d you get here this early, anyway? Cab?”

“Ah, no. Jeno—”

It comes out without thought, a millisecond before you realize the mistake you’re about to make. Both you and Gawon freeze, staring at each other in the silence that follows, before she goes, “Jeno brought you here? But you said you didn’t go home last night.”

Then, as your head swung back and forth in refusal but no explanation came out with it, she tilted her own head in disbelief. “Where… Where did you sleep, then?”

And the final killing blow comes as her eyes drift down almost absentmindedly to the chest of your gray sweatshirt. Jeno’s sweatshirt. Seoul National University Basketball, it says, splashed boldly across the front. Direct. Recognizable. Unmistakable.

You turn around and start to run right as Gawon gasps in pure, wanton betrayal. There’s no explaining this. Not now. Not today. Even if you had an hour to spare right now to sit down and relay every second that passed last night in a way that made her understand this absolutely isn’t what it looks like— which is that you’re totally lying about nothing going on between you and Lee Jeno— Gawon only believes what her eyes physically see in front of her, and even you aren’t naive enough to think that this won’t be the most glaringly suspicious thing she has ever seen.

You’re halfway down the stairs when her voice catches up with you.

“It’s nothing crazy, huh? It’s nothing crazy, you liar! Just wait until I catch you on Monday, girl! We’ll see exactly what’s not crazy between you and Mr.Chivalrous!”

Approximately two minutes after closing the front door behind yourself after walking into your brother’s apartment, you’re crying again. Mark is too. He’s the one that started it. It’s just a lot of tears all around.

Everything kind of comes out at once. It begins as spewed apologies on both ends for last night specifically— him for ever letting things get bad enough that you’d genuinely think he’d ever choose someone else over you, and you for being such a brat for the last few weeks (the last few months) when you’d always known deep down that he only ever did the things that annoyed you out of desire to keep you safe— and then it unfurls into apologies for everything, eon-old grudges that were held for no other reason than something to lord over the others head, grievances that turned out to just be the miscommunications, the type of things that immediately stop mattering in the long run when people remember that they can lose each other easier than they think.

After about a half an hour of this (what Mark used to call ‘coming home’ when you were younger, the inevitable rekindling after a period of heightened fighting between you both) you both come away with a few things to think about.

For him? It’s official. You’re not a kid anymore, and he shouldn’t still be treating you like one. No more attempting to put curfews on you, or telling you where you can and can’t go, or telling his friends to censor themselves when they’re over because of your precious and innocent ears, amongst his other million older-brother-isms. You’re both adults now. He can suggest things. He can speak to you like he would his friends about the things you do that worry him. No more lectures. (Unless you do something really, unarguably stupid, he caveats.)

For you? A serious, genuine attempt towards better decision making.

You’ve been bestowed a new motto to ponder every time an opportunity arises for mischief in your life. What Would Mark Lee Do? A question meant to make you really think about whether the thing you’re thinking about doing is going to make your brother crazy. And if it is? Then you have to tell him about it in advance, so he can at least bail you out if it goes belly up.

And that’s honestly perfectly fine with you.

The last rule he slips in revolves around your tendency to disappear without warning. Absolutely no more sneaking around, he says. If you exit this apartment when he’s not home, he gets to know about when and where. Not because I don't trust you, he’d been quick to add, but because the world itself can be a scary place sometimes. Which you don’t exactly… disagree with. Especially after this most recent incident at Nabi Bar.

You’d pushed back a little bit on this one though, preemptively annoyed by the thought of having to text him every single time you leave— your friends liked spontaneity, early morning brunches or midnight-sets at EDM pop-ups— and you were a chronic charger-forgetter, often running out of this place with only thirty-percent or less to your name. You didn’t like the idea of his trust teetering on nothing but your (admittedly sub-par) ability to remember to do certain things before you left the house.

Mark only pulled his own phone out in response.

You watched him tap a few things, swipe, and then turn the screen around to show you the order he’d just placed for two succinct little items: a brand new Apple AirTag and a cute, neon-green pom-pom keychain to stick it into.

“To match the color of your phone case,” he said cheerily. “Put it on your keys, and you’ll never have to worry about forgetting! Perfect, right?”

Yep, you smiled sarcastically. Perfect. Like one might an excitable dog, or a toddler with a tendency to run, you’ve been given your very own tracker.

(He knows you’re kidding. It’s built into the Little Sister Gene to complain, but in the grand scheme of things, you’re actually rather pleased by the compromise. Less secrets means less stress, and it’s not like he’s doing it so he can watch you like a hawk or anything— it’s for those times he can’t reach you and just wants to know where you are. You’ll wear that pretty little piece of technology on your wrist like the hottest new Cartier bangle if it means going where you want, when you want, without worrying about worrying your brother.)

It’s half past one when the conversation loosens up to other things, like you demanding the play-by-play of what he’d said to Soyeon and him flushing up to his ears as obliged, embarrassed in hindsight by how angry he’d gotten (but not regretting it, he’d sheepishly admitted), and then to the concept of lunch, Mark offering to fry something up while you get a head-start on the mountain of homework you’ve been neglecting for studio time ahead of the showcase.

It’s a quiet afternoon, which you’re thankful for. Whether it’s because Mark simply hadn’t planned for the others to come over or because he expressly told them not to, it ends up just being you two, a family-sized bag of Doritos, and a few episodes of Running Man.

(You hadn’t realized just how much you missed it until then. How much you missed him. How long it’s been since you’ve done something like this without waiting for the other shoe to drop— for him to get mad at you for something you did or didn’t do, for you to get mad at him for getting mad at you. And it’s kind of embarrassing tearing up while people fall and slip and slide through an obstacle course covered in dish soap, so you tell Mark that it’s because you got a fleck of cool ranch dust in your eye when he turns to look at you after your sniffle comes out a bit wet.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you, and a week ago you can’t help but think that this would’ve led to an interrogation. Is something wrong? What happened? Did something happen? Are you in trouble again? What did you do?

But today he lets it go. He stares at you for a second, hands you a napkin, pinches your cheek, and then lets it go.

And that almost makes you cry again for real.)

The evening sun creeps down in the sky like a thief, a cloudless day melting into a brilliant dusk; all of the windows in Mark’s apartment are drawn and the living room is lit up like the inside of a tangerine lamp. You’re lazing around on the couch while your brother showers, deeply entrenched in a Cup Pong battle Somi (which had only come about after she facetimed you, demanding that you spill all detail about what the hell happened while she was down in the car park last night, to which you’d somewhat begrudgingly relayed the story yet again: Mark, Soyeon, The Punch, Jeno, Jeno’s apartment, etc., and she’d cursed at you for being apologetic for causing a scene in her house because ‘that bitch totally deserved it,’ she insisted) when an unexpected name pops down from the top of your screen.

An unexpected name boasting an even more unexpected message.

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Found your earring in my bathroom

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Guess it fell out sometime last night

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] You want me to come drop it off tonight?

[You, 7:12PM] ???

[You, 7:12PM] what sense does that make

[You, 7:12PM] you would come over here just to drop off a singular earring??

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Juyeon is throwing a house warming party three blocks from you guys, I'm already in the area

[You, 7:12PM] oh. well. it’s not like you don’t come over every other day anyway

[You, 7:12PM] just bring it with you next time

[You, 7:12PM]…thank you for finding it though

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] No problem

That’s more definitive of a metaphorical hanging-up of the phone than anything, isn’t it? You thought so for about thirty solid seconds, scrolling back over to your thread with Somi and distractedly taking another shot at Cup Pong, before you were proven wrong.

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] Okay I was also asking because I wanted to see if you were alright

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] You and Mark, I mean

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] After I dropped you off this morning I already felt a little bit like I’d thrown you into a pressure cooker with nothing but a thumbs up

[Lee Jeno,7:13PM] Then he texted the group chat an hour later to tell all of us to get lost, that his place was off limits for the rest of the day even though he’d already had a movie night planned. I figured that meant your chat with him either went really, really poorly, or that you two were just catching up and didn’t want to be interrupted

[Lee Jeno, 7:13PM] I thought if I saw you with my own eyes I’d know the difference, but with just the text alone, I’m having a hard time…

Oh. Wow. He’s never texted you this many words or this many times before. And just to check in, too?

[You, 7:14PM] no need to worry !! we made up in a pretty big way actually

[You, 7:14PM] after you left we had the big sit-down and figured a lot of things out

[You, 7:14PM] he probably told you not to come over because he has like eight million Tiktoks he’s been wanting to show me that he couldn’t because we were fighting, and now that we’re okay again he plans on holding me hostage until I laugh at every single one

[You, 7:14PM] these last few hours have been a bit of a nightmare in that sense but otherwise it’s

[You, 7:14PM] good?

[You, 7:14PM] we’re good

[You, 7:14PM] thanks to you

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] I’m just happy to be the chauffeur. Nothing to thank me for

Well… Not quite. Usually you can let the bone-deep chivalry slide, it’s his ‘thing’ after all, but this time the consequences of what could’ve happened are too big to ignore.

[You, 7:14PM] there really is, though

[You, 7:15PM] i don't think Mark and I would’ve gotten out of this as intact as we are without you this weekend

[You, 7:15PM] i really, really do need to thank you

[You, 7:15PM] for this morning

[You, 7:15PM] and for last night

More memories flutter by, different iterations of Lee Jeno unarguably saving your ass from some sort of peril, and you grimace further.

[You, 7:15PM] and two weeks ago, for Nabi Bar.

[You, 7:15PM] and last week, for Wooyoung’s party

[You, 7:15PM] thanks for… everything, really.

[You, 7:15PM] i’m happy you’re Mark’s friend

His bubble comes up for a long, long time after your last message. You watch it disappear and reappear at least twice before his next message comes in… and even then it’s woefully short for how long he’d taken to type it.

[Lee Jeno, 7:16PM] What do you mean?

[You, 7:16PM] i mean that I’m happy Mark… has you

[You, 7:16PM] there aren’t many people that would be nearly as cool as you’ve been about babysitting their best friends sibling so many times, is what I’m saying

[Lee Jeno, 7:16PM] But I wasn’t babysitting you.

Oh. Is that what this air of confusion is about? Semantics? Jeno, the thoughtful guy that he is, not wanting you to see what happened this weekend as babysitting because he doesn’t want to hurt your big-girl feelings?

[You, 7:17PM] ah

[You, 7:17PM] okay

[You, 7:17PM] we won’t call it that, then!!

[You, 7:17PM] Mark is still lucky to have you though

[Lee Jeno, 7:17PM] I didn’t do anything that I did last night because I was thinking about your brother

Again, you can only blink. A reply from Somi pops down for half a second before you swipe it away to reread Jeno’s last text, sitting up in confusion.

[You, 7:12PM] then why did you do it?

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Because it was you

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Nabi Bar, Wooyoung’s, last night, all of it. Everything. The only thing I was thinking about was you.

[Lee Jeno, 7:12PM] Mark didn’t have anything to do with it. He stopped having anything to do with it the second you came back to Seoul.

In the minutes you’ve been focused on the screen, the sunset has bled away most of its brilliant orange. Now the sky is more purple than anything, pale lilac peeking through the buildings across the street. Along with the lack of sunlight, the temperature seems to have dropped in the apartment; the air conditioner’s breeze threatening to raise goosebumps along your cheeks and thighs and knees now that the sun isn’t here to combat it.

But you’re not feeling cold. Quite the opposite, actually.

In a matter of seconds you’ve actually begun to emanate enough heat to rival your elderly Toshiba laptop from 2012.

Your brain kind of feels like that Toshiba too. Like you’ve just clicked the left mouse one too many times and now 100 tabs have all opened up at the exact same instant, all playing the same snippet of audio at maximum volume— You. You. Thinking about you. About you. Worried about you. Just about you— all of them desperately trying to frame those words in a way that doesn’t set off the crush of childhood’s past laying dormant in your head.

But even the delusional part of your brain is pulling a blank on this one.

Because while you may be unhinged about Jeno most of the time, you are not unhinged about Jeno all of the time, and there are moments when even you can’t rationalize your way out of what’s staring you right in the face. Sometimes, however rarely, you see things for what they really are. Or what they are not.

And the string of texts that Jeno has just sent to your phone is not, in any conceivable way, a conversation that makes sense, when not even 24 hours ago you and Jeno essentially shook on the fact that everything would be going back to normal after last night. So we’re okay, he asked. We’re okay, you’d said. And you took that to mean things were on track to return to status quo. You’d go back to greeting each other when he came over, the occasional small talk and string of jokes, nodding at each other on campus, that sort of thing. You’d go back to just being the peripheral little sister. He’d go back to just being your brothers friend. The way life was before that night at Nabi Bar.

But in what world does, ‘He stopped having anything to do with it the second you came back to Seoul,’ fit into that equation at all? In fact— doesn’t that break the equation entirely?

Because what… what would you be to him then, without Mark?

Your lungs stutter a little wantonly. You don’t think you’ve ever asked yourself that question. And now that you have, your mind is prodding at doors it’s never acknowledged the existence of before. When you imagine yourself in his eyes, it’s only ever been through the relationship you have with his best friend; and that, in turn, has colored the way that you react to every single thing he does or says.

If he’s saying now that’s not how he sees you and that’s not how he’s been seeing you, then that re-contextualizes… quite a few things, doesn’t it?

The last three weeks of him going out of his way to help you, for one?

Your phone buzzes again in your palm.

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] Things are getting kind of crazy over here, Juyeon just brought out a t-shirt gun so I think I have to go

[Lee Jeno, 7:14PM] Mark moved movie night to Tuesday. I’ll bring your earring over then, so make sure you’re home. Maybe you can also explain why your toothbrush is missing from my bathroom.

Sure. Perfect. Any way to avoid replying to the previous batch of texts, you’ll accept in a heartbeat. You fire off some half-baked response, a few ‘ha-ha, yeah, totally’s, to disguise just how hard the gears in your head are spinning, though nothing feels very ha-ha yeah once you fling the phone away. You slump back against the couch cushions, even more mentally exhausted than you’d been a few hours ago with Mark.

The only thing I was thinking about was you.

What an insane thing to say, you miff, belatedly embarrassed. You can almost see his mouth forming the words, his voice as deep and annoyingly honest as always. What the hell are you doing, Lee Jeno?

Shit. Are you just reading way too far into this? Or are things really not nearly as okay between you both as he wants you to think they are?

[★]; [MISDIAL MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

a/n: please let me know what you think, this chapter beat my ass left right and sideways... ontwards ch7 my friends...

a/n ii: this chapter is dedicated to @jnnul btw their mention of misdial on their tumblr wrapped cheered me up enough to force myself to sit down and figure this fucking story out LOL

[danikamariewrites]

Stay Forever?

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: I changed the pov bc I decided I hate first person oops

Warnings: none

Azriel’s rough hands gently caress your cheeks, making you stir from what was a peaceful sleep. You don’t mind though. Any day waking up next to him is a gift.

With your eyes still closed you stretch and reach out for Azriel. His arms wrap around you pulling you to his chest. You let out a content hum, snuggling closer to him.

“Good morning my love.” Azriel whispered against your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your head. A small smile graces your lips and squeeze him tighter. “Morning Azzy.” You mumble out. “You’re going to hate what I’m going to say.” You let out a groan, burying your face in Azriel’s neck. “What,” you say flatly. “I’m late for training with Rhys and Cass. I gotta get up princess.” You let out another dramatic groan. Azriel lets out a breathy laugh, “You could come with me. The gym is right here in the house.”

You give him an exasperated look. “First of all, this isn’t a house its a mansion. Second, I don’t have anything here. Like clothes wise. If I had a closet here then I’d totally work out but I don’t.” You rambled. “So for now I’m just going to enjoy your very, very comfy bed.”

Booping his nose you turn your back to Azriel pretending to fall back to sleep as you listen to him change.

All through his gym session Azriel couldn’t stop thinking about what you said about having your own space in the house. Punching the pads Cassian was holding up Az kept hitting harder and harder until Cassian was pushed across the training ring lines. “Time! Our rivals are screwed if you keep hitting like that.” Az let out a sarcastic laugh as he took his wraps off. “It’s not them. It’s my own thoughts.”

Rhys stopped his own work out to meander over to his brothers. Cass gives him a curious look. “What’s goin’ on?” Az shakes his head, clearing his throat, “I think I’m going to ask y/n to move in. I know I want a future with her and I want her here.”

The smiles plastered on Rhys and Cassian’s faces were like children just being told to go crazy in a toy store. They pounced on their brother, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as they excitedly talked over each other.

When Azriel came back to the room he found you brushing your hair in the bathroom. He stopped in the doorway. Thinking of all your stuff permanently placed on the counter next to his. How his home, your home, wouldn’t feel so empty anymore with you sharing his space.

You catch him staring in the mirror above the sink. The love sick, dreamy look on his face makes you smile. “What?”

Azriel comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your middle, burying his face in your neck. You place your hands on his arms leaning into him. “Az,” you say softly.

“Yeah.”

“You’re sweaty.”

He looks up to see you trying to hold back your laugh. Azriel hugs you tighter and kisses your cheek.

You stay like that for a few moments. Taking in each other's presence. Azriel lets go, turning you to face him. He brings those beautifully scarred hands up to cup your cheeks.

Before he can second guess himself Azriel asks you the question that’s been on his mind all morning, “Will you move in?”

Your eyes go wide. “I-what? Are you sure?” Azriel playfully rolled his eyes at you. “Yes. I want you here, love. Now please say yes,” he pleaded with you.

“Yes,” you said with silver lined eyes. Pulling Azriel closer you crashed your lips against his in celebration.

Over the next two weeks Azriel helped you move from your apartment into the mansion. Cassian and Rhys were more than happy to lend a hand as well. Watching those three move boxes (especially Az) had you practically drooling.

Once you were settled it was like you and Az were sent back to the honeymoon phase of your relationship. Waking up next to each other and having meals together had you thinking this is the start of forever with him.

[softestqueeen]

congrats!! wanted to send in 2 requests if that’s alright. if anything the first request would be my top choice if you just wanna choose one :) both would preferably be jennifer jareau x reader

would you do prompts 34. "I love hearing your voice first thing in the morning." & 47. "Oh? Does that turn you on?". I know that 34 isn’t technically in the smut list but I thought it could work, maybe reader tends to have a raspier voice in the mornings. JJ saying 34 and reader saying 47

and if it’s not a bother I’d like to see prompt 5. “Please, look at me. Breathe, god please, breathe” with JJ saying the line after reader gets severely injured during a case. A happy little fluffy ending where reader is doped up on meds in the hospital and starts telling JJ that’s she’s really pretty and being an absolute flirt

a/n: so this is the first reqeuest, you can read the second one here! thank you sm for requesting this! ofc you can interpret the prompts however you like, i just tried to give them a little bit of structure. i hope you enjoy this <3 warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, fingering, slight dom!reader, voice kink pairing: jennifer "jj" jareau x reader I 896 words special prompts I special masterlist

After you and your firlfriend, Jennifer Jareau, returned from two back-to-back cases, you both needed some time to just sit back and relax.

You returned yesterday in the middle of the night, exhausted and in an definete need of a realxing shower and some good time with your girlfriend.

Showering took up all of oyur energy though, so all the two of you could do that night was fall into bed and sleep.

The next morning started later than usual, your exhausted bodies seeking the warmth and comfort of the sheets and of each other. You could feel JJ shift next to you, the arm that was currently wrapped around you tightening further.

Her blonde hair looked so incredibly soft, a thin gap in the curtains letting the sun shine on it. You reach out your hand to tuck a strand of behind her ear, her eyes opening and a lazy smile appearig on her lips.

"Morning, baby," you mumble, your lips close to her ear, almost touching it. Your voice was still a little rough and definetely being more on the raspier side, this being the first time you've talked in a few hours. At your words, you could hear JJ's breath hitch, her breathing becoming slightly irregular.

Your girlfriend tilts up her head, now being able ot look into your eyes. "I love hearing your voice first thing in the morning." Now her hands wander to wrap around your neck, your head lifting slightly to accomodate her before laying back down on her arms.

You let one of your hands run down the legth of her, moving over her body and resting on her hip. Nudging her ear with your nose, you whisper in to her ear.

"Oh? Does that turn you on?" Your lips stretch into a smirk, her cheeks turning pink. Busted.

Leaning down towards her face, you finally connect your lips, a soft sight leaving JJ's lips at the contact. Deciding that you both were not in the mood for teasing after not having been able to do anything with each other, you don't hesitate to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue slip into her mouth.

Now moving your other hand to her hip as well, you turn the both of you around, your fronts now pressed together with JJ on her back.

You never stop kissing, even when one of you hands slowly wanders down towars JJ's panties. Her breath hitched again, once let two fingers wander over your her still clothed core.

"Let me show you how much I love you," a small groan left her lips at your words, "Let me make you feel good JJ."

"Please," was all she could get out.

She let out a content sigh once you pulled away her panties and made contact with her wetness. You let your fingerds glie through her folds, occasionally flicking over her clit.

After some teasing, you start circling her entrance, slowly pushing inside. You pulled away from kissing her, one of her hands wandering to your sholder, the other one trying to cover the noises she was making.

Once you realised what she was doing, you stopped your movements and pulled out of her. "Don't cover your mouth, I want to hear you. Please."

Your voice held almost as much desperation as the noices she was making once you stopped. Hearing your words the blond immediately removed her hand, placing it on your other shoulder.

Resuming your movements you slipped another finger into her, slowly curling them to hit her g-spot. Her moans were now flowing freely, her face contorting in pleasure with every curl or flick of your thumb against her clit.

"You look so beautiful for me, baby? Do you like that, me talking to you? I can feel you getting closer," you could feel her walls clencing your fingers.

"Mhm, yes, please. Don't stop." JJ's voicce was breathy, with her eyes closed you could look at her without her shying away. Eyebrows drawn together, nose scrunched up and lips parted. In this moment she looked almost etheral, her nipples peeking though her thin sleep shirt, her hands wandering to you neck.

Her eyes opened and she pulled you down to her, immediately deepening the kiss once your lips touch. You add a third finger and your lips lose contact again, her head falling back and her eyes rolling.

"Come for me, JJ. Let go for me." The stimulation of your finger on her clit, the fingers inside of her and your words and voice were all it took to push her over the edge, the coil in her stomach finally snapping.

With a shout of your name JJ came, your slowing movements carefuly guiding her through her orgasm. Her limp hands fall to her sides, her erratic breathing sowly coming to a stop.

You oulled out of her, righting her underwear again. Laying down next to her, you pull her against you and cover the two of you with the blanket. One of your hands slowly starts to trace patterns on her back.

"You alright?" you whisper hte question into her ear, for some reason not wanting to disrupt the silent peace that settled over you.

"Yea, I'm fine. You wanna go again?" Her question made both of you laugh, though you didn't hesitate to rid yourself of the rest of your clothing.

the requests for this event are OPEN! here are the prompts!

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open!

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa

[munson-blurbs]

Chapter 2: Don't Know What You've Got Till it's Gone

Collaboration with the Dustin to my Suzie, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie are getting closer, and his friends can't help but notice something between you two. But when you receive devastating news, the pressure of being his upbeat, optimistic Sunshine becomes too much to handle.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst

WC: 6.6k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“Yeah, well, next time I tell you not to be a hero, you’d better listen to me.” A man’s voice stirs you from your sleep. You gently roll over onto your side and see fuzzy shadows behind the curtain that separates you and Eddie. 

“Hold on, Harrington,” Eddie pushes himself up slightly, an edge to his voice. “What do you mean by next time?”

“He’s still out there,” a younger voice pipes up. “We wounded him, but—” He stops abruptly, turning his stocky frame towards the curtain. “Hey, can your roommate hear us?”

“She can!” you chirp, and utterances of shit and shut up fill the room. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone about your nerdy D&D secrets.” Eddie had spent the better part of the last few days explaining the ins and outs of the game, taking far too much pride in his Dungeon Master status for a man pushing 20. 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Eddie calls out. “You decent? Want you to meet my friends.” 

“Sorry, did we wake you?” A girl asks, but your view of her is obstructed by the curtain. “We have a tendency to be a little…”

“Loud?” The older of the guys offers. “Obnoxious? Grating?”

The boy shrugs. “That’s just the way we roll, man.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” The first guy retorts.

“I’m all good, Eddie,” you say. Now that you’ve given the all clear, the older boy tugs back the curtain. You recognize him as Steve Harrington, who graduated with you last year. 

“Steve,” he says, sticking out his hand for you to shake. “And, FYI, I do not play Dungeons & Dragons.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter as you shake his hand and introduce yourself. “A shame. Eddie makes it seem like such fun.” At your sarcastic tone, Eddie flips you off, but you ignore him and continue. “We, uh, actually graduated together.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, eyebrows shooting up so high they almost blend into his perfectly coiffed hair. “Huh. You think I’d remember that.” 

“I mean, it’s understandable you’d forget,” you say with a shrug. “You had just lost the last basketball game of the season.”

“Ouch,” Steve says, holding a hand over his heart. “But that doesn’t excuse the four years we were in the same class.”

Wincing, you give Steve another shrug. “More like seven. We went to middle school together, too.”

“Well, shit,” Steve says, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I was a douchebag.”

“Was?” a feminine voice chimes in. Steve rolls his eyes and turns to the side to reveal the younger guy and a girl your age that are sitting next to Eddie’s bed.

“Robin, right?” you ask. She perks up in her seat, seeming pleasantly surprised that you know her name. 

“Yeah,” she says.

“You’re in band, right? I’m friends with Vickie, and I know she’s mentioned you a few times,” you explain.

“R-Really?” Robin asks, eyes widening.

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, watching an unmistakable grin grow from cheek to cheek. You’ll have to follow up on that another time if you have a moment alone with her. “And you are…?” you start, turning towards the curly haired boy hoisting himself up on crutches, braces adorning his teeth. 

“Dustin Henderson,” he affirms. “Artificer: Master Inventor and future Hawkins High valedictorian.” You shake his hand, giggling as the three older friends roll their eyes in unison at his introduction. 

“Don’t forget ladies’ man,” Robin taunts, and Dustin hoists up two middle fingers in response, fumbling to keep the crutches secured under his arms. 

“Sunshine here is a ballet dancer,” Eddie says, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of love. You watch as Steve and Robin exchange an amused glance, with the former mouthing Sunshine and the latter just shrugging. “She does, um, pointe?” He looks at you hopefully. 

You nod. “Yup! I’ll be right back at it as soon as this bad boy heals up.” You gently pat your leg, grimacing as even the lightest touch sends sharp pains down to your toes. 

You talk with the group for a few more minutes, swapping gossip about people from your graduating class, until Mandy knocks on the door. “It’s time for your appointment with the surgeon,” she says politely. 

“Surgeon?” Eddie asks, brows crinkling in confusion. 

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, leaning on the nurse as you maneuver into the wheelchair. “Just, um, protocol with this kind of injury. Make sure everything’s good and all that.” He seems to buy this answer, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. “It was nice talking with you all!” 

Once you’re out of the room, Dustin turns to Eddie. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sunshine?”

“Shut up, Henderson,” Eddie grumbles, throwing a pillow at the boy. 

“Yeah, be nice to him,” Robin teases. “That nurse just took his sunshine away!”

“So, are you involved with this sunshine?” Steve asks, an amused expression written all across his face.

“No, not like that,” Eddie says, suddenly finding the hem of his scratchy blanket fascinating. “Just friends.” 

“You guys get along well,” Robin says, more statement than a question.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.

“And she’s beautiful, yeah?” Robin asks, raising her eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” she asks.

Eddie groans, dropping his head back against his pillow. Never mind the fact that Steve “ladies man” Harrington–an actual ladies’ man, not like Henderson–is in the room, but Eddie’s never been particularly comfortable talking about his experience—or rather lack thereof—with girls. There’s also the fact that he was literally attacked by bats from an alternate dimension, barely escaping hell with his life intact. And you’re so bright and sunny and the total opposite of what Eddie brings to the table. 

“It’s just that she… I mean, I… you see, we—.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Munson. Stop playing games. We all see the spark,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly. 

“There’s a spark?” Eddie asks quietly, lifting his head from the pillow and infinitesimal amount. 

“I knew it!” Dustin exclaims loudly, earning an angry shush from someone passing through the hallway. “Look at the stupid grin on his face! Eddie wuvs his Sunshine!” He leans over to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but gets his hand slapped away. 

“I don’t love her!” Eddie hisses. “Now, if you idiots could stop bothering me about this, and we can talk about anything else.”

“Okay, we’ll stop,” Robin agrees, but the mischievous smirk on her face says otherwise, “when you look me in the eyes and can tell me you don’t have feelings for her.”

Eddie lays back down and pulls the covers up over his head. “Goodnight and goodbye,” he mutters, despite the fact that it���s only 10 AM.

Steve yanks the covers back down, laughing when he sees his new friend scowling. “Calm down, man,” he says, sitting down on the starchy blanket, careful not to bump into Eddie. “We’re just messing with you. We’ll behave now.” He shoots Dustin and Robin a warning look, and the two grumble their apologies.

“‘S fine,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m tired anyway, so…” He lets his gaze fall to the doorway. 

“Yeah, of course,” Robin says with a small smile. “We’ll visit soon.”

“Get well soon, buddy,” Dustin lowers his voice as quietly as he can—which isn’t saying much, given his normal volume. “The kids of the future are counting on more of your sadistic campaigns.”

As Eddie slips into a medicated slumber, he makes a silent prayer for sweet dreams. Your image appears in his mind, and he can’t deny the warmth it brings him. 

Shit, he thinks. Those morons were right. I have a thing for Sunshine. He hopes that he’ll dream of you now that he’s admitted his crush. 

No such luck. 

The skies are red and gray, strange bursts of some sort of lightning fill the air. Weird shrill squeals fill the dead air. Eddie’s body is full of pain, searing and bleeding wounds making it difficult to breathe. Quick gasps leave his lips, his hands clutching at the ripped shreds of his shirt.

“Eddie! Shit!” Dustin’s voice rings around Eddie. The shorter boy is somewhere in the distance, not too far. “Steve! SOS! SOS!”

Soon, two pairs of hands are on Eddie’s body, trying to help, but only making the pain worse. He tries to steal himself against it, but it’s no use. The tears come, hot and thick as they build up in his eyes. The fear, the desperation, the pain. It’s all too much. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s not Steve or Dustin’s voice that Eddie hears above it all. It’s yours. But what are you doing in this God awful place? It’s the very last place that Eddie wants you.

“Eddie!” 

The darkness in the sky fades, a subtle light beginning to shine through. Then, the next thing he knows, Eddie is blinking his eyes open in the bright hospital room, his face sticky with the trail of tears. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Once his vision is cleared, he sees you being wheeled into the room in the wheelchair you were brought out in. Your face is pinched in concern and it takes Eddie a moment to realize you’re concerned for him.

“Can you wheel me over to Eddie’s bed instead? Thanks,” you say to the transporter, who does as you request. Eddie scoots over and pulls down his blankets, silently offering you the space next to him. Biting your lip, you look around as if you’re debating, before pushing yourself up onto your good leg and holding out your arms for balance. Immediately, Eddie reaches over and takes your hand so you can use him to steady yourself. Shooting him a grateful smile, you’re able to situate yourself on the edge of his bed.

The transporter looks like he doesn’t know if he should be allowing this or not, so he quickly puts his head down and leaves the room with the wheelchair. Eddie helps you get situated next to him before he pulls the blankets up over both of you. 

“Another bad dream?” you ask once you’re comfortable.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. 

“Was it as bad as the first time?”

“At first. But I heard you calling me a lot earlier this time. Got all nice and light again before I opened my eyes. How’d it go with the surgeon?” 

“Oh,” you say, averting your eyes. “Nothing special. Just going over X-rays and tests and stuff, ya know?” You clear your throat, anxious to have the subject changed. “You know when you’re getting out of here?”

“Not yet,” Eddie says, sinking back against his pillows.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out?” you ask.

“Honestly? Get a fucking cheeseburger. This hospital food is shit. I mean, come on. What a man gotta do to get something better than gray mashed potatoes and lime Jell-O?”

“Okay,” you say with a giggle. “After you get some good food, what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, come on,” you say. “What’s Eddie Munson’s big dream? Be a big rock star? World tours? Opening for Ozzy? No—Ozzy opening for you.”

Eddie scoffs, gently nudging your shoulder with his. “Before all…this…happened, I was thinking about moving to Indianapolis after graduation. Get involved in the music scene there.”

“Indianapolis?” You wrinkle your nose. “That’s honestly super boring. You survived an earthquake and you’re only gonna go to the state capital?”

“Fine,” he whines exaggeratedly, smiling as he does it. “How about…Australia? I can be, like, a kangaroo farmer.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“It is now.” His loose, tangled curls brush up against the part of your shoulder left exposed by the pale blue hospital gown. “What about you? New York City? Maybe dance on Broadway, or be one of those…Christmas, kicking girls?”

You snort out a laugh. “A Rockette?”

“Yeah.”

“Eh,” you shrug, pushing away the thoughts of the news you’d just received from the surgeon. “New York’s nice to visit, but I need someplace warm. I’m thinking of going to California.”

“Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big Hollywood star,” Eddie teases, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. “And if the movie you’re dancing in needs a band, you know who to recommend.”

“Of course. But do you really think I could get Tears for Fears to play?” His shove is a bit harder this time, making both of you groan as you laugh. “Kidding, kidding. You know Corroded Coffin will be at the top of my list. If you’re not too busy with your own gigs.”

Never too busy for my Sunshine, Eddie nearly blurts out, but he says instead, “will do.” He’s silent for a bit before asking, “Why didn’t you go to California?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you going to college in Indiana and not California?” Eddie tries again. “I mean, you said it yourself: the entertainment scene is much better there than here.” He scrunches up his nose. “Actually, why are you even in college?”

You bark out a laugh at the bluntness of his question. “Um, because that’s what people do after high school?”

“You don’t have to, though,” he quips. “Think about it, Sunshine. College will always be there, but if you wanna pursue dance, you’ve gotta do it while you’re young and, uh, limber.” His cheeks blush a delicious shade of pink. 

“Yeah, well.” The truth comes tumbling out before you can stop it. “My parents didn’t think it was a good idea. Just dancing. They wanted me to go to get my degree; build a ‘solid foundation’ or whatever.” You trace invisible spirals into the blanket as you speak. “My dad told me that he could never tell his friends that I danced for a living, because they would, and I quote, ‘think that his daughter was a stripper with daddy issues.’”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “First of all, stripping is a noble profession, and I do not approve of any stripper slander in my home.”

“We’re not in your home,” you point out. 

“I do not approve of any stripper slander in my hospital room,” he amends, flicking your forehead with his thumb and middle finger. “And, second, do not tell me that you made a decision about your future based on the opinions of your dad’s old-ass friends.” He groans when you remain quiet. “Seriously?”

“I just didn’t want to upset them,” you mumble. “The only reason they allowed me to study dance is because I’m also majoring in education. I could be a dance teacher.”

“Do you wanna be a dance teacher?”

“Someday,” you admit. “I taught some classes at my studio for the little kids, and I really liked it.” You gnaw at your lower lip. 

“But?” Eddie presses, letting his thumb graze against yours. 

“But it’s not what I want to do now,” you relent. “Right now, I want to go on auditions and maybe get cast in a play or a cheesy music video or a goddamn commercial and…and dance.”

Eddie gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, not wanting to cross a boundary when you’re so vulnerable. “Then you’re gonna dance,” he murmurs. “We’ll get outta here and move to Cali, and you’re gonna dance.”

A month ago, the prospect of dropping out of school to dance professionally would have you downright terrified. Terrified of failure, of your parents’ inevitable disappointment, of finding out you’re not good enough. But now it only fills you with regret, because that dream became impossible with just the shifting of some rogue tectonic plates. 

“Okay,” you say softly, once again wearing your hopeful façade. “Sounds like a plan.” A plan you’ll both easily forget once you’re back out in the real world, faced with the problems you’ve been shielded from within the hospital walls. 

The two of you lay there talking about your futures until sleep overtakes you both. Eddie’s the first to drift off; you stay awake for a bit, consumed by echoes of today’s appointment with Dr. Sanoj. What was supposed to be a brief meeting about scheduling your surgery turned into something much more devastating. You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, only allowing yourself to unravel when you hear his soft snores. The combination of the energy expended by crying and the drowsiness from your meds allows you to sleep, still hiccuping from tears as you fall into a dreamless slumber. 

Neither of you hear the soft click of crutches as Dustin hobbles back into the room. “Forgot my—son of a bitch, I knew it!” he whispers, slinging his left-behind jacket over his shoulder. “Steve and Robin are gonna lose their shit!”

The next morning, Mandy arrives with breakfast and medication. In front of each of you, she places a plate of runny scrambled eggs, fruit that is described as “fresh” but most certainly is not, and a small carton of orange juice. It’s strangely domestic, and you can’t help but imagine you and Eddie eating together in your shared home. You’re making pancakes or waffles or frittatas—anything better than the food in front of you. Eddie’s frying up bacon, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef, and you do, over and over and—

The rattle of your pill cup snaps you from your fantasy, and you dutifully swallow the pastel tablets with a swig of juice. 

Eddie grins when Mandy gives him his meds. “Hello, beautiful,” he croons, making grabby motions with his calloused hands. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson; no more painkillers in this batch,” Mandy says, laughing at his pout despite herself. “Dr. Franklin wants to speak with you; he’ll be making his rounds in a few minutes.”

“Oooh, Eddie’s in trooouble!” you sing-song, flashing a grin at him. 

Rolling his eyes at you, Eddie downs his pills and leans back against his pillow. “Would be used to it. Was in Higgin’s office enough.”

“Oh, Eddie,” you say with a sigh. “Did you go down to the cafeteria while I was asleep and make some big dramatic speech on one of the tables? At least tell me that someone videotaped it for me.”

“You’re hilarious,” he says, tossing his empty paper cup at you. The giggle you let out has his stomach feeling tingly, and he’s sure it’s not from the medications. 

There’s a knock on the open door to your room and an older man steps inside, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Hey, Eddie. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks, doc,” Eddie answers. “What’s the word?”

“Well, glad to say everything looks good. All lab results are normal and you’re healing up nicely. Of course, some injuries still have a ways to go, but there’s no reason you can’t be home for that.”

Eddie’s immediately thrilled. Finally, being able to get out of the hospital where he’s been poked and prodded and it’s impossible to get a good night’s sleep because of all the beeping equipment and nurses constantly checking on you. But as soon as the excitement came, it went. Because leaving the hospital also meant not spending most of the hours in the day by your side. No waking up to your laughter as he tells shitty jokes over your shitty breakfasts. No more saying, “I told you so” when Shelby confesses to the other twin, “I’m still in love with you” on your daily soap opera binges. No more constant sunshine.

“That’s great,” Eddie tells the doctor, his heart not behind the words. “When am I sprung?”

“Should be good to go tomorrow morning. I’m just gonna head back to my office, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, put my name on the X. You know, all that official mumbo jumbo. I’ll have Mandy get everything together. Your prescriptions, your discharge papers, and whatever else you’ll need.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says, nails scratching at the blanket in his lap. 

“Any questions for me?” The doctor asks. When Eddie shakes his head, the doctor gives him a smile and pats Eddie’s leg. 

“Oh, I have one,” you say, raising your hand from where you’re tucked up in bed. “When is he cleared to shower? It’s like sharing a room with a donkey.”

The doctor lets out a small chuckle. “Eddie, you are officially cleared to take a shower. If you think of any questions, just tell Mandy. She’ll make sure I get the message.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Eddie nods his head at the man as he steps out of the room. Eddie turns his head to see you grinning at him. While it’s a beautiful sight, it now gives him a melancholy feeling. 

“You’re being freed!” you call. “You can go get that cheeseburger tomorrow!”

“Should I sneak one into you?” Eddie asks, his smirk not packing its usual punch. 

“Oh, please do,” you say. “God, I can practically taste it.”

“Or smell it? Like, how apparently you’re smelling me?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. Part of him is a little embarrassed because the two of you were sitting so close together just last night. 

“You’re not that bad,” you tell him. “I probably smell vile.”

Not a chance, Eddie thinks. “All right, well, I guess I’ll go take a shower then.” He stands up from the bed and over to the small pile of clothes Wayne had brought him the other day. Just some old t-shirts and comfortable pajama pants to sleep in, but it was still nice to have a touch of home. 

Once Eddie has closed the bathroom door behind him, Mandy comes in to check your vitals. 

“Heard the good news,” she says as she reads the numbers of your blood pressure. “Gonna be weird having a room to yourself? You guys have been inseparable.”

Your face heats at her words and you look down at your lap as she scribbles something into your chart. “S’fine,” you say with a shrug. Mandy looks down at you, a knowing smile on her lips. 

“Uh huh,” she says as she clicks her pen. “Well, all your numbers are good. They stay this way, you’ll be headed to the operating room before you know it. Need anything?”

“No,” you say, downcast eyes on your blanket. 

A bang from the en suite bathroom has both you and Mandy craning your heads in that direction.

“I’m good!” Eddie shouts. “Just dropped the shampoo!”

It makes you chuckle and Mandy shakes her head, fondly. You think she’s going to miss him, too. 

“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” you say to Mandy as she heads out the door. Sighing to yourself, you cuddle up in your blankets and decide to have a five minute pity party. Not only are you facing multiple surgeries over the foreseeable future, but Eddie won’t be here by your side to keep your spirits up. Sure, maybe he calls you his sunshine, but you’re positive he isn’t aware of how much he brightens your days too. The water turns off in the bathroom and you quickly wipe your hands over your cheeks, trying to catch any pesky tears that may have slipped free. 

The curtain in the middle of the room is opened—it’s only ever closed anymore if a doctor or nurse needs it to be for some reason. It allows you to see the bathroom door open, but before you see him, you can hear Eddie mumbling to himself.

“Man knows how to do laundry. What the hell is this? A fucking toddler shirt?” When you finally see him, your breath is caught in your chest—for two reasons. One, the teenage girl in you can’t help but respond this way to seeing the guy you have a crush on without his shirt. Two, you’d never really heard the whole story of why Eddie had to come to the hospital, and seeing the puckered and pulled flesh of his chest makes your heart ache. There’s bruising leaving purple and brown spots on top of red and pink gashes that are healing. It looks painful and searing against his otherwise pale white skin. 

You know better than to stare. Obviously he’d assume you’re just staring at the scars, not admiring the small but sculpted muscles beneath them. It takes a Herculean effort to pull your gaze from his body and look down in your lap.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles as he stomps over to his pile of clothes. He rummages through them until he finds another shirt. He’s quick in slipping it on, then turns towards your bed. Taking the few steps over in your direction, he sits down on the bottom corner of your bed. When you look up, there’s half a smile on his face as he plays with a small white cloth in his hands. “Believe it or not, this used to be a shirt that fit me.” He holds the cloth up and you see it’s a Guns N’ Roses shirt that’s been shrunk until only a child could fit into it. “My uncle must’ve shrunk it. Guess that’s payback for all the times I turned his white shirts pink because I left a pair of red boxers in the washer.”

“Led Zeppelin is better anyway,” you say, gesturing to the shirt he’s currently wearing. 

“So, uh,” Eddie says, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with the too-small tee. “You saw the scars, huh?”

“I did,” you say in a quiet voice. His cheeks turn red and it breaks your heart. “No, please don’t be embarrassed, Eddie. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Shutting it again, Eddie shakes his head. “I, um… they just. They’re—what I mean…”

“Eddie, take a breath. It’s okay.” You go to reach for his hand, but you can’t bend enough due to your injured leg. Eddie shifts so he’s facing you and leans the rest of the way so you can take his hand. “There’s no scar you could have that would make me think any less of you. Plus, you haven’t seen my leg. It looks pretty gnarly.”

“Gnarly?” Eddie asks, looking up at you underneath his eyelashes, the tiniest smile on his lips. 

“Yeah, I’m preparing for that California life,” you tease him. “Gotta fit in with the surfer dudes.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “As soon as you get the OK, I’m booking our tickets.” He shoves the pillow out of the way and sits on top of the blanket. “I can’t afford first-class, so coach will have to do.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not a diva—yet,” you add, excited to play along with the fantasy game he has going on. “I can handle a few hours with the common folk.”

“And we thank you for gracing us with your presence.” Eddie’s eyes flit back to your leg. “When do you think you’ll be good to go?”

Dr. Sanoj told you that between surgeries and recovery, it’ll be at least six weeks, but you bite back that information. “Any day now,” you lie. “Just waiting on those discharge papers. But you know how that can be, with all the sign offs. Everyone’s gotta cross their t’s and dot their i’s.” Good God, shut up, you think. 

“Cool,” Eddie nods. He looks deep in thought, tongue poking out in concentration. “Yeah, all right. I can make it work.”

You smile, rolling your eyes playfully at his commitment to the bit. Your pain meds start to kick in, and you drift off into a hazy sleep. 

While you’re passed out, there’s a soft knock on the door. 

“Oh, she’s asleep,” Eddie hears a woman’s voice softly murmur. There’s a slight creak as she sits in the chair next to your bed. “My sweet girl. Mom’s here.”

Your mom. Eddie uses his elbows to push himself up, pulling the curtain back a few inches. 

“Um, hi,” he says, not realizing how nervous he is until he actually starts talking. “Are you Sunshine’s mom?”

The woman’s brow crinkles. “Sunshine?”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yeah, I, uh, I call her Sunshine,” he stammers, nodding in your direction. 

“Then, yes, I’m Sunshine’s mom.”

“She, um, she’s—I call her Sunshine because she brightens up my day. Probably the only person in this building who doesn’t hate my guts, let alone like me.” He wants to stop talking, but he can’t. “I have these nightmares, y’know? From the, uh, earthquake thing. And she always pulls me outta them. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I go home tomorrow.”

Your mom gives Eddie a sympathetic smile, gently stroking your hand, minding the needle poking into it. “Well, she’s always telling me how much you make her laugh. Lord knows she could use some happiness in her life.” She sighs. “I just hope her new roommate is as kind as you.”

“At least she’s getting outta here soon,” Eddie offers, “so even if she has a shi—bad roommate, it won’t be for long.”

“Six weeks isn’t exactly ‘soon,’” your mom says. Her gaze doesn’t leave your face, so peaceful in your sleep. 

“Wait, six weeks?” Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue in surprise. “No, she told me that the doctor should clear her in the next coupla days.”

Your mom shakes her head. “She’s got three surgeries to fix that broken femur, plus recovery time. The reason it’s only six weeks is because she’s young and healthy.”

Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Why would you lie to him? Get him pumped up about the prospect of moving to California, living out your dreams together, for it to all be bullshit?

Tears prick at his eyes. Maybe this was all just a joke, a stupid prank on your part. Make the Freak think that someone actually cared about him, laughing behind his back the whole time. 

Maybe it’s best that he’s leaving tomorrow. Then he won’t have to listen to you drag him along for your own sick entertainment. 

You wake up around dinnertime, stretching your limbs as much as your limited mobility allows. It’s a far cry from your usual limber exercises, but it’s enough to get the blood flowing through your body. 

An episode of Wheel of Fortune plays from the TV in the corner, but it’s blocked by the curtain. Eddie probably closed it while I slept, you think. That’s pretty much the only time you two keep the room divided; every now and then, you forget and wake up to the sight of Eddie Munson sleeping next to you. 

“Eds? You awake?”

“Yup,” is his terse reply, with no enthusiasm behind it. 

You open the curtain with a grin. “Are you grumpy because your novelas aren’t on?”

“Nope.” He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, left ankle draped over his right. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning. “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eddie finally allows his gaze to meet yours. His usual friendly doe eyes are clouded with anger. “Your mom stopped by.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Did she say something that upset you? I told her that all the murderer stuff wasn’t true, and she believed me—believed you.”

“Actually, we talked a bit about you.” The acid in his tone is enough to burn.

“What about me?” you ask, only becoming further confused by this conversation. 

Eddie huffs out a humorless chuckle and licks his tongue across his teeth. “Really thought you had me, didn’t you? Think you could pretend to be all buddy buddy with me just to mess with me? Get in my head?”

“What? Who’s in your head?” Part of you wonders if this is all some medicine-induced stress dream. “Eddie.” You push yourself up as best you can, leg aching and body suffering from general soreness from being cramped in the bed for so long. “What are you talking about? What did my mom say to you?”

This time when his eyes cut to you, there’s more than anger there. There’s fury, pain. The sight makes your heart ache, and the fact that this look is directed at you is making your head spin. 

“Just a couple of days, huh?” Eddie pushes himself to the edge of his bed so his legs hang off the side. His glare burns your skin and you feel yourself wanting to shrink down and out of sight. “That’s how long til the doctor will clear ya?”

Part of the puzzle of why Eddie was mad was starting to kick into place. Shit, you think. Mom must’ve said something about the surgeries. 

“Eddie, I—.”

“Lied? Yeah, you did. But what’s that matter when you’re lying to The Freak?”

Guilt gives way to anger in your gut as he throws this accusation at you. Not once, whether in high school with him or after, did you think of Eddie as a freak. You’ve never agreed with those who called him names and treated him as lesser than. 

“I didn’t lie to you because I think you're a freak, Eddie.” It comes out strangled between all the emotions vying to be expressed through your voice. 

“You sure about that?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and it’s hard to see a trace of the laughing and smiling Eddie you’ve become so close with. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you grit out. “I lied becau—.”

“Well, what possible other motive could there have been?” Eddie questions. His hands are gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning almost as white as the linens. 

“If you would just listen to me!”

“So you can lie some more?” Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, screw California.”

Confusion is suddenly back in your mixture of emotions. California? Why bring up that joke now? Unless…

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. “You were actually serious about going to California?”

“What?” he practically barks out. “You weren’t?”

“Eddie, I thought that was a joke,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “Some made up fantasy to get us through spending all our time in these four plain-as-fuck walls.”

“Of course you weren’t really going to do that with me,” Eddie says, a sneer curling his lip. 

“Because I didn’t know it was real!” you try to explain.

Eddie throws up his arms, grimacing as it tugs on his stitches. “Why wouldn’t it be real? Is me having a future that unbelievable?”

“What the hell are you on?” you hiss. “Eddie, you need to finish high school. And I need to get my bachelor’s degree. We can’t just be fucking off to California like it’s no big deal!”

Eddie bites his thumbnail before responding. “Let me get this straight. We narrowly escape death during this…earthquake…and you wanna just go back to our normal lives? Like we weren’t given a second chance to live?” He’s pacing around the room now. “My neighbor? Max Mayfield? Harrington told me that she’s blind now. She’s fucking blind and in a full body cast!”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, but he continues frantically walking back and forth without acknowledging you. 

“And Jason Carver. Jason fucking Carver! I hated that son of a bitch, and now he’s dead. All those times he was a piece of shit to me and I wished something would happen to him, and now it did.”

“That’s not your fault,” you try. “You didn’t cause the earthquake.”

Eddie shakes his head. “That’s all I thought about: death and sadness. And then I met you.” His eyes are shiny with tears. “Someone who liked spending time with me, who believed in me, who had these crazy dreams just like I did. A…a friend.” He wipes at his face clumsily, embarrassed to be crying. “But you’re just like the rest of them, huh?”

“That’s not fair—”

“Y’know what’s real fuckin’ funny?” Eddie smacks his hand on his bedside table. “The other day, Harrington said that we—you and I—had some kinda ‘spark’ between us.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Guess he’s just as full of shit as you are, Sunshine.” When he says the nickname now, it’s full of venom; there’s no trace of the sweet, goofy guy you’ve gotten to know. 

“Eddie, if you would just let me—” But yet again, Eddie doesn’t let you attempt to explain any of the situation. The fact that a part of you somewhere deep inside is fluttery because Steve saw a spark between you and Eddie is something you have to put away to examine at a better time. 

“Good luck with your surgery,” Eddie says. “Too bad the doctors can’t cure bitch.”

It feels like a punch to the gut, the air being knocked out of you. Your mouth opens and your lips move, but no sound comes out. There’s a crack in your heart, but it quickly feels like it’s been soldered closed with the anger bubbling up inside of you. Your lungs reinflate, the blood pumps heavily through your veins, and your fists clench where they rest in your lap. The urge to lash out is strong. And at this moment, you’re so very weak.

“You know what, Eddie? Fuck you. And hey, good luck getting to California with those murder charges on your record.” The moment the words tumble out of your mouth you wish you could take them back. Eddie stepped over the line, but you ran right past him. “Shit, I didn’t—.”

Suddenly you’re not looking at Eddie anymore. He’s pulled the curtain closed, the last glimpse you get of him is a raging fury in his eyes. And you can hardly blame him. The only thing that stares back at you is the gauzy white curtain still swaying from the forceful yank. 

“Eddie…” The television volume gets turned up to an ungodly volume, making you cover your ears and impossible to have a conversation over. 

You spend the rest of the night with your ear pressed to the pillow in an attempt to drown out the baseball game he’s watching. Given his penchant for yelling about the absurdity of sports, you doubt he’s even paying attention to it, but the broadcasters’ monologues about fastballs and strikes curtails any attempt to speak to him. You barely touch your dinner, and Mandy tuts at you worriedly, but you insist you feel fine. 

In reality, you feel nauseated. You said a horrible thing to a wonderful person, and you really hurt his feelings. 

Maybe we can talk it through in the morning, you think, trying not to get your hopes up. Maybe we can apologize and move on. 

When you wake up the next morning, his bed has been slept in, left unmade while he’s probably in the bathroom. The curtain is pulled back; an excellent sign that he’s ready to hear your apology, and possibly forgive you. As soon as he comes back, you’ll give it a shot. 

“Gonna be quiet around here for a bit without your buddy, huh?” Mandy says from the doorway. She walks over to Eddie’s bed and starts stripping the sheets. “You get to say goodbye?”

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ll have to catch him before he leaves.”

Mandy’s brows furrow in confusion. “Honey, his uncle came and got him an hour ago.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t tell you?”

All you can do is shake your head.

“Probably didn’t wanna wake you. I’m sure he’ll stop by and visit.” Mandy curls the sheets into a ball and tucks them under her arm. “I’ll be back with breakfast and meds.”

As soon as she’s gone, you burst into tears. Eddie left without saying goodbye. He left thinking you don’t care about him or believe in him. He left without his Sunshine.

--

taglist: @thebrookemunson, @mystars123, @h-ness1944, @hazydespair, @ajkamins, @aysheashea, @jasminelafleur, @brittney69, @arsonfrogger, @brassreign, @lunarzstarz, @aftermidnightwriting, @justtryingtobecreative, @micheledawn1975, @kailynn-exe

[jaxteller87]

You Belong to Me

Laying in the middle of the bed in my dorm room, I whispered, nuzzling Amber’s neck as we lay on our sides. “You comfortable, darlin’?”

“I am. Are you?” she asked as I slid inside her. I nodded, biting down gently on my lower lip as I slowly pushed in a little deeper.

“Good,” she responded gently. “Fuck me, big papa.” I could hear her grunt under her breath with each thrust.

“Such a naughty little beauty,” I smirked. Amber closed her eyes and tilted her head back, inviting me to bite her neck playfully. She moaned as I worked my way up to her mouth. I gently grabbed her face and kissed her supple, pink lips.

“I’m yours, darlin’. Always will be,” she moaned into my ear while I moved back down her neck. Amber grabbed a fistful of my hair and passionately kissed me again. I pushed my manhood deeper inside her, and she pushed her tongue into my mouth. The heavy panting and initially somewhat quiet encounter soon switched over to loud screaming and the sound of my bedpost banging off the walls. By the time I was done with Amber, anyone who walked down the hall past this room would know who I belonged to. 

Lately, the croweaters have been over the top. Why? Your guess was as good as mine. It wasn’t untypical of them to try and link up with a spoken-for brother, but generally, you could just wave them off, and that’d be that, at least for a few months. This time, it almost seemed like they had made some secret bet amongst themselves on who could get under my sheets the fastest. Twice in the past week, I came down to the clubhouse to find not one but two naked croweaters in my door room. They played it off like they had just ended up there together, exploring their sexualities, but neither of them seemed surprised to see me, and they promptly invited me to join. A few years back, I would have, but being loyal to Amber was important to me. More important than the Club even. Regardless, when this uprising of sex-depraved croweaters happened, I’d decided to take Amber into the dorm any chance I had and give her the what for. Hell, one night, I took her to the bathroom and fucked her on the counter while a bunch of those crows were doing their makeup. In a total powerplay move, I saw Amber’s reflection in the mirror— locking eyes with Ima as I came inside her. When Ima tried to leave, I scooped Amber off the counter and put my back against the door, putting a few more pumps inside her right in front of the dick-starved crow.

Last night was amazing, as usual. When the morning sun shining through the window woke me up, Amber was still nestled in my arms, sleeping. I carefully crawled out of bed, careful not to disturb her. I yawned, looking out the window, and then turned to stare at my sleeping wife. I couldn’t help but smile. I never thought I’d be the type of person to watch a woman sleep. But as I did, one thing was clear to me: I was one lucky son of a bitch. I put my sweats on and headed out to the clubhouse to start a pot of coffee. I damn near broke my ankle trying to get behind the bar. Once I opened the shades, I noticed the chaos from the night before still sprawled out all over the place. Shaking my head with a smile, I saw all the liquor bottles and people passed out everywhere. Bobby was sitting in the corner with a naked twenty-something-year-old passed out across his lap. 

“Good night?” I asked.

“Don’t you know it,” he not so gently pushed her onto the floor. She hit with a thud but continued to sleep. Bobby took the throw blanket off the back of the chair and covered her up. “Sounds like you and Amber were having a hell of a good time as well.”

“Aye,” Chibs raised his head from the bar, “big papa, was it?”

I laughed and poured myself a cup of coffee. “That’s Vice President Big Papa to you,” I joked. With two cups in hand, I headed down the hall to find my wife waking up, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Not too bad, Teller,” she chuckled, seeing only one hickey on her chest.

“Then don’t look at your thighs,” I grinned, handing her a cup.

She looked down between her legs and shook her head. “Oh, Teller…”

“I mean, I could make more marks,” I offered.

“I know you could. But this’ll do for now. Thank you,” she smiled.

“Oh, come on,” I teased as we snuggled up with our coffee. “I don’t have anywhere to be today.”

“Even if you did…” Amber began.

“Even if I did, you would take precedence,” I kissed her forehead.

“How about a date?” She asked. By the way she said it, I instantly knew it was something she had been dwelling on for a while.

So, we spent the day out by the lake fishing, one of our favorite pastimes besides riding my bike, of course. Later that evening, we returned home, slightly sunburnt but otherwise in high spirits.

“Here’s some banana bread Bobby gave us. I told him the last time he made it how much we both liked it for something quick in the morning,” I sliced us each a small piece to eat before we retreated to the couch to watch a movie.

Later, we snuggled up, panting in each other’s arms as we moved in a sweet rhythmic motion. Becoming one with each other. “Yes, that’s it, papa. Show me I’m yours,” she cooed as I moved a little faster and pushed a little harder.

After another mind-blowing sexual encounter with my wife, I looked over at Amber, who was smiling with tears streaming down her face. The crying orgasms didn’t happen very often, but when they did, I kicked the aftercare up a notch. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I promise I’m okay,” she chuckled. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know,” I smiled. “I’m so happy you’re mine, Amber,” nuzzling her neck and nipping at it a bit.

Once she was ready, I got a drink of cold tea and a snack for her.

“What have I told you? You don’t have to be embarrassed; just tell me I really did my job,” I chuckled, holding her close again.

She just smiled, giving my beard a loving scratch. “I’m so glad I get to call you mine, Teller,” she smiled.

[countrymusiclover]

8 - The Truth of Jaime Lannister

Part 9

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons

Soft knocking on my chamber door woke me up from my peaceful sleep. Shifting myself up from the pillows I brushed my hair out of my face. “Who’s visiting me in the middle of the night?” Tossing the covers aside I climbed out of the bed.

Creaking open the door I peaked my head through the doorway seeing it was Antler standing in the hallway. “Haelsa, I apologize for the late visit. But it’s Chezney.”

“Chezney. What’s wrong with her?” I asked instantly, feeling nervous.

Antler simply answered my question. “I’d grab some shoes and a robe. It’s better to show you.”

Scrambling around my room I grabbed a blue cloak and some slippers following on the heels of my father’s most trusted guard. We swept through the castle hallways until we reached her chambers door and I burst inside not bothering with knocking. “Chez! What happened?”

“Hael! I need your help.” She cried from the corner of the room holding onto a pot. She throws up in the pot hair getting in her mouth until I came over to help.

Holding her hair out of her face I asked even though I had a guess of what was happening to her. “You’re pregnant aren’t you?”

Her and Antler were both extremely close friends of mine and by some crazy miracle they ended up falling in love with the other. A lays in waiting and a top officer of the guard, what could possibly go wrong. “Haelesa, you can’t tell your father please. Pretty please he will likely execute Antler for this.” Chezney slides around on her knees grasping the fabric of my nightgown in her hands.

“Chezney could be sent out of the castle too. Including her mother too.” Antler added on ,standing guard by the door in case someone else can enter.

Intertwining my hands with hers I lowered myself down on my knees to be level with her. “I would never do such a thing and do you both to the fate of death or banishment. We are best friends after all.”

“Thank you, Haelesa.” She threw her head against my chest and I held her against me. Burying my face into her hair I sighed heavily in relief. The three of us in that moment were horrified by others knowing, unfortunately she lost the baby in the span of only two months. But I kept my promise that I would always guard her secrets and she would mine.

Pushing the tent flaps away with my hands I saw that Chezney was leaning against the wooden post that was one of the support beams of the tent. She had her hair tied up in a crown pattern, wearing a simple blue gown with some brown boots. “Are you ever going to let the young wolf see you in a gown?”

“We have been transported from one war camp to another. Dresses aren’t suitable for that environment. Therefore when Robb or Jaime wins the war then and only then shall I wear a ridiculous gown.”

Chezney tilted her head to the side, she clasped her hands together. “So are you ever going to tell him what you wrote in your letter to Joella?”

“You mean the letter that you were supposed to send before we left?” I snapped thinking she had sent it out the morning before we had left Kings Landing with a band of men and Lannister flags.

She shrugs her shoulders in response. “I was simply thinking it would be a conversation starter.”

“Chezney Ally, I swore to keep your secret years ago and you swore the same to me. The contents of that letter or any future letters to Joella are meant to remain privately between us.”

My best friend gestures her head in a different direction causing me to follow her gaze and see that the young wolf was striding over to us. “Well you better think of something to say to him if you won’t tell him your feelings.”

“Robb.” I curtseye when he had finally reached us.

He shakes his head waving his hand up for me to rise. “There's no need for that. Uh Halesea I was wondering if you have time of course.”

“She does have time!” Chezney piped in before I could get a word out.

He sent me a bright smile back. “Thank you, Chezney. Shall we, Lady Haelesa?”

“We shall.” I held out my hand and he held onto his own intertwining our hands together as one. We began walking away from my best friend and off throughout the war camp.

We hadn’t been alone like this since the morning we went horse riding to the Godswood Tree. Scanning the area around us we were on the edge and outside of the camp so that others weren’t watching us. “I have been meaning to ask why did this all start between you and the Lannisters. I mean I didn’t hear much of Sansa and Arya. But Sansa seems excited to marry the young prince.”

“The Kingslayer has been keeping you in the dark?” Robb knits his brows at me.

It took me a second to know who he was talking about since I had only ever referred to him as Jaime. “You’re talking about Jaime Lannister?”

“Yes.” Robb answers with a stern voice. “My father and sisters rode South when he was to be Hand of the King. A few weeks ago something happened and now Jofferey Baratheon sits on the throne.”

“Meaning Robert is dead. How is that a problem for you?”

Robb turned to face me. “He put my father in chains and is holding him prisoner.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm riding South with my father's bannermen to free him. But lately I just…I want to know why.” He slumped his shoulders.

I quickly answered. “I could ask Jaime - uh the Kingslayer - to see if he knows anything.”

“What makes you think he'll tell you anything?”

I shrugged my shoulders making a good point. “Because he's not the man that everyone thinks he is.”

“How did that happen?” Robb raised a brow towards me.

I responded to the wolf. “Because he told me when we were alone in his chambers a few months ago.”

Knocking on Jaime’s chambers door I waited outside until he to my shock actually opened the door for me. His green eyes focused onto mine and he was in a red tunic and trousers. “Velaryon girl, what are you doing here so late?”

“I need to talk with you and this appears to be the only way I can do it.” I explained to the lord who just silently stared at me. He eventually moved aside letting me inside his chamber and I stepped inside with him shutting the door behind me.

Jaime stands at the end of the bed asking me a simple question. “So what do you so desperately need to talk with me about in the middle of the night, Little Velaryon?”

“I’ve heard the whispers and some gossip about the nickname Kingslayer everyone gives you. I wish to know why, why do they call you that?”

He replied simply. “Because I killed what history calls The Mad King.”

“Yes I suppose I understand the reason behind the name. But…but why did you kill him?”

The Lannister lion clicked his tongue. “You want to know my side of the story?”

“Yes I do. So tell me your side of the story. The whole truth please.” I rounded to the table drawing out the chair. Crossing my arms over one another and my chin resting upon them.

Jaime sat down on the end of his bed, running his fingers through his blonde hair sucking in a sharp breath before he began explaining his side of the story. “Wildfire….The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. He burned lords he didn't like. He burned Hands who disobeyed him. He burned anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him. Aerys saw traitors everywhere. So he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city ... beneath the Sept of Baelor and the slums of Flea Bottom. Under houses, stables, taverns. Even beneath the Red Keep itself. Finally, the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father arrived first with the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels. I knew my father better than that.”

“What happened next?”

Jaime continued the story. “He's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the Mad King as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully. But the king didn't listen to me. He didn't listen to Varys who tried to warn him. But he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle, that grey, sunken cunt. "You can trust the Lannisters," he said. "The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown." So we opened the gates and my father sacked the city. Once again, I came to the king, begging him to surrender. He told me to... bring him my father's head. Then he... turned to his pyromancer. "Burn them all," he said. "Burn them in their homes. “Burn them in their beds."

“What’s that look for?” I questioned seeing him silently looking at me now when I could feel he had more to say with his story of how he killed the Mad King.

His eyes softened when pouring their attention into mine. “Tell me, if your precious King commanded you to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? “

“I….I can’t say that I would let it go on.” I was at a loss for words. Imagining that all those dead bodies must say on his shoulders, along with everyone saying he had broken the oath he had taken.

“First, I killed the pyromancer. And then when the king turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. "Burn them all," he kept saying. "Burn them all." I don't think he expected to die. He ... he meant to... burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen.” He sighed heavily letting silence fill out the room, asking me the next question. “What do I get to know about you?”

Getting up from the chair I stride over finding a spot next to him on the bed. Jaime and I shift our heads in one direction to stare at the other. “For this marriage to work you need to know I will never be this obedient wife. I am the lady of the fierce sea and the heir to the Velaryon household.”

“I know you’re aware I didn’t want this marriage either. But it’s possible for us to learn from each other on how we can both get what we want.” He responded.

Reaching down I looped my hand in his right hand. “If you’ll help me see the world then I’ll make sure the world knows the real story. The real story of the Kingsguard soldier named Jaime Lannister. You won’t be forgotten by House Velaryon.” Jaime silently stared at me and from that moment on I would keep my word to the former knight.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[danaduchy]

Daylen Amell groaned, rubbing his eyes as the pounding in his head throbbed in sync with the sunlight streaming through the window. His gaze drifted to the door, where Aedan Cousland stood, arms crossed, his usual composed demeanor a sharp contrast to Daylen’s state of disarray.

"It's almost noon. We should be on the road already," Aedan said, his tone firm, a touch of irritation behind the calm exterior.

Right. They had things to do—important things. Cure to find. People to save.

Daylen sighed, sitting up slowly. The blanket barely covered his lower half as he stretched, feeling the soreness from last night’s escapades—though in a good way. The girl he had spent the night with had left before dawn, leaving only a few scratches on his chest as a reminder of their… energetic night.

He yawned and got out of bed with little care for modesty, moving toward his clothes that were scattered across the floor. Daylen didn’t bother to cover himself as he stood naked in the center of the room, rummaging for his tunic. There wasn’t much to be shy about, after all. He had nothing to hide. His lean, muscular frame had earned him plenty of admiration over the years, and if Aedan had a problem with it, he hadn’t said a word in all the time they’d traveled together.

As Daylen bent down to retrieve his trousers, Aedan’s gaze lingered for a brief moment before flicking back to his face, though his expression remained unchanged. He leaned casually against the doorframe, looking unimpressed—bored even. His steel-blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the mess with mild distaste.

"Had a fun night?" Aedan asked, his voice edged with amusement as he arched a brow. The corner of his mouth twitched, just enough to show that he was teasing.

Daylen, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, grunted in response. His voice came out rough, barely more than a growl. Talking before noon was always a chore.

Chuckling, Aedan pushed off the door and walked further into the room, boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. "You’re lucky we’re not in the middle of some darkspawn-infested cave. Taking your time like this would’ve gotten you killed," he remarked dryly, though there was no real reprimand in his tone.

Daylen didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. He yanked on his trousers and began fastening his belt. His mind, still groggy, began to catch up with the day ahead of them. Cures. Tainted blood. Blight. They had so much to do, and the weight of it started pressing down on him as soon as he was fully awake. The playful tone of the morning began to fade.

"Where to first?" Daylen asked, finally dressed and running a hand through his tousled dark hair. His mind was already working through their plans, trying to remember which road they were supposed to take. There was a meeting with someone, an herbalist or maybe a mage. Honestly, he’d lost track of all the names.

"The healer’s house, up near the western edge of the forest," Aedan reminded him, already securing his own sword belt and preparing for the journey ahead. He paused and glanced over at Daylen, giving him a long look. "Try not to charm half the village this time. We actually need information, not more distractions."

Daylen grinned, pulling on his boots. "No promises," he said, his voice still hoarse but playful now. "But it was your idea to make me the face of our little operation, wasn’t it? Can’t blame me if I use my strengths."

Aedan rolled his eyes but smirked, shaking his head as he headed for the door. "Just be ready in five minutes. We’ve wasted enough time already."

Daylen finished dressing quickly, fastening his clothes with a practiced hand before grabbing his sword. As he joined Aedan by the door, he shot his companion a mischievous look. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from me about letting loose. You’re wound tighter than a Chantry sister during a sermon."

Aedan gave him a flat look. "I’d rather focus on staying alive than indulging in distractions, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Daylen replied, following Aedan out of the room and into the bright afternoon sun. He squinted as the light hit his eyes, a slight frown forming as he adjusted to the outside world. As much as he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, he knew Aedan was right—there were far more important things ahead. The Blight didn’t care if he had a fun night or not. It was still out there, festering, spreading. And it was their job to stop it.

The two of them walked side by side, down the worn path leading away from the village, their banter falling into a comfortable rhythm as they set off once again to face the darkness together.

[aquadestinyswriting]

An Solas as Gràdhaiche

Summary: Meredith finally has to explain her relationship with Elowyn to Yoruk. An akward conversation ensues.

Words: 1,067

Tags: @druidx,@sparrow-orion-writes,@writeblrcafe, @ashirisu, @lexiklecksi

Warnings: None

Notes: Happy Birthday Dru <3. I know it's not something tailor-made for the day, but I think you'll enjoy this one.

Meredith sighed happily as she snuggled up against her fiance’s chest, finally able to sleep in her own bed after gods knew how long. She felt Yoruk shifting, trying to get comfortable. She tilted her head up, her face falling at his soft sigh,

“What’s the matter, mo goal.” she asked quietly, wondering why her beloved was suddenly looking so concerned. Yoruk glanced down at her and smiled,

“It’s probably nothin’ but…” the paladin trailed off, shifting so that he could face Meredith properly, “Ye any idea why yer wee woodlin’ friend was threatenin’ to kill me if she got any sort o’ word that ye were unhappy with me?” he asked.

Meredith cursed under her breath, then shook her head,

“I was wondering why ye were so pale when I went to have a word with her.” she muttered. The cleric whooshed out another breath before continuing, “We’ve been through a lot together over the last year and a bit, and we’ve gotten… pretty close.” she explained. Yoruk raised an eyebrow,

“Close?” he asked, “Do we need to have a talk talk?” 

Meredith shot upright, shaking her head vehemently,

“No! No! It’s not like that, I swear.” she exclaimed, flapping her hands. Yoruk propped himself up on his elbow, cocking his head in confusion,

“While that’s a relief in itself, there’s obviously somethin’ going on there.” he pointed out, “So what gives?” he asked. Meredith groaned, running a hand down her beard in frustration, though whether that was at the situation or herself, Yoruk couldn’t quite tell.

“I neglected to tell Elowyn that I was engaged before she caught feelings for me. Like I said, we went through a lot; fighting for our lives on a near constant basis at one point, being the last two left out of the group we originally started this whole damn thing with, spending all our time in each other’s company, ye ken, the usual adventuring things ye hear about.” she explained.

Yoruk nodded,

“Did ye ever get around to telling her ye were already spoken for before ye came back to Fangthane?” he asked. Meredith grimaced,

“Kind of?” she murmured, shifting uncomfortably and looking down at the bedsheets. Yoruk huffed out a sigh,

“Kind of?” he queried, “I need a bit more than that, love.” he said.There were a few moments silence as Meredith grumbled,

“I blurted out that I was spoken for in the middle of a fight while we were fending off the advances of a horny elf bard.” she finally said, “No, I never actually sat down to explain matters after that because I never found the time to.” she added.

Yoruk raised his eyebrow further,

“No time? C’mon Merri, I know you better than that.” he pointed out, “Look, if ye ended up catching feelings back, even if nothing ever came of them, then there’s no shame in that.” he said, reaching out and taking his fiancee’s hands into his own, “What I want you to be right now is honest. Both to me and yourself.” 

Merri finally looked up at the dwarven man sitting in front of her. Even in the almost pitch black of her bedroom she could see the patient expectancy on his face. Her heart skipped as she took in the details of it, but she pushed her immediate thoughts aside and thought through how to explain everything to the man she loved so much. 

“Alright, fine. Yeah, I basically avoided bringing up the engagement thing after that. Partially because there really were other, way more important, things to think about at the time, and partially because I knew I’d shattered Elowyn’s heart the minute I said it.” Meredith explained, her hands gripping at the sheet. “The problem is, I really didn’t, and don’t have any romantic feelings for her, but I still care about her. A lot. But how the hells do I even begin to explain the difference? I don’t even know if any other cultures have anything similar to Cridhe-dàime.” she groaned, burying her head into her hands.

Yoruk, who had been reaching over to lay his hand on his beloved’s shoulder, froze momentarily. Had Meredith just outright claimed that the woodling woman was someone she considered her Cridhe-dàime? He leaned forward with an indulgent smile and wrapped his arms around the despondent woman,

“Well, at least we don’t need to delay the wedding by almost three centuries.” he quipped, earning him a thump on the arm and a disgruntled mumble for his trouble. He squeezed Meredith and let her go so he could look at her face again. He gently tucked a strand of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear,

“Look, I get it, it’s awkward. Probably about as awkward as when I finally gathered up the courage to ask ye out on that first date.” Yoruk said, “But unless ye tell Elowyn how much ye care about her, even if it’s not in any romantic sense, then she’s never gonna know. It doesn’t matter if Elowyn never really understands what Cridhe-dàime actually means, as long as she knows how much she means to you.” he insisted.

Meredith relaxed as Yoruk spoke. He was right; Elowyn was obviously under the impression that Meredith didn’t care for her as much as she did, so she needed to know sooner rather than later. She leaned her head on Yoruk’s shoulder,

“Ye’re right, I do need to say something. But I’d best leave it for a bit. Elowyn needs a bit o’ time to really come to terms with everything.” she murmured, recalling the look in the woodling’s eyes as she’d wished Merri the best of luck before walking away. She lifted her eyes to meet Yoruk’s. Yoruk shook his head,

“You know her better than I do.” was all he said in reply. He kissed his very soon-to-be-wife and laid his head back on the pillow. Meredith watched as Yoruk shifted onto his side and curled up into the blankets. She yawned and followed suit. While it would be an incredibly awkward conversation, at least she had until after the wedding to have it. That should give Elowyn plenty of time to settle things out in her own mind. 

With the happy thought of her Cridhe-dàime attending the happiest day of her life. Meredith rolled over, hugged Yoruk and finally drifted off to sleep.

[ququb444hm]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

part 08 / moments before disaster ☆

masterlist

warning(s): possible typos, lowkey rushed, really, really bad attempt to describe someone under the influence of alcohol

the night the two groups were looking forward to definitely came faster than expected!

as well as yn’s vomit.

the current situation can be illustrated as such: tetsurou, sober, driving kozume, shoyou, and tsukishima back to their university dorms while the rest of the bunch were settled inside the apartment portion of the flower shop. tooru helped koushi in the living room to place down blankets and pillows for themselves and morisuke and rintarou who were patiently waiting for one another to finish showering. cecily and koutarou on the other hand were carefully cleaning yn up and tucking her passed out body into bed.

“I really hope tetsu tells kozume not to bring up the whole situation,” cecily mumbled, stroking yn’s head. “I already know how embarrassed she’s going to be once she wakes up and remembers everything.”

kou hummed in response, reading through the pinning messages of his group chat, “I think kozume knows better than to talk about it unless yn brings it up first, I’ll message him later about it though.” he turned his attention away from his phone and to the sleeping figure. “I hope she’s okay, you sure you can handle everything here? I can stay until surou comes back just incase anything happens.”

“I’m sure I can handle yn.” cecily reassures, “get home safe, kou. there’s leftovers in the fridge if you want to bring atsumu some food.” the ace nodded, bending down to softly kiss yn’s forehead before leaving the room.

prior to the current setting, aka the actual party, yn and everyone else were fine!

in the middle of all the singing and drinking, yn actually let the previous sighting of her ex’s car slip her mind and had her full attention set on the current gathering… well most of her attention.

let’s not forget about the reddening blonde who’s eyes barely looked anywhere else beside the justin beiber fanatic.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a staring problem.”

“oh shut up, tsukki.”

the sophomore laughed at the other blonde’s quick response, stretching his limbs across the couch. “y’know, I can never understand why you don’t just confess your feelings for her. It’s obvious she likes you, like super, extremely obvious.”

“I didn’t know you were the type to get all philosophical when you get drunk.”

“your mom definitely knows.”

“and I’m leaving.” kozume pushed the laughing fit of a business major aside to stand up and make his way to the doors. this didn’t go unnoticed by yn who stopped crying to baby to follow the quiet junior–

“I THOUGHT YOU’D ALWAYYYYS BE MINE, MINE- wait I have to go pee. I think.” skipping in her steps, yn pushed through the doors, looking left and right before spotting kozume who turned around and seemed to wait for her. “kozzuuuu!” yn grinned, jumping over to the boy. “you seem so downnn, are you not having fun? come sing with me!”

“yn how many glasses of alcohol have you had?”

“uhm..let me think..” her brows knitted together in deep thought and kozume couldn’t help the smile that subtly crept on his face because of how cute he found the person in front of him. “oh, oh!” taking his hands into hers, yn used kozume’s fingers to hold up the amount of glasses she consumed. “thisss…muchh! I think.”

“three?” the subtle smile grew as he began to laugh, “kuroos really are lightweights. you can’t even walk straight anymore, and your cheeks are really red.”

at the sound of that, yn’s cheeks puffed out and she groaned at the boy, “listennn here kozu!”

“hm? what is it?” his cat like eyes bore into her half lidded ones, curious as to what her hazy mind was thinking. yn’s cold hands slowly made their way up to cup kozume’s face causing him to stiffen up. 

“so….pretty.”

It was kozume’s turn to start turning pink except in his case, it wasn’t the alcohol. he could feel his heart start to quicken its pace and if it wasn’t for his ears catching tetsurou and cecily singing a duet, he swore yn could get him to fall into a daze where he would be wrapped around her finger like a lovesick fool.

unbeknownst to him, he already was.

time seemed to slow down as the two stayed glued to their spots, eyes not leaving the other persons’. that is, until a familiar voice broke the thickening tension–

“kozume?...oh and yn.”

yn’s eyes slowly trailed up to meet who the voice belonged to, aka the worst decision she could’ve made that night.

“...k..kei..ji?”

In a second her senses seemed to hit her all at once and before she knew what her body was about to do–

she threw up.

on kozume.

and then knocked out.

part 07 whore house <- | masterlist | -> part 09 therapy

note(s): uhh i do not want to do hw. none of the pictures used are mine!!

[oscartullyofriverrun]

Six Final Moons: challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

The entire thing had seemed like an adventure until the moment Oscar was standing alone in front of the Citadel.  Oscar knew he’d made more than one bad decision throughout his life, but leaving in the middle of the night without a word to anybody, including his family, was probably the worst of them.  He’d been angry when he’d done it, shoving clothes and food into a bag before sneaking into the stables and taking off in the dead of night.  He’d only left a note behind for Kyle because even at his darkest and most emotional moments, there was a part of him that couldn’t stand to inflict pain on either of his siblings.  He hadn’t told Kyle where he was going, but he’d promised he was safe and that he would be back home soon.  He knew Kyle would pass the information on to Abigail to keep her from worrying and that was enough for him.  He doubted his father would care he was gone and he didn’t care what Kyle chose to do when it came to their mother.  He loved her, but he was angry with her.  She’d seen how his father had been treating him, but she hadn’t done or said anything about it.  He told himself it didn’t matter.

Luceon met Oscar on the River Road as they planned.  Oscar figured he’d at least told Alyx where he was going, but Oscar didn’t ask.  The whole point of this was to forget about their families for a while.  At first, that was what they had done.  They had traveled along the River Road until they passed through Lannisport and the road turned into the Searoad, sleeping under the stars and staying at inns when they came across them.  Nobody gave them a second glance, especially once they reached the Westerlands where Oscar’s face was a lot less recognizable.  It was easy to sleep curled together with Luceon in the woods and at the inns they would buy a room with two beds before squeezing themselves together into one, limbs tangled together tightly as they slept.  It had almost been perfect, almost like they were able to be a real couple, unknown and on the road.  

They followed the road to pass through Highgarden, somehow getting invited to parties with others like them, who didn’t care when Oscar had danced with Luceon in his arms the entire night, kissing him whenever he pleased.  They’d lingered in Highgarden longer than they should have, making friends and holding hands in the daylight.  But eventually, the dwindling state of their funds forced them to move on down the Roseroad until they finally reached Oldtown.  It was a beautiful city, cleaner and more well-kept than King’s Landing despite being much older.  After a day of sightseeing, Luceon had gone into the Citadel to see about becoming a novice.  It’s why they had traveled all this way in the first place.  Luceon’s father had been pushing for it for years.  As the third son of House Goodbrook, Luceon had very little to offer in terms of a marriage and rumors about Luceon’s lack of interest in women had started to swirl around him the same way they circled Oscar.  Luceon was intelligent and kind, and he adored helping people.  He would make a good healer, but he had wanted to visit the Citadel on his own terms, not his father’s, and he’d invited Oscar to come along with him.  

Oscar had been waiting on him for hours, stopping to get food from a tavern before walking up and down Oldtown’s various streets.  He finally ended up waiting outside the Citadel, watching the people as they passed by.  After another hour, Luceon emerged from the Citadel, a wide smile on his face.  He made his way to Oscar, grin growing wider.  “I’m sorry I made you wait so long, but it was wonderful there.  They had so many books I’d never heard of and everyone was really kind.  I think…I think I could really be happy there.”

Oscar stared at him, shocked to find the words roused the familiar anger in him, sharp and vicious as always.  He’d traveled all this way, waited outside for hours, only for Luceon to tell him he liked it?  That he wanted to become lost here among dusty books and dull people?  It had never occurred to him until this moment how much he’d wanted Luceon to hate it, how much he wanted Luceon to reject the idea and return home with him so they could devise another plan for their future.  He didn’t want Luceon to leave.  Not now, not ever.  The anxiety surged alongside the anger, twisting and twirling around each other like squirming snakes in a pit.  “Well, that’s hardly a surprise.  When aren’t you pleased to do whatever your father wants?” Oscar spit out, the snakes dripping their poison through his mouth.

Luceon only sighed.  He’d known Oscar a long time and he’d sat with him through more than one outburst.  His lack of reaction only made Oscar angrier.  Didn’t he care at all?  Angry words whipped through his mind quickly, each phrase more hurtful and personal than the last.  Oscar only held the words back through sheer force of will, his last bit of self control focused on the fact that while a part of him wanted to make Luceon hurt just as much as he was hurting, he didn’t truly believe any of the angry things running through his mind and he knew he would regret saying them once his anger had exhausted itself. Oscar hardly noticed his hands creeping towards his hair, more emotions twisting and turning through him than he could possibly handle without some sort of release.  

He blinked in surprise when Luceon gently grabbed both of his hands to stop him, letting them go to step forward and cradle Oscar’s face in his palms.  The surprise of the action and the accompanying knowledge that they were in public where anyone could see them shocked him enough to slightly break Oscar out of his spiral.  “Breathe,” Luceon ordered, voice firm.  

Oscar forced himself to take a few gasping breaths, eyes focused on Luceon’s.  Once Luceon seemed certain Oscar had slightly calmed down, he stepped back and glanced around to make sure no one was watching them.  He put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder and guided him down the street into a random alley that stank of old fish and sour fruit.  “I don’t want you to become a maester,” Oscar said, words desperate.

“That’s the entire reason we came all this way,” Luceon answered, words tinged with slight annoyance that he was clearly trying to hide.  “You haven’t said anything this whole time.”

“I didn’t know I didn’t want that until just now,” Oscar said.

 “That’s because you never think, Oscar,” the words could have been an insult, but they seemed exasperatedly fond somehow when Luceon said them. “You ignore problems and tell yourself everything is going to be fine until you’re forced to see the reality.”

“I want to be with you,” Oscar pleaded.  The anger was gone now and desperation had stepped in to take its place.  “We can go back to Highgarden and make a life or we can travel to Essos and become sellswords.  Just leave everything behind and never go home.”

Luceon actually laughed, though his dark brown eyes were sad.  “You love your family and your people.  I’ve heard the way you talk about your and Kyle’s plans.  That’s your purpose, not me.”

“I’d give it up for you,” Oscar said, and in that moment he thought he might truly mean it if it meant he got to be with Luceon one second longer.

“You can’t.  And even if you could, I won’t give up mine.  I want to help people and I’m not going to stand to the side while you marry someone else, even if you don’t love them.  I want a life of my own, not one where I wait in the shadows and dark stables until you can be with me again.  It’s not your fault, but it’s not what I want.”  

Oscar turned away from him, doing his best to hide the tears that had gathered in his eyes.  Luceon moved over to wrap his arms around him and even though his grip should have been as firm and steadying as ever, Oscar could already feel him slipping away.  “Things never could have ended differently for us,” Luceon whispered.  

Not even Oscar could pretend otherwise any more.

[lemmilemura]

Alright here we go, some stuff is missing but that's just cuz I really cannot think of anything and I just wanna get it out of my drafts. Emjoy

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

//

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You were 100% part of the Simon, Janae, Maeve group before and after you started dating. I’d say you maybe knew Janae first and got in through her. It’s a really great dynamic and you have the best times together. He’s the type of best friend who will literally roast you any chance he gets, worse every time, but will defend you to hell and back if anyone else does.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He will not, under any circumstance, admit it, but he’s a pretty big fan of just a good ol’ cuddle sesh. He will never outright say when he wants to, but he’ll sort of act in a way that lightly pushes you do initiate it. He’ll get closer to you, wrap his arms around you, stuff like that, waiting until you ask to cuddle. Just the feeling of you so close to him, both so comfortable, it’s just amazing. It reminds him that you’re still with him, not going anywhere. If there’s days where you’re more cuddly or clingy, he will probably act all like "my my, you’re really clingy today huh? I guess we can cuddle" but trust me, he loves those days. To be honest the two of you could cuddle almost anywhere (with varying degrees of closeness, in school you can’t really get comfy). His favorite place is probably in bed, because you can just wrap the blanket around yourselves and just snuggle real close and just enjoy. If you, while cuddling, play with his hair or something, chances are he’ll get really sleepy, so you use that to your advantage more often than not.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I can imagine the two of you moving in together probably as soon as you can, be that before or after graduation. Both away from your parents, together 24/7 and you can do and decorate however you want. For some reason I can’t decide between Simon being the type who cannot even make a microwave meal properly, or being an absolute 5star chef in the kitchen xD.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

//

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He wants to marry you, 100%. If you want to, of course. If you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t want to get married, he’d be totally accepting. He just feels, after a while, that there’s nothing that could be better, nothing and noone that could replace you. You two definitely have a promise ring situation, and the actual wedding would not be that far away.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

//

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Big spoon every time. He holds you as if any moment you could disappear, but at the same time also like you’re the most fragile thing on earth, perfectly in the middle of the two. If he’s had a bad day, he’ll most likely hold you while burying his head in your neck and just stay like that for a bit. In public, like at school, he’ll put an arm around you or stand behind you, hands resting lightly on your waist.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take him quite a bit, because of his past hurts. He will most likely not be the first one to say it, because he wants to wait until he’s 100% sure you love him too, be that you telling him or if he feels like you do, he’s gotten pretty good at reading people in that sense. After the first one, you won’t hear it often, mostly when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re asleep. He’s the type to look at your 'sleeping' form and say a few praises and things, as well as 'I love you' almost every single time :,)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

//

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

//

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

This very much depends. Some random kid he’s never met? It’s his nemesis. Hates it. Looks at it with a weird face until it looks away or cries. Family members/cousins? He’s the one playing video games with them at every family gathering, but also 100% the one who teaches them swear words. Your own children? He’s much more relaxed than his own parents, much kess pressure or control. As long as what they do isn’t a crime or too stupid, he lets them do basically whatever they want. He can however definitely get more stern with them if needed, but everyone prefers it not to come to that.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

//

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

//

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

//

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

//

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

My mans remembers EVERYTHING that you tell him about yourself. EVERYTHING. He's really good at remembering stuff, and you are no exception whatsoever.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

How weird it may seem, it’s the day he almost died. Until then, there was a constant nagging thought that you didn’t actually like him, and that you just go out with him to get info on others or to be spared from AT. But when he saw your genuine concern for him, your beaming, happy face, covered in tears, when he came home, he realized that you genuinely cared for and loved him. He alre looks back fondly on any moments when you're just cuddling and enjoying your time together

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

//

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

//

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I mean there’s the 'exposing of other people’s dark secrets' thing...

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

//

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Very. You are the one who gives him the self-confidence he's missing without you, you make him feel better. When you're not around he's much more irritable and everybody hates it, but he hates it the most.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

//

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

//

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He absolutely hates admitting it, but over the time you two have been together and have regularly shared a bed, it has happened that some nights, when he isn’t with you, he finds himself unable to sleep. He’s gotten so used to having you next to him, in his arms, that it just feels like there’s something missing (there is). If he’s away in an out of town sense, it’s even worse, because you can’t just go to eachothers places. In times like these, you two will go on call with eachother. It does actually help him knowing that you’re 'there' and to hear your voice, but the best way to fall asleep is with you in his arms <3

[skyward-floored]

Febuwhump day 11 - fever

Starting febuwhump in the middle of the month with my Links from my own au Courage of Ages, because I looked at the list and basically gave into temptation 😅

I’m going to try and keep these short so i don’t get stressed, just fun oneshots and an excuse to write my Links more :)

Here’s an explanation of courage of ages, as well as who’s who, but in this fic only four of them show up. Gloam is tp Link, Hue is albw & tfh, Era is hw, and Sprite is oot & mm.

————————————————————

“Gloam?”

The Hero of Twilight blinked his eyes open, looking up at who’d addressed him. Hue stood next to the tree that he’d been dozing against up until a few seconds ago, looking like he felt extremely bad for disturbing him.

“Hey Hue, what’s up? You need something?” he yawned, and the younger hero shifted his weight nervously, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Era isn’t awake.”

Gloam tilted his head. “And..? Is that a problem? I mean, we weren’t going to head out until tomorrow morning anyways, he may as well take a nap.”

“No, I mean he hasn’t woken up all day,” Hue stressed. “I was going to tell you earlier but I couldn’t find you or anybody else, so I figured I’d just wait, but now...”

Hue glanced behind him at the inn in the distance where they were all staying.

“He’s barely moved. He was making weird noises before too, I’m... I’m kinda worried Gloam.”

The goatherd furrowed his brow and stood up, forgoing his comfortable spot against the tree to instead follow Hue back inside to where Era had apparently been sleeping all day.

If it were almost any one of the others Gloam would brush it off as them just taking a nap, but Era was one of the Links in their group who barely slept under normal circumstances.

Maybe he was just really tired?

They entered one of the rooms several of them were sharing, Gloam noting the lump on one of the beds. Drawing closer with Hue on his heels, Gloam saw Era tightly curled up under the sheets, already odd since he tended to sleep ramrod-straight on his back. His blanket was tight around his shoulders, breath wheezing in his throat, and when Gloam leaned closer he could see his face was flushed.

Wait...

Gloam leaned down and pressed a hand to Era’s forehead, then winced at the heat under his palm.

“Darn it, he’s got a fever,” he muttered, and at his touch, Era’s eyes flicked open.

He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and hair limp with sweat. He was always so put together, Gloam had to admit it was weird seeing him this... disheveled.

“We moving again?” the knight rasped, and made to sit up, arms trembling. Hue pushed him back down, and shook his head.

“No way, you’re sick Era. We’re not moving anytime soon.”

Era’s face paled.

“Sick? No. No way, I’m not sick I can’t be sick—” he said thickly, panic leeching into his voice.

“Era calm down, you’ve just got a bit of a fever,” Gloam soothed, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “You only need some rest, you’ll be fine.”

Era swallowed, and Gloam could see him mentally push the panic down.

“But... we need to get going tomorrow,” he protested with a cough. “This was only supposed to be a quick stop, and then—”

“We can spare a day or two,” Gloam interrupted. “We switched pretty recently, I doubt we’ll leave this time for a little while yet. And you can’t go anywhere in this condition.“

Era looked like he was about to argue, but instead sneezed several times in a row, each one getting progressively louder.

Hue muffled a giggle at the surprisingly high-pitched sneezes, then shrank back at the look Era gave him.

“Umm, I’ll go get some soup I saved from the other night,” he said, then quickly escaped out the door. Gloam watched him go with an amused smile, then pulled a chair to Era’s bedside, sitting down as he looked down at the other hero.

The knight’s eyes were half-lidded and weary, but he made an effort to look more awake once he realized Gloam’s gaze was on him.

“I really am all right,” he rasped, and Gloam shook his head, sighing.

“No, you really aren’t,” he countered. “Hue said you’ve been sleeping all day.”

“So?”

Gloam eyeballed him. “You are always up at the crack of dawn, same as me. The only reason I didn’t notice you sleeping in earlier was because I was preoccupied,” he said a bit guiltily, then resumed his stern look. “You. Are. Sick.”

Era shrank in his blanket, looking away from Gloam.

“But I’m holding us up,” he rasped quietly. “We were going to try to make it to the castle, we might not have time if we w-wait—”

Era broke off into a stream of thick coughs, raspy and painful sounding. He groaned when he finished, and Gloam handed him some water, the knight weakly sipping at it. Once he’d finished, Gloam put his hand back on his forehead, trying to get a sense of just how bad his fever was. Era flinched, but relaxed after a minute, eyes drooping.

“I think your fever could be worse, but I don’t know how long you’ve had it either,” Gloam murmured, then pulled his hand away with a sigh. “Either way... it’s certainly not the greatest. We can see if this town has a healer, but in the meantime try and get more sleep?”

“Slept all morning,” Era mumbled. “Don’t need more.”

“You’re practically dozing off Era,” Gloam said dryly. “Just go back to sleep. Or I’ll get everyone in here and they can yell at you too.”

Era winced. “...don’t do that.”

The door creaked as he finished speaking, and Gloam turned, expecting to see Hue. But Sprite walked in instead, looking a little out of breath, like he’d run all the way here then stopped right at the door in an effort to seem nonchalant.

“Hue said you’re sick,” he blurted out, then crossed his arms and gave Era a foul look. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“You think I know?” Era croaked, and Gloam watched the worry in Sprite’s eyes grow more prominent at how weak his voice was.

The kid hesitated, then stalked over and jumped up on the bed next to him, ignoring Era’s immediate protests.

“Kid I’m going to get you sick, get off,” Era said sharply, but Sprite only crossed his arms behind his head and laid down.

“You shared your canteen with me yesterday, I’m probably already doomed,” he snipped back. “And I heard you and Gloam arguing, just go back to sleep, huh? It’s going to take you forever to get better if you don’t rest.”

“This from the kid who sleeps like two hours every night,” Era said with an eye roll, and Sprite elbowed him.

“Just go to sleep!”

Era still looked reluctant, and Sprite sighed, then creamed the knight with a pillow he’d grabbed without an ounce of apology. Era let out a affronted hey! and Sprite glared at him, holding the pillow threateningly under his arm.

“Era. Captain. Old Link. Go to sleep,” Sprite stressed. “Or it’ll be even longer ‘til we can leave.”

Era continued to glare half-heartedly at him, which Sprite returned with an equally fierce look, and Gloam decided to leave them to it.

“I’ll go see if Hue found that soup or not,” he said, trying not to smile, and began to leave the room.

“Wait, make sure nobody else comes in here,” Era rasped before he could go, grabbing Gloam’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. He gave him a serious look, and Gloam paused. “We don’t need it spreading. Keep Cloud out especially, you know h-how—”

He broke into a coughing fit again, and Gloam pulled his blanket back up around him, Sprite giving the knight a thinly-veiled look of worry.

“We’ll try and keep everyone out, calm down,” Gloam assured. “We’re serious though, obviously you need more rest. At least try and go back to sleep, I’ll go bring you some food in a bit.” Era didn’t reply, and Gloam left the room as Sprite rummaged in his pouch, already wondering how he was going to keep all the other Links out.

The sound of an ocarina followed him down the stairs, the slow notes of a lullaby ringing softly through the inn.

[mazegays]

could've followed my fears all the way down

Chapter 14

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15

Frypan’s made some bread, fruit, and egg dishes that seem like they should be for breakfast, but it looks and smells good, so Thomas isn’t going to complain.

He knocks before he opens the door. It takes him a minute to actually look at the two of them, because he’s setting everything up, but when he does he sees they’ve got the beds pushed together.

It wasn’t like that this morning.

Or any other morning.

Minho’s asleep, or at least he looks it— Thomas knows that he tends to stay awake for a long time after nightmares.

Gally is more alert, taking his food with a nod. Thomas’s usual chair is off to one side, and he taps Minho lightly to wake him up before retreating to it. Minho tries to get a few bites down, but eventually just pushes the tray away and goes back to sleep.

They don’t talk over lunch like usual. Thomas wants to ask what the nightmare was about, but he doesn’t think Minho will respond well to that.

“What are you doing later?” Gally finally breaks the silence.

“Probably going back to the greenhouse. I’d go see if Frypan needed anything, but I’m not supposed to be standing a lot today.”

“Why not stay here?” Gally lowers his voice and nods to Minho. “I can’t help much, with my leg like this. He didn’t want you to worry more. And don’t say that it’s stupid, you do the same thing all the time.”

“I have to take the trays back first. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Gally shrugs one shoulder. “Well, Anya never said we couldn’t.”

“She also never said we could.” In fact, she’s been actively keeping Thomas away when they’re asleep.

“When has that ever stopped you, Thomas? Worry about the trays later, Frypan won’t need them for a while and you know it.”

“Minho doesn’t like to be trapped in.” He whispers. Neither does he, really, but he was fine last time.

Yeah, they’ve done this before, but not… here. Not in the medical cabin where Anya or Harriet or anyone, really, could come in at any time.

“So crawl over him?” Gally’s impatient. “Thomas, if you’re worried about hurting us more, don’t be. My broken leg is on the other side of where you’ll be and I don’t think you could squeeze Minho tightly enough to do anything to his ribs.”

“It’s bad today,” Thomas murmurs, studying Minho’s face. In sleep, he can’t hide what he tries to do when he’s awake. “He wanted to run so badly. He’s scared of the forest, or at least wary of it. I didn’t think it’d end up hurting him more.”

finish on ao3 or continue reading

Watching Thomas puzzle out what’s going on with Minho is fascinating. They’ve only known each other for a relatively short time— less than most people here have known each other— and Thomas can read him like an open book. He clearly doesn’t know he’s doing it, but as he’s focused on Minho, Thomas’s fingers are twitching, almost like a half-formed sign language. 

“Thomas,” Gally whispers when it’s been a minute. “It’s not your fault. Minho pushes himself too hard, always has. He likes to be certain of things, even his fears. You’re not going to hurt him.”

“What if I do, though? What if I hurt you both?” It’s said so quietly he knows he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“You haven’t been sleeping well yourself, I can tell. If Anya wants to kick you out, I’ll fight her.”

“I don’t think you’d beat her without a broken leg, Gally.” Thomas teases, but he’s carefully crawling into the middle of the bed.

He leans his head on Gally’s good thigh for lack of a third pillow, one hand stretched out behind his back to grab Minho’s arm.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see, huh?” Gally doesn’t bother trying to lay down himself— it’s too painful to move from sitting straight up to laying down by himself, and he doesn’t want Thomas to move.

“No, I know. She’ll stand there with that look on her face and you’ll give in immediately.” It surprises a loud laugh out of him, making Thomas jump.

“I think you’ve got that right, actually.”

“I know I’ve got that right.”

“Go to sleep, Thomas.” He feels awkward doing it, but he runs his hand up and down Thomas’s back lightly, trying to soothe out some of the tension.

He’s watched Thomas seize and this is what he feels weird about.

It takes Thomas longer than Minho, but he settles into a not-entirely-peaceful sleep after a while.

Knowing they’ll be there if one of them has a nightmare makes Gally feel content enough to doze off himself.

(He’ll only learn how much of a mistake that was days later.)

To his surprise, Thomas isn’t woken up by Anya or Harriet kicking him out, but by Minho flailing in his sleep.

He hasn’t had one of the lightning dreams in a while, at least that Thomas knows of.

Minho manages to catch him on the cheek, hard, and he takes a blow or two to his stomach before he’s able to catch his arms and calm him down.

“Minho, the storm is over. Do you hear thunder or rain? It’s the middle of the day, Minho, and we’re not in the Scorch. We’re in Paradise, and you’re in the medical cabin. Gally’s right on my other side, see?” Minho’s still tense, but it’s better than it was.

“Oh, shit, Thomas, I got you good.” Minho pulls one of his hands free and runs his thumb over Thomas’s cheek and jawline. “Well, you’ll match, right?”

Thomas doesn’t mention the other spots; Minho will already feel guilty enough about this.

“What was that one?” Gally asks. “I don’t think you’ve done that before, Minho.”

“The lightning storm,” Thomas answers with Minho.

“I flail every time I get it. Not so much with other nightmares.” Minho admits, looking like he’d rather not be there.

Thomas knows this stuff because he and Minho know each other’s nightmares nearly inside out; neither of them has had many of the louder, more physical nightmares around Gally, it seems.

This is one of the dreams that Minho would usually run off, but that’s not a good idea right now and he knows it.

“I’m surprised no one’s come to check on you.” Thomas says. “Isn’t Anya normally here every hour?”

“Not so much now that we’re both cleared for concussions.” Gally answers. “I’d think someone would have come looking for you.” He shrugs. Sonya likes working with him, but she doesn’t really care when he shows up, because the greenhouse work is pretty easy and not time-sensitive right now. 

“You should go before they wonder, Thomas.” Minho props himself up. “Just come back for dinner, shank.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He laughs a little.

If they’d been in the Glade longer, if he’d been there longer, what could have happened?

 Would they be like Sonya and Harriet, seemingly unbreakable and happy?

Would Thomas even be wondering about what dating Gally would be like?

Probably not.

Thomas has been in there for far too long. He went to bring them lunch, like he does every day, and this time he stayed. 

He always looks upset when he leaves. Are they making him stay?

She can’t watch the whole time, because she still has work to do, but the door opening catches her attention.

He’s got a new bruise on his face, not fully formed yet.

She knew it.

She can’t be the only one who sees it, either. She’d talk to Harriet, but Harriet’s been buddy-buddy with Minho since they got here. Sonya’s close with Thomas, but she probably won’t want to believe it.

She has to get Thomas alone and talk to him separately. It’s the only way to stop this.

His afternoon looks like it’s going to be about the same as the morning until Rosa grabs him again.

“Rosa, what’s up?” She’s a friend, sure, but normally she doesn’t act this way. They’re not the kind of friends that talk outside of a group.

“Thomas, don’t go see Minho and Gally again.” What?

“Why not?”

“This is the second time I’ve seen you with a bruise on your face after being with them! And you’ve got bruises on your arms, too.”

Right. She’d seen those the other day.

“Rosa, it’s not what it looks like.”

“That’s what everyone says.” She scoffs. “I got my memories back, I’m one of the few who did. That’s what I told my friends before my boyfriend kidnapped me and turned me over to WCKD when I was sixteen. They’re hurting you, Thomas, you don’t have to keep going back to them.”

“No, it’s really not what you think. This one is because I tripped while running. The ones on my arms, and the scratches, same thing.”

“And the second one?” Her eyes are hard. She’s not going to let this go.

“Minho was having a nightmare. It was an accident, Rosa. He’s never hurt me on purpose and he’s not going to.”

“I said that too. I don’t know what they tell you, Thomas, but this isn’t good for you. You don’t have to stay with them.”

“Rosa— ”

“Don’t tell me you love them. If they’re hurting you, they don’t love you.”

“They’re not hurting me.”

“Then why are you always so upset when you leave the cabin? Or after your runs? I see you laughing Sonya and Frypan, having fun, but you get near that cabin and you get sad.”

How long has she been watching him? How *closely* has she been watching him?

“Yes, because Gally and Minho are hurt and in pain. I don’t like seeing my friends hurt.”

“They’re not your friends, Thomas.”

She’s wrong, they are his friends. Even if he and Gally weren’t on good terms before, they’re moved past it.

“I know you and Gally hated each other, before, and I don’t know why but that’s not a reason for him to hurt you, Thomas.”

“He’s not hurting me. Neither is Minho.” She’s got him backed against a literal and metaphorical wall. Nothing he says is going to change her mind, and he can’t get away from her.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“I’m not scared. I’m fine, Rosa. Please let me go and do my work.”

“Not until you admit it!”

“Admit what? There’s nothing wrong. Minho and Gally aren’t abusing me.”

“Roll up your sleeves then. We all know WCKD took smart kids. You’re always wearing long sleeves, I’ve never seen you take your shirt off.”

Yeah, because he has *other* things he wants to hide, not because Gally and Minho have been hitting him.

Even this time last year, if someone had suggested Gally was hitting him, Thomas would have laughed.

They hadn’t liked each other, but that’s a far cry from beating the other up.

“No. I don’t have to prove anything to you. Minho and Gally *aren’t* hurting me, and you’re going to let me go.”

Has she said anything to anyone else? Not Sonya or Harriet; they would have told him. Maybe Anya? He’d like to think Anya knows them better than that.

She has been trying to keep Thomas away from the medical cabin, but that was because she didn’t want him there all day.

Right?

“Hey, Rosa! You found Thomas for me! Let’s go, we’ve got strawberries to pick.”

Thank you, Sonya. Rosa won’t say anything in front of here, and he’ll be able to leave.

“Thomas will have time to talk to you later. He’s got to work now.”

“And I’m bringing Minho and Gally dinner later.” Thomas winces internally when Rosa’s eyes narrow.

That was the wrong thing to say.

“Okay, Thomas, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Rosa.”

“I didn’t think you two were close.”

“We’re not. She was just wondering about something.” Rosa won’t be able to see them in the greenhouse.

“You looked pretty cornered.”

“It was an intense conversation, she hardly let me get a word in.” He should tell her.

He wants to see what Rosa does next, though. If she tries to corner him again or if she tells someone else.

Telling anyone else will probably get her laughed at. There’s hardly anyone who will believe her. Rosa has to know that.

Maybe that’s why she’s so insistent. That’s why she’s been watching him so closely.

He’s just going to have to be more careful from now on. <- 13 15 ->