#taken out back and shot to be perfectly honest

[finniestoncrane]

playing an unrelated game, watching an unrelated show, letting out a deep sigh and dreamily saying "oh mr micah bell" for no other reason than he lives in my head and i am always thinking about him ;-;

[becomingmina]

Favourite time and place to eat you out - SKZ maknae line. 18+only mdni

Filth lmao

Maknae line:

Han/Han Jisung: Before he goes on stage. Dressing room.

Idk Han just screams horny 24/7.

“Need my good luck charm,” he spins you around into the dressing room after kicking Felix and Seungmin out.

“You going to be good and cum for me before I go out?” He asks pulling your hand towards the couch. All you can do is skip in with him nodding.

He lies back on the couch then pull you to sit on his face, your skirt covering his features. He chuckles then flip your skirt up, moving your panties to the side.

“You’re always so good wearing a skirt to my music shows,” his tongue swipes up and down your folds. The contact making you shiver, you start to grind on his face, hands gripping his wavy brown locks in return.

“Y/n, you wanna be even more good for me next time and not wear panties at all?” He grips your thighs as he starts make out with your pussy, his nose nudging your little bundle of nerve. He loves the way you try to conceal your moans in a setting like this. And although it makes him very needy himself he has to toughen up to go on stage hard, because he knows you’ll return the favour when he comes back.

Felix/Lee Yongbok: After movie night on the couch.

“You reckon the girl should have picked the other guy?” Felix says as he starts to press kisses to your neck.

It’s always like this. When the credit scene starts rolling after a movie on Friday night, Felix would start to shower your body with kisses then his fingers would make their way into your panties, feeling how sticky and wet you are for him. You loved it though, and to be very honest when it’s your time to pick a movie, you would research for one that is erotic or has explicit sex scenes just to get the both of you riled up.

“So wet for me already baby,” he teases. “You must’ve been waiting such a long time for the movie to end hey?” Felix continues to spread your arousal around then pops his fingers in his mouth.

“Need to eat you, I won’t let you wait any longer,” he says before sucking your clit. Felix loves how tired and drained you are on a Friday night, love the way you’re perfectly still with your legs spread for him as you eats you out like it’s his last meal. This would go on for hours.

Kim Seungmin: Before sex. Only when you’re both in bed.

Kim Seungmin doesn’t like quickies. He only would eat you out before you guys have sex. Don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t like it. He loves to eat you. He becomes vicious and he just gets so horny from it which always leads to him dicking you down. And he wants to be in the comfort of his own room for that. You would have to cum atleast twice from it before he even thinks about letting you have his cum.

“Give me one more then I can give you my dick,” Seungmin prefers to suck your clit as he finds its makes you go a little bit more dumb for him.

“You haven’t cum enough for me to slide in,” he taunts knowing damn well you’re nearly at your limit and his dick is straining against his pants desperate to be taken care of.

“One more Y/n, you can do it,” all you do is groan at him as your hips lift off the bed into his face, your third orgasm builds up.

“Minnie, please,”

I.N/Yang Jeongin: After he cums in you, any where.

“Too- too much,” you whimper under Jeongin as he laps up the juices and his cum pouring out of your cunt.

“Stay still for me noona,” Jeongin murmured between his kitten licks and sucks.

Jeongin loves to eat you out after he cums in you. He finds it quite intimate to eat his cum out of you and he just thinks you’re super cute when you squirm for him to stop but your hands grip his hair to keep him in place.

If you’re both in bed, his large hands would keep your hips flat on the bed while his tongue dives deep wanting to collect all the semen he shot out just minutes before.

If you two had settle for a quickie, oh god he would have you pressed up against the wall as he kneels down with tongue out waiting patiently under your cunt for his cum to drip out.

Hyung line here.

[finisnihil]

2.2 Sunday analysis spoilers ahead

I think a scene that perfectly sums up the Dreammaster and his relationship with Sunday is the one where he’s breaking the news to Sunday that Robin was shot.

Sunday has just appointed head of the Oak Family, given a position of upmost power. The Dreammaster leads in by giving Sunday Robin’s letter and then he innocently asks if she mentioned a stray bullet. A stray bullet? Why would she mention a stray bullet? Robin is safe and happy, wherever could she run into a stray bullet?

Well, a war broke out on that planet she sought it out because of it. For the sake of the Harmony and saving lives… she went to the front lines. You know, where stray bullets tend to shoot down innocent birds?

Well, holy shit, is she okay? Of course I mean it only struck her neck directly but I guess because she is doing such glorious deeds Xipe saw fit let her sing a while longer still. You should write to her- oh no, you stupid boy, only after you finish your pressing work now that you're head, hm?

Let's break down the interaction, shall we?

Firstly, this show was meant to sever Sunday's trust in Robin and isolate him. Robin is the person Sunday cares about the most, his life is but a tool to maintain her happiness and he's not quiet about the fact he'd chose Robin over the Family. When Robin didn't want to sing for Ena in the final plan, Sunday betrays the Dreammaster by taking her place as the sacrificial lamb instead. Point being, Robin is Sunday's only real support system and his only access to something that hasn't been rotted by the Family's corruption. The Dreammaster starts the conversation by highlighting how Robin withholds information from Sunday. She didn't mention getting shot, she didn't mention going to a planet because of war, she didn't mention anything. She isn't telling Sunday when she's in danger. Sunday is already terrified of the world around him, of how bleeding hearts like his sister's and his suffer for their kindness. The Dreammaster going about things this way instills a layer of distrust, Sunday can't trust Robin to be honest with him, he can't trust Robin to be safe, he can’t trust her to trust him. Thus, Robin is taken out of the equation and Sunday is alone with only the Dreammaster in his ear.

Next, we drill in a blame of the Harmony. Robin serves the Harmony like a good child of Xipe but it's precisely that which put her in harm's way. Would she have gone into that situation if not for the ideals of the Harmony? The Dreammaster twists this logic in Sunday's head, whispering it was the Harmony that got his sister shot and mockingly noting that maybe the only reason Robin wasn't dead from it was because she served Xipe so well; he implies that if she failed to meet that nonexistent standard next time, maybe Xipe will let Robin die. Sunday can't trust Xipe to protect Robin because it was Xipe's will that almost killed her. Now he's more vulnerable for the ideals of Order to sing their claws in.

Finally, Sunday's lack of control is emphasized. Sunday has just been appointed Oak Family Head but he still has no control over anything. He can't act out of line because those who supported him may stop and if he fails to uphold the pristine image of the Family there will be hell to pay. Still, I think the most sinister thing about his lack of control is seen when the Dreammaster stresses that Sunday can only write back to Robin after he has finished his "outstanding tasks". He was just coldly told the person he cares most about in the world was almost killed without her deigning to inform him, and he can't even talk about it with her and make sure she's okay until he does his paperwork. The position of Family head is nothing but a formality and it isn't enough to save Robin, it isn't enough to save anyone. Sunday has never been in control so maybe... He should create a world where he has it through Order.

In the credits we see the Dreammaster refered to as "Sunday's Servant" but it's obvious the Dreammaster was the one who manipulated and pushed Sunday to this point, intensifying his trauma and pushing Robin out so he could be the only whisper in Sunday's ear, so he could warp Sunday to be the vessel of Order he wants from him.

This entire scene would have gone so much differently if the Dreammaster actually cared about Sunday but we can tell he doesn't. From the start Sunday has been a bleeding heart that bleeds more heavily every time he tries to alleviate suffering. He's trapped in the cage of Penacony and has come to think the buildup of broken dreams and pain he's exposed to is the way of the entire universe. Robin escaped but Sunday can't.

Sunday is ultimately responsible for everything he did but you can't ignore that the path he took to get here reeks of the Dreammaster's malicious influence. Gallagher notes Sunday is just like Misha in a lot of ways and I think that's why the Dreammaster honed in on him so intensely. Sunday had the potential to ruin everything if he took the path Robin and Misha did so he had to have his wings clipped and taught to think a cage means love, that Order is the way, not Harmony.

It's genuinely such a good sequence, the tension of it all makes it work so well. The fact that Sunday is haunted by it and that the Dreammaster so successfully got into his head without him really noticing. He basically did what Aventurine bragged about doing, exploiting Robin's suffering to hit Sunday where he's soft. The Dreammaster functionally set up a bomb and coaxed Sunday into being the one to set it off.

Sunday is a wonderfully written antagonist, but the Dreammaster is a wonderfully written villain.

[yournecessaryevil]

☆These Games We Play☆

🖤 CHRIS MOTIONLESS X READER ONESHOT 🖤

Summer has officially started, and to kick off the season before their tour, Ricky's decided to throw a party for you and the guys at his place. But you decide to test Chris's patience halfway through the party, and... he isn't having any of it. Then again, maybe that'll work in your favor...

• NSFW; Daddy kink; adult themes (Dom/Sub relationship); fluff; language

☠️ TAGLIST: @synthetic-wasp-570 @darigyu @veroxbarnes @nixwolfe

Summer.

It was the one season people looked forward to the most, a season holding the promise of adventure and other good things to come.

And oh, were there ever so many good things to come for you this time of year. You were getting ready to embark on yet another tour with your boyfriend and his bandmates, and this was sure to be the best one, yet.

But that time wouldn't arrive for at least another two weeks, so to kick off the season (and to give you and everyone else a chance to unwind and take some time off), Ricky had decided to host a backyard gathering at his place.

You had immediately taken a liking to the idea; a break from the stress of touring was much needed, not just for you. Everyone had been rather on edge lately, despite the good show they were all putting on to hide it.

No, today would be a day to just relax, unwind, and share some good laughs... and maybe something else, too. You and Chris were as close as ever, but lately you'd been feeling rather... neglected, if you were being perfectly honest. You knew he couldn't help it, his music was one of the most important things to him, it was what drove him, he needed it.

But lately, you'd been really needing him.

The two of you had a rather unconventional relationship when it came to the bedroom. He had a bit of a dominant streak, not that you minded, of course. You yourself were known to be kind of a brat both in and out of the sheets, something that drove him utterly crazy in all the right ways.

He knew (most of the time) how to tame your inner brat, he'd proven this to you on more than one occasion. It was one of the many things you loved most about him, the way he always knew how to leave you both satisfied and wanting more, all at once.

And it was that very thing you'd been craving all week from him.

So today, you had a plan.

Was it a good one? In retrospect, probably not. Would it get you in trouble with him? Most definitely. But was that exactly what you wanted? Fuck, yes.

It wasn't even a want, at this point.

No, it was a fucking need.

So today you were going to see just how far you could push him, before that dominant side of his would come out to play, before he'd snap and give you exactly what it was you needed: Chris putting you in your fucking place.

A slight grin turned up the corners of your mouth as you snuck a glance over at the empty driver's seat, your mind running through all sorts of scenarios as to how today would go for you. He had no idea, the poor guy...

Leaning over, you laid on the horn for a few seconds, until you saw Chris emerge from the house you two shared, your boyfriend giving you a raised eyebrow as he got into the car. "Someone's impatient today," he teased you, turning the key in the ignition.

You stuck your tongue out at him, unable to hide your grin. "Not my fault you walk slow, old man," you shot back. That earned you a look from him, the look, in fact. It was the look that was a warning, a threat, and a promise all rolled into one.

"Do not be a brat today. I mean that, Y/N. I want you on your best behavior while we're at Ricky's party. Play nice, or it's gonna be a long fucking night for you," Chris warned you, as he pulled the car out of the front driveway.

Ha, you knew that side of him would eventually come out to play! Although, you were more than a little surprised by how quickly it had happened. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment to hide your grin before you reached across the center console, resting your hand atop Chris's.

"No promises," you teased him.

You could practically feel the look he gave you then, and you had to try your hardest to hold back your laugh as the two of you drove out to Ricky's place. Today was going to be something else, that was for damn sure...

"Two more weeks, man. And then we leave."

Chris's answering groan brought a smile to your lips as you sat there by the edge of the pool, your shoes off and feet buried in the water.

"Come on, dude, I don't want to think about that right now," he answered with a shake of his head. Ricky shot him a grin, raising one eyebrow. "Sick of tour life already, are we?" he asked.

"No, see, if that was the case, I'd be like 'Who are you and what have you done with the real Chris?'" you interjected with a grin of your own. Laughter rang out from around the pool, and you winked at Chris, his answering smile creating a sense of warmth in you, a feeling completely different than the warmth brought on by the sun beating down on you all.

He shrugged, running one hand through his blonde hair. "I don't know, I mean, don't get me wrong here. I'm beyond thrilled to be doing another tour with you guys, but... two weeks. That's gonna come fast," he said.

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped unbidden from your mouth at that moment. Apparently you weren't the only one; both Vinny and Ricky snickered from across the pool as soon as they got the joke, each of them exchanging a furtive look with you.

Chris shot you a questioning look, and a slow grin spread across your face as you quickly raised both eyebrows at him. "You know what else is gonna come fast?" you began, exchanging another sly glance with the boys before your gaze slid back to Chris.

In that moment, it must've finally clicked for him, because he gave you a warning look, similar to the one he'd given you in the car.

"Y/N..." he started, raising one dark eyebrow at you. His eyes remained locked on yours, but the longer you stared back, the more you noticed certain things, little things.

One corner of his mouth twitched up briefly, like he was fighting back a smirk, as he continued to stare at you. Oh, so he had found it funny, though, hadn't he? Your grin widened a little as you scooted closer to him, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

"I bet you can make me come fast."

The timing couldn't have been better; you leaned back just in time to see Chris's mouth fall open in shock, those brown eyes widening, a barely audible gasp the only thing being heard above the faint music drifting over from the small portable speaker by the pool.

"What? What'd she say?"

"Dude, what did she tell you?"

The guys' questions went ignored as Chris sat there, stunned and speechless for a moment. He wasn't the only one; a quick glance around the edge of the pool showed you that every single one of his bandmates was watching, waiting to see what Chris's next move would be... or what your next move would be.

"You did not just go there, not here, at Ricky's-?" Chris started, trailing off for a second.

"Y/N, you-" he began again, but like before, he stopped mid-sentence.

"Damn, Y/N, I think you broke him," Justin suddenly spoke up, trying not to laugh.

"Dude, he's fucking speechless!" Vinny laughed.

"What did you say to him?" he added with a grin, raising a brow at you.

You grinned back at him, shrugging.

"Ask Chris," you answered, sneaking another glance at the man in question beside you.

He was still staring at you, but now there was a hint of something darker in those brown eyes of his.

"Say it again, I'm gonna toss you in the pool," he warned you. And yet, despite the warning, there was that same hint of a smirk from before.

"Go ahead, I'll pull you in with me," you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him with a cheeky little grin.

One dark eyebrow arched up, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear this time.

"At least then you'll already be wet for me."

Now it was your turn to be rendered speechless for the moment.

Chris leaned back with a satisfied smile, looking all too pleased with himself.

Shooting you a wink, he got up from the edge of the pool, nodding over at Ryan.

"I need to go help him with food prep, do me a favor and behave, Y/N," he told you.

You were still too stunned to speak, merely nodding in response and watching him walk away.

Game fucking set and match on his end, then. You'd have to get a bit more creative...

Ricky's laugh broke through your thoughts, as he sat down next to you.

"Sounds like someone's in trouble," he teased you, lightly nudging you with his shoulder. You snuck a glance behind you, watching Chris, unable to help the soft smile that made its way onto your face.

There was just something about the way he moved, gods, you could watch him all day.

And then he happened to look up at that exact second, his eyes meeting yours. A slow smile spread across his face, and he winked at you before going back to helping Ryan with getting lunch prepped for the day.

Turning back around, you nudged Ricky with your shoulder. "Hey, don't tell him this, but... I've been kind of a brat today because I'm actually sort of hoping he'll reach his breaking point and... you know," you told him.

He grinned, casting a quick glance in Chris's direction before his eyes met yours again.

"Ah. Yeah, no, I get it. We've been kind of busy with touring and I know you guys haven't exactly had any time to be alone together," he started, an awkward little smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"I mean, I will say this: if things do work out for you today, I've got the extra guest room you guys can use, just so you know. Just... clean up when you're done," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Also, if you really wanna get him to his breaking point quick, let me know, I'll gladly help you out," he grinned. You were unable to keep from laughing at that, the sound drawing Chris and Ryan's attention.

"What're you Girl Scouts laughing about over there?" Ryan asked. His question only made you laugh a little harder, you and Ricky exchanging a furtive look with each other.

"You gonna?" he asked in a voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grinned in response, merely nudging him in the side and nodding in Chris's direction.

Getting up from the edge of the pool, you turned to face Chris, your heart racing with anticipation of what you were about to do.

"Eyyo, Christopher! Lemme get that dick!" you called out, heat flooding your cheeks as you waited for his reaction.

And oh, was it ever the reaction you were hoping for.

He turned around to face you, his mouth open, eyes wide, and brows raised to the fullest extent.

"What did you just say??"

He took a warning step towards you, giving you that look you loved so much, his head tilted ever so slightly to the right.

But you weren't going to let him rattle you that easily. No, you were going to see this through.

"I mean, I can say it again if you'd like?" you answered, biting back a grin. He took another step forward, that warning look still in place. Silence once again settled over the group, the only sound being that of the music streaming softly from the speaker by the pool.

Your gaze shifted to land on Ricky; he was watching the two of you with a poorly concealed grin on his face, and when his eyes met yours, his smile only grew wider, like he was on the verge of laughing.

"Y/N."

Immediately, you glanced back at Chris, your eyes widening when you noticed he'd gotten more than a step or two closer to you still.

"First of all, wildly out of line of you to ask me that, here in front of the guys. And secondly... excuse the ever loving fuck out of you, that's not how you ask me, now try again," Chris spoke firmly, his eyes never wavering from yours.

You started to sneak a glance over at Ricky again, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chris shake his head at you.

"No, don't look at him, he's not gonna help you. You wanted to start this little game of yours, now you're gonna finish it," he said. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind.

"Oh, I'll definitely be able to finish, will you?" you grinned, waiting for his reaction.

Someone laughed, and Chris shot them a sideways glance, before those brown eyes met yours again. "That's one. Try again," he said, his voice dangerously low and smooth.

You bit your lip in anticipation, mentally weighing your options here.

On the one hand, if you played this his way, there was no guarantee that you would get what you wanted, what you needed. But on the other hand, if you played this your way... well, there was still no guarantee of that, either.

You supposed you'd just have to fuck around and find out, then.

"Er, um... may I please get that dick?" you repeated your earlier request, albeit a little more politely this time around.

The expression on Chris's face seemed to soften, and he took another step towards you. "There, see? Now wasn't that a much better way of asking me?" he said softly.

"Pfft, no," you answered, before you could stop yourself.

Almost immediately, both eyebrows were raised again, before he narrowed his eyes at you, though you could swear you saw him smirk for the briefest of seconds.

But then with three more steps, he was suddenly in front of you, picking you up and holding you over one shoulder, like one would with a disobedient child.

"That's two. You're done," you heard Chris say.

Your mouth fell open in protest, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him as best as you could.

"Wait, what happened to three?? You know, three strikes and you're out?? You don't play fair, Cerulli!" you protested.

"Nope, you're done. And I don't want to hear it, you don't exactly play fair either, Y/N," he answered.

You could hear the slight amusement in his voice, could practically see the smirk on his face, at this point.

Ricky laughed, getting up from the edge of the pool. "Tour update: Y/N is a brat, and Chris... is not having it," he teased.

"Yeah, not helpful, Olson," you heard Chris say, but even he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "You wanna finish helping Ryan out for me? I've got a brat I need to take care of," he added.

Ricky nodded, and you heard Vinny laugh from where he was sitting by the edge of the pool. "Ooh, you're in trouble!" he called out, grinning.

A few catcalls and laughs ensued from the rest of the group as Chris began heading towards the house, still carrying you rather unceremoniously over one shoulder.

As soon as the two of you were in the house and out of earshot of the others, Chris set you down, a dark look now present in those warm and (usually) gentle brown eyes.

"You wanna explain to me why you're being such a little brat for me today, Y/N?" he asked, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.

Ooh, did he really want the honesty? Or was it perhaps better not to clue him in? To be fair, you were already this far, it wouldn't make sense to back out now, right?

Biting back a smirk, you shrugged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I've been so mild today," you said, trying to remain casual.

On the inside, you were a mess. He was reaching his breaking point, you could feel it.

Just a little more...

"Besides, if I'm such a brat, why don't you do something about it?" you sassed him.

Something in his gaze hardened; this was it...

"Yeah, you know what, I think I will. Bedroom. Now. Go," Chris answered, voice firm.

Ha, this was it, finally...!

You stood your ground, waiting.

And he promptly picked you up, putting you over one shoulder again and carrying you down the hall, towards the guest bedroom Ricky had told you about earlier.

He tossed you down onto the bed, not giving you any time to catch your breath before he was leaning over you, quickly pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other curling gently around your throat.

"You gonna behave now?" he asked, his voice low and face mere inches from yours.

You stared back at him, your gaze rather defiant as you shook your head at him.

"Mm. Wrong answer, Y/N," Chris breathed.

He closed the distance between the two of you, his mouth finding yours in an instant, all tongue and teeth and dark seduction, the promise of being left unable to walk lingering behind every rough kiss he pressed to your lips.

A groan slipped unbidden from your throat, and you heard him groan in response, his mouth moving urgently against your own. "Mm, safeword?" he breathed out, in between harsh kisses. "Porcelain," you breathed back, earning a hum of approval from Chris.

"Good girl," he muttered, his words sending a chill down your spine. His grip on your throat tightened briefly before he let go, pulling back to admire the way you were still pinned beneath him.

"Fuck, I've missed seeing you like this," he sighed, running his free hand through his blonde hair. The hint of a smirk rested on that perfect mouth of his, a mouth that was as sinful and dirty as it was pretty.

Releasing your wrists, he stood up, staring down at you with that familiar look in his eyes.

You knew that look, it was only the same one he'd worn in the countless scenes you two had done together since you'd learned of his dominant side.

Fuck, did you love his dominant side...

"Stay still. We're gonna play a game, you and me. You're not allowed to move, you're not allowed to make a single fucking sound. Understand?" he said.

The minute you opened your mouth to answer him, he raised a brow at you.

"I mean it. Not a sound. Trust me, you make the prettiest fucking noises for me, but that's just it: they're for me. Not my bandmates. Got it?" he asked. You nodded, earning an approving little pat on the head from him.

"Better, that's my good girl," he murmured.

With that, he leaned down, leaving little kisses along the exposed skin of your throat, finding your sweet spot so easily. It took everything in you to hold back your moan, the noise instead escaping as a barely audible whimper.

And yet, Chris still heard it.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to give you a warning look, before leaning down again, marking up that sweet spot at the base of your throat. "Better be quiet..." he warned you, in between kisses.

You were trying, honestly! He was making it ever so difficult, though. One more kiss here, one more kiss there... fuck, he really wanted you to suffer, didn't he?

Another small whimper slipped free from your mouth, and you could both see and feel the smile that briefly turned up the corners of his mouth as Chris glanced up at you again.

"Do I need to gag you? Is that what you want?" he asked. You shook your head at him, and he raised an eyebrow at you. "Then I need you to stop, and be quiet for me. Be a good girl, or you lose the game. Understand?" he said.

You nodded, Chris's answering smile of approval bringing a smile of your own to your face. "Up, now. I want this off," he told you, tugging on the hem of your shirt. You did as you were told, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. "Everything?" you asked, biting back another smile as you let the shirt fall to the floor.

"Everything, everything. All of it," came Chris's answer, his voice trailing off as he watched you undress for him. But when you went to undo the ties at the sides of your swim bottoms, he shook his head at you. "No. Down," he ordered you.

Lying back against the bed for him, you watched with baited breath, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he leaned down and took the ties between his teeth, tugging them free. Fuck, that had to be the hottest thing you'd seen him do all day...!

He did the same thing to the ties on the other side before standing up again, his hands making quick work of discarding your swim bottoms, casting them aside. You now lay exposed before him, every inch of you waiting to be ravished and ruined by him, just like you wanted, like you needed.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath, staring down at you in awe, like a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. "So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. His touch was no less gentle than it had been earlier; he wanted this just as much as you did, he needed this too.

"Chris," you moaned his name, reaching down to grasp the hem of his shirt, but he stopped you before you could get any further than that. "Mm, no, Y/N, I thought I told you not to move," he murmured, breaking the kiss to stare down at you, those warm brown eyes holding you captive and scorching your very soul alive.

"But I want to touch-" you started. He shook his head at you, a hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "Only good girls get to touch," he answered. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his voice low and full of amusement.

"And you haven't been a good girl for me today, have you, baby?"

Before you could stop yourself, you shook your head no, staring up at him with wide eyes. Gods, he already had you tiptoeing the line into subspace for him. Fuck, he was good...

You watched as he stripped himself of his shirt, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the inked up expanse of his bare skin. You wanted him so bad, you wanted to run your fingers over his ink, trace every line, every curve, you wanted to taste him, you needed him so fucking bad...!

A whine escaped unbidden from your throat, earning you a chuckle from Chris. "Aw, my sweet girl's all pent up, isn't she?" he teased you, before finally ridding himself of his swim trunks. You sucked in a rattling gasp, nodding frantically as he leaned over you, kissing up the side of your throat, eventually finding the spot below your right ear.

"It's too bad she's been a brat all day," he whispered in your ear, his words only working to pull another whine from the back of your throat. "Shh, lucky for you, I'm not mean enough to just leave you like this," he added, leaning back to look down at you, his gaze softening.

"But," he added with a grin, "I'm also not gonna sit here and just give you what you want, not that easily." Leaning forward again until his face was inches from yours, he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"You want this dick so bad, Daddy's gonna make you fucking work for it," he told you. His words sent a hot spike of arousal straight to your core, where you needed him the most, and it took every ounce of whatever self control you had left to not sink all the way into subspace for him.

"Oh, but it'd be so easy!" your inner thoughts protested, pleaded, even.

Fuck it.

You stared up at him, your gaze locked with his. Chris knew, too. He knew in that moment, he had you exactly where he wanted you. Fucking checkmate, right?

"You gonna be a good little whore for me, Y/N?" he asked, staring down at you. Fuuu- if he kept talking like that, you wouldn't last long around him. You nodded, too stunned and too far gone to speak properly.

Not that he minded, of course. No, he was in full Dom mode, he knew exactly how much power he held over you right now. "That's my good girl," he muttered, before reaching out and tapping you twice on your inner thigh.

"Up, I want you on your knees. Now," he told you. You complied ever so easily, the prospect of you getting what you want lingering around the corner, just out of your reach. He wanted you to be a good little whore for him, you could do that, no problem...

You knew what he wanted without him even having to ask, you two had done this dance many, many times before. That, and he was making it ever so obvious; he was already so aroused and so hard for you. Kneeling down, you took him easily into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat.

Fuck, you could already taste him, you'd missed this so much. The minute you had your hot little mouth wrapped around his dick, Chris released the dirtiest, ungodliest of moans, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head, his fingers winding themselves through your hair and holding you in place.

"Fuck, good girl, fuck, just... just like that," he groaned, watching you go down on him, take him, every fucking inch, all the way to the back of your throat-- fuck, you were doing so good for him-!

He watched with a mix of arousal and awe, his grip on the back of your head tightening slightly, his hips rising ever so carefully to meet you halfway. Brown eyes widened, Chris's head falling back as you moaned around him, an echoed groan of his own filling the hushed silence of the room.

Holy- how the fuck could you take him as deeply as you were?? Then again, he wasn't sure why this should surprise him, you'd always done so well for him, more than deserving of any and every ounce of praise he'd ever given you.

"There we go, good... fuck, good girl," Chris panted softly, every exhaled breath trembling on his tongue. "Not such a brat now, are we?" he added with a breathless laugh. You paused a moment, lifting your head to meet his gaze, making a face at him and baring your teeth.

He smirked, trying hard to hide his laughter. "Aw, little kitten thinks she's so tough. But look at her, such a pretty baby, kept all quiet with her mouth around my dick," he cooed at you. God, the filthiest things that could come out of this man's mouth-!

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, your blood pounding a frantic staccato within your veins, Chris's words echoing in the forefront of your mind. You gave him your best doe-eyed expression, watching intently as his own expression shifted, his grin faltering as the cracks started appearing in his calm facade.

In the few beats of silence that followed, you could hear the sharp hiss of breath escaping his lungs, his eyes locked intently on yours. The minutes seemed to tick by before he finally spoke, his voice trembling and his words seeming to stumble over each other in their haste to get out.

"D-don't... don't do that, don't look at me like that, kitten..." he pleaded with you in a breathless whisper.

Ha... who was in control of who, again?

A smirk playing at the edges of your mouth, you cast your eyes downward again, your hands moving up to grip the tops of his thighs, fingers digging in as you pulled him in deeper once more, a low groan rising up from the back of your throat.

Any further pleas Chris may have had for you died out on his tongue, another sharp exhale hissing from between his teeth as he watched you, his entire being held wholly and utterly spellbound by your every fucking move.

You could feel his grip on your hair loosen, his hand falling to rest at his side, his self-control starting to slip ever so much further with every touch of your hands, your tongue. You could tell the moment he was close, his fingers tensing and gripping tightly at the bedspread beneath him, his hips rising to meet you halfway.

"F-fuck, Y/N-!"

The way your name left his mouth, spoken like a swear word, like a sort of forbidden oath--

You were completely done for after that, all self-control you may have had, just... gone.

You only had the briefest of warnings from him, before he was coming undone for you, the taste and feel of him heavy on your tongue and in the back of your throat, as sweet and addictive as novocain...

He was your drug, your fix.

And you doubted you'd ever be able to get enough of him.

His climax easily added fuel to the fire of your own, but you knew better. If you came now, that was it, game over. You knew how he was as a Dom, he'd make you wait...

Holding back a groan, you let your eyes drift upwards, meeting his. "Don't swallow yet, baby, I wanna see," he told you, head falling back as he tried to catch his breath, one hand rising to run through his hair.

You slowly pulled back, releasing him from your mouth as you sat up on your knees for him, waiting patiently and trying your hardest not to swallow. His composure regained and that smooth, calm facade back in place once more, Chris reached out with one hand to gently grab you by the chin as he leaned forward, his gaze intent on yours.

"Open up, pretty little brat, let me see..." he breathed.

Eyes wide, you nodded, easily giving in to his demands, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out for him, putting on full display the mess he had created for you.

Chris stared back at you in awe, taking note of the way his cum dripped from the tip of your tongue, spilling down your chin, your throat, his hand...

"Look at that, look at you, you beautiful, messy little girl," he whispered, pride in his voice, his brown eyes softening as he smiled down at you.

Ah, and there it was... that feeling you always craved, the part you most looked forward to whenever you two did this together.

The way he would give you praise, it was indescribable. He wouldn't just praise you for the sake of doing it, no, oh no. He would go so much further than that, always.

He had a certain way of making you feel so completely special, like everything about you mattered, everything about what you did and who you were just mattered.

Because to him, it did matter. You did.

The softest of whimpers left your mouth, your gaze held captive by his own.

This was one of the parts Chris secretly loved too, seeing you like this, so soft and sweet and pure for him... even though he knew better, you both did.

The moments where you were so open for him like this were incredibly rare, this show of vulnerability was something only he got to see.

Another small noise left your open mouth, regaining his attention. "Shh, I know, baby. Swallow for me, every last drop," he spoke softly, leaning forward to kiss you gently on the forehead.

You did as you were told, swallowing the taste of him, a bittersweet feeling of emptiness lingering behind afterwards. That was the part you hated, no longer being able to taste him, to feel him on your tongue, in the back of your throat.

But Chris knew the feeling just as much as you did, he always knew.

With the softest of touches, he used his thumb to clean up what was left, pushing lightly at your lips, watching as you eagerly opened up for him, taking him into your mouth, indulging in what remained of the taste of him.

Releasing his thumb from your mouth with the smallest of bites, you sat back on your heels, staring up at him with those doe eyes. He smiled back at you, reaching out to stroke the side of your face.

"Such a good girl for me, you did so good. Here, come here, pretty baby," he cooed, beckoning you to him. You climbed up into his lap, one leg on either side of him as you wrapped your arms around him, holding on to him like he was your only lifeline.

"Let me take care of you, Y/N, give you what you need," he whispered in your ear, drawing you close to him. You only too easily complied, letting him have full control, slipping as far into subspace as he could get you to go.

He entered you slowly, wanting you to feel every fucking inch of him, down to the last. Unified groans echoed through the quiet of the room, his fingers digging in to the velvet softness of your hips, clutching you to him like he was going to lose you.

Only he wasn't; you were his as much as he was yours, you were here to stay...

His name left your mouth, a hushed plea for him, all of him, everything he could ever give you.

"Shh, I know, I'm here, m'gonna make you feel so good..." came Chris's muffled reply, his face buried against the side of your neck as he placed soft, slow, open-mouthed kisses along the skin there.

You let your head fall back, eyes closing and lips parting in a silent groan, fingertips brushing along Chris's back, nails digging in ever so slightly to leave tiny half-moons patterned over the surface of the skin.

His breath left him in a quiet hiss, one of his hands moving up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close to him as he left deep kisses along the exposed skin of your throat, leaving his mark on you, taking claim to what was his.

A bit ironic, wasn't it? He'd always told you purple was a good color on you...

The sweetest of noises left your mouth for him to hear, drawing out a mirrored echo of his own, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting softly at your shoulder.

Fuck, he didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of you, even as close as he was to you in this moment, right here and now...!

He wanted you in every way he could have you, he had every fucking intention of it, you'd asked him so nicely before, hadn't you?

Sure, you'd also been kind of a brat and gotten him entirely too riled up all day, but-- wait. Was that why you-? Is this what you had been after the entire time, what you had craved so badly from him-??

A low groan slipped free from his throat as he bit at your shoulder again, before soothing the bite with the gentlest of kisses. His fingers dug into you as his hips rose to meet yours, pushing him deeper into you than he'd ever been, than he could ever hope to be.

The softly exhaled swear word that left your mouth at the miniscule movement was enough to make him slip up and smile, a quiet laugh rising from his throat.

"Is this what you were after, huh, baby? Is this what you've been wanting, why you were such a brat for me earlier, hmm?" he breathed, thrusting up into you and earning another whispered expletive from you.

You were too far gone, too far entrapped by him to be able to answer properly. A mere nod was all you could manage, your head falling forward so you could bury your face against the side of his neck, choking out your soft moans.

"You poor, sweet baby, all you had to do was tell me that you needed to be fucked, you didn't have to be a brat to get my attention..." Chris said softly, trying not to laugh.

"I ddnt knw cld..." came your muffled reply.

"Hmm?" Chris breathed, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

"I didn't know I could," you reiterated softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Chris's answering laugh caused the heat to flood your cheeks again, as you blushed.

"Y/N, sweetheart... you know you can ask me anything, yeah? Mm, you've got to tell me if I'm not giving you enough attention," he answered, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek, your chin, down towards your throat, your shoulders.

"Doesn't matter if I'm with the guys, if you need me, pull me aside and let me know you need some time away..." he added, brushing soft kisses along your collarbones. "I'm sure they'll understand, at least half of them know what it's like," he continued in a murmur, dotting more featherlight kisses along your skin.

"What what's like?" you gasped softly, head falling back again as Chris's hips rose to meet yours in another particularly deep thrust. He had to choke back a groan before he was able to answer you, his fingers flexing tightly along your hips for a moment.

"Fuck..." he groaned, eyes closing as he sat there, buried deep within you, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second.

"They know..." he breathed out, eyes reopening as he lifted his head to look at you, "they know what it's like to have a girlfriend to come home to, someone they're just so incredibly desperate, so hard up for, the entire fucking time we're on tour..."

His hand slid from the back of your head, down, down to instead grip the back of your neck, fingers flexing softly, tightening ever so gently, holding you in place as he slowly fucked you, every thrust deeper and more sensual than the last one before it.

You cried out as the waves of dark ecstasy ebbed away just at the surface, threatening to overtake you and drown you in their depths at any given moment. You were close, you were so very close, he was so good, too good, everything was too warm, too stifling, fuck-!

Chris's answering moan fell in perfect synchronicity with your own sweet sounds, creating a seductive little symphony only the two of you would ever be able to hear.

"Fuck, I know, baby, you're so close, Daddy's close too, fuck..." he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your own.

"Just a little more, hold out a little longer for me, hmm? Gonna make you feel so fucking good, fuck you so full of my cum, breed you 'til you fucking drip for me, baby..." he added, keeping up the dirtiest stream of whispered profanities against your skin, his hand tightening on the back of your neck.

"Chris, please-!"

Your begging only added fuel to the blaze growing hotter between the two of you, your desperate pleas sending him chasing after that high, right over the edge--

And you fell down with him, oh fuck, did you fall fast and hard with him--

Chris barely had time to growl out the words "Cum for me, Y/N", before you were doing just that, his name leaving your mouth in the loudest of cries. You were sure if his bandmates hadn't heard the two of you before, they would now.

But you didn't give a fuck.

You were so lost in those waves, so lost in him, to even care.

The way he held you down tightly against him, the way he was so intent on making you feel every inch of him, every drop of seed he had to give you--

It was too much, it wasn't enough, it was... it was everything--

"Fuck, Chris, fuck--!" you ground out, your breath leaving you in sharp, gasping exhales as you clung tightly to him, holding on desperately.

Your thighs trembled beneath you, and yet... you didn't drown, not completely. Chris held you as tightly as you held him, the two of you keeping one another aloft through it all, riding the high until there was nothing left to take, nothing left to give.

The inside of your head felt blissfully like radio static, as if someone had left it carelessly unattended between channels, the white noise filtering through to your brain, to your very nerve endings.

Chest heaving, breaths trembling, you collapsed against him, the weight of Chris's embrace a comforting presence as you came down from your high. Little did you know your very presence was of great comfort to him as well, the two of you guiding each other back home.

"You- I... fuck," you gasped out in a breathless whisper, unable to find the right words. But at this point, words became unnecessary, a sort of unspoken agreement forming amidst the aftermath. Chris knew, he always did...

He sat there for a while afterwards, holding you close to him, not quite ready to let you go, not just yet. If he was being honest, he felt rather selfish in that moment. It wasn't enough, he still needed you, needed to feel you, to taste you...

"Here, lie down for me, baby..." he murmured, helping you up as he slowly withdrew from you. The sharp hiss you let out at the feeling of emptiness afterwards, oh, how he hated that sound. But he'd make up for it, he'd see to it, you'd see...

The minute you were lying prone and soft for him, Chris gently parted your legs, immediately leaning down to kiss you in that most intimate of places, working with tongue and teeth to cleanse you, but fuck, the taste-!

He groaned against you, the muffled sound being unwillingly ripped from his throat, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you in place as he instead devoured you, every taste of your essence and his heavy and seductive on his tongue... he wanted more.

No, fuck that, he needed it.

And the way your fingers tangled tightly in his blonde hair, pulling harshly as he ate you out so deep, fuck-- he needed more of it, he needed all of it.

And you-!

You'd swear up and down, Chris was practically made for eating pussy, holy fuck-

It was one of the things he was particularly skilled in, the way he could have you coming unraveled at the seams for him just like that...

Fuck-!

Your thighs shook, a harsh cry tearing itself free from your parted lips as you came for him, Chris using that sinful mouth of his to fuck you through not one, but two orgasms, holy-!

You tugged harshly at his hair, his answering hiss sending a flush of heat straight through to your core, shoving you carelessly, blissfully, over the edge one last time, before Chris decided to show you mercy.

"N-no... more..." you gasped out, panting softly for him. "Safeword?" he breathed, lifting his head to stare up at you through heavy eyes, those warm brown irises scorching through to your soul.

You shook your head at him, unable to respond vocally. But much like before, words were unnecessary with the two of you. He leaned back, taking you by the hands and gently pulling you up to cradle you to his chest, hugging you tightly.

You were done, you had reached your limits.

But that was okay with him, you had done more than what he'd expected of you, much like you always did.

It was one of the things he had come to grow fond of, with the relationship you two had.

"Fuck, you did so good for me, baby. 'M'so proud of you," Chris murmured against the top of your head, his fingers tracing light circles along your back, tracing up your spine, working to bring you back down to earth, back to him.

You were much too exhausted to respond, instead settling for a soft hum of acknowledgement, your breathing eventually returning to normal as you left your high behind.

Only then did you finally take note of one minute detail that had previously escaped your notice.

The door to the guest bedroom had been left open, the entire time you and Chris had fucked.

Anybody could have walked past, could have seen you and Chris like that...

"Fuck..." you mumbled.

"Hmm?" came Chris's soft reply.

"The door. It got left open," you answered in a tired murmur.

There was a moment's silence before you and Chris both looked at each other, neither one of you suddenly able to keep from laughing.

When the laughter had died down, Chris cast a look over his shoulder at the door. "Probably a good idea to close that next time, yeah?" he remarked, turning back to grin down at you. You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the thought that one of his bandmates might have seen the two of you.

And then Chris's words clicked into place.

"Wait, next time? You mean that?" you asked softly, a hopeful look in your eyes. He nodded, smirking down at you. "You don't think I'm gonna let you get away with this twice, do you?" he teased you, leaning down to kiss you.

You grinned, shrugging as you kissed him back. "Maybe? I got you this time, didn't I?" you teased him in response. "Mm, no," he answered, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before releasing it, "no, baby. I got you."

You leaned back to pout at him, earning another laugh from him. "Alright, how about this? Truce?" he asked, holding out a hand. You eyed it dubiously for a second, before finally relenting, shaking his hand. "Alright. Truce," you agreed. "For now," you added a moment later, unable to keep from smirking.

Chris raised both brows at you, before calling you a brat. Although, judging by the faint smile on his face, you knew he didn't mean it.

And you were right, he didn't mean it. You were his good girl, you'd always been, always would be...

"I mean, you guys cleaned up in there, right? I'm not gonna find anything... questionable... later?" Ricky asked, raising an eyebrow at Chris. There was some light laughter amongst the rest of the guys, as they all sat gathered around the open, brightly blazing fire-pit.

The last rays of the dying sun had long since bled out, leaving nothing but ink and gemstones and a silver smile gracing the skies. Food had been eaten, drinks had been had, laughter had been shared, and now that things were winding down, you had ended up falling asleep in Chris's lap, your head resting on his shoulder.

Chris made a face at Ricky, earning more laughter from his bandmates. "Of course we cleaned up. Besides," he said, glancing down at your sleeping form in his lap, "I think she needed this today."

"How long had it been for you guys again?" Ryan asked, arching an eyebrow. "Too fucking long," came Chris's instant reply.

A few low catcalls and whistling ensued from some of his bandmates, earning them all an eyeroll from Chris. "Sooo... tour update: Y/N's no longer a brat?" Ricky teased, grinning.

Unable to hide his own grin, Chris shook his head, glancing down at you again and placing a soft kiss atop your head as you slept. "No... she just needed a little extra attention from me today, that's all..." he answered.

"Dude, you're so fucking soft for her," Vinny grinned. "Yeah, man, I don't think I've ever seen you like this with anybody, our fans included," Justin agreed.

Ricky snorted, casting a sideways glance at his friend. "It's cause he loves her," he said with a wink. Chris waved him off with a smile, but he knew his bandmate was right.

He did love you, more than he ever thought he could, more than he thought he deserved to. How he'd ever been lucky enough to land someone as special as you... that was still, and probably would always be, a mystery to him.

"Oh and by the way, you guys were totally loud," someone suddenly spoke up, earning another round of laughter from everybody.

"Shut up, we were not!"

A/N: I know this one was a bit of a long read, I do apologize. But for those of you who stuck around and made it all the way to the end, I want to very humbly thank you and hear what you thought of this one! (Also, if you think I should do more of these, please let me know in the comments and REBLOG! Every little bit helps! Thank you so much, fellow Creatures! 🎃

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

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He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words. 

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet. 

He can feel a headache coming on. 

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–” 

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-���

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time. 

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best? 

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour. 

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”  

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify. 

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that. 

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly? 

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points. 

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away. 

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind. 

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep. 

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to. 

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more. 

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day. 

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.” 

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What? 

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches. 

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,” he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about? 

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses. 

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings. 

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all. 

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work). 

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions. 

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on  paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.  

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin. 

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.” 

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight. 

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.” 

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully. 

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now.  “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time. 

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand. 

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket. 

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks. 

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room. 

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices. 

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought. 

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow. 

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag. 

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.” 

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue. 

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really. 

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible- 

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain. 

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath. 

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone. 

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

[an-ri]

ZoSan - Random one word one-shot series!

Day 3: Lullaby

Sanji had an angelic voice.

Despite spending a significant amount of time sailing together on the ship—sleeping in close proximity, sharing meals, and having each other’s backs—Zoro had never heard the cook sing. It seemed that, regardless of the circumstance, Sanji never sang in the presence of others.

As for why, Zoro couldn’t quite figure it out if he were honest.

The first time he heard Sanji sing, he was taken aback. How could this beautifully woven voice belong to someone as arrogant and rowdy as the cook? The only reason Sanji allowed Zoro to hear, was because he hadn’t noticed him. The swordsman stood by the door, his steps gliding soundlessly over the ship’s wooden floor.

Sanji’s voice was nothing short of beautiful—a symphony of tones akin to the smooth glide of a perfectly wielded blade, cutting through the air with precision.

The melody flowed from Sanji’s lips like a river down a narrow path, navigating every curve and twist effortlessly to create a harmonious cascade.

Rooted to the spot by the door, Zoro found himself captivated and unwilling to disrupt the enchanting spell cast by Sanji’s singing.

He stood there, listening intently, fully aware that any disturbance on his part might cause the melody to stop. Instead, he turned noiselessly on his heel and moved away from the door.

Since that moment, a considerable amount of time had passed, weeks, perhaps even months.

There hadn’t been a similar occurrence. Zoro was confident that the cook had become more cautious about his surroundings and potential eavesdroppers. It shouldn’t have concerned Zoro, but the persistent thought lingered, refusing to be dismissed. It was infuriating.

The memory remained vivid in his mind, as if it had happened just the day before. Even now, he could distinctly hear Sanji’s singing if he concentrated hard enough, although he knew it was merely a projection of his mind.

⭐⭐⭐

Zoro found himself bedridden and miserable, the aftermath of a losing battle leaving him with severe bruises and a light head injury. Nearly two days of unconsciousness followed, and as he slowly awoke, the gentle sound of a familiar voice singing a beautiful melody greeted him.

His eyelids were heavy, and his eyes felt sticky with sleep. A grumbled sound escaped his throat, catching the attention of Sanji, who had been sitting by his side. The singing stopped, replaced by a warmth over his hand and a soft touch.

“Are you awake?”

Sanji’s voice carried traces of worry and fear.

Struggling to fully open his eyes, Zoro took in the sight of the man before him. Sanji looked tired, as if he had been sitting there for days. Dark shadows hung low under his eyes, and his hair stood up in messy strands.

Reality slowly settled in for Zoro as he blinked a few times, confirming that this was not a dream. His head throbbed, and pain radiated from his chest and sides, as if his entire body was on fire.

“Why did you stop?” Zoro’s voice, foreign and raspy, came out more like a murmur due to his weakened state.

“What?” Sanji looked confused.

“The singing”, Zoro clarified. “Why did you stop?”

“What does it matter?”, Sanji flared up. “Are you alright? You’ve been hurt badly. We didn’t know if you would make it. I promised Chopper to keep an eye on you in case you... you...”

Was it just Zoro’s imagination, or were the cook’s eyes glistening?

“How could you be so reckless all the time? We were worried sick about you, and you don’t even have the decency to tell me that you’re alright?”

“I’m alright”, Zoro whispered, the sweet pressure of sleep still weighing on him.

The anger in Sanji’s eyes faded, his lips quivering as he held in a sob. He roughly rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I can’t believe how stupid you are. Why do I even worry about a stupid marimo like you?”

Zoro blinked. “You were worried about me?”

“No”, he stubbornly clung to his pride, although it was blatantly obvious that he didn’t mean it. Zoro felt a soft smile tugging at his lips. He lifted a hand with the little strength he had left and touched the cook’s cheek, startling him.

“Can you sing the song for me one more time?”

“What for?”, Sanji asked.

“I don’t know. I like it.”

Sanji looked uncertain in the way he crunched up his brow, a soft taint covering his cheeks. But then he let out a long sigh and picked up on the melody again, his voice producing the words in an effortless flow.

Zoro laid back and listened. Concentrated on it.

It felt as though the song took him away to a different sphere of existence altogether, making him light and his head floating in beautiful sleep-like bliss.

He felt the dreariness pulling at him again, dragging him deeper and deeper into the sweet embrace of nothingness. But he didn’t want to let go yet, didn’t want his ears to turn off, to stop hearing. He wanted to take in much more of Sanji’s voice, to truly listen, because honestly it could as well be the first and last chance he got to do this.

“Don’t stop”, he begged as Sanji’s voice grew quieter, his lines breaking apart.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Nah.” Zoro shook his head lightly. “Want to hear you sing some more.”

Sanji continued, his melody as sweet as chocolate melting on the tongue. Zoro closed his eyes once more, allowing the song to embrace him in its peacefulness.

“Why don’t you do this more often?”, Zoro asked when the song came to an end. He couldn’t fathom why such immaculate talent would be hidden from the world.

“I don’t know”, Sanji replied with a shrug. “I didn’t think anyone would take pleasure in hearing my crooked voice.”

“It’s beautiful”, Zoro corrected, his voice barely a whisper.

Sanji blinked down at him. “What did you say?”

“I said it’s beautiful.”

A vivid red color spread over Sanji’s cheeks as the realization hit him, and he was sure he hadn’t misheard the swordsman. “Shut up”, he hissed, avoiding eye-contact.

Zoro chuckled. “Should I ever find myself on my deathbed, I want your voice to be the last thing I hear.”

“Sure you didn’t just suffer a concussion?”, Sanji asked.

“Could be. If I have, just forget about it later.”

Sanji studied him for a moment. Zoro didn’t quite know what prompted him to open his arms, gesturing for the cook to lean down on him. Sanji’s eyes widened for a second, and although surprised, it felt like the most natural thing in the world when he laid his head carefully on Zoro’s chest, allowing himself to be hugged by strong arms.

“If you don’t want to sing for others”, Zoro suggested, “Why not sing for me from time to time?”

“Sure you want to waste your time on me?”, Sanji asked, half-jokingly.

“You’re the one most worth it to be wasting my time on.”

And so, in the dimly candle-lit room, engulfed by the quietness of the night, a soft lullaby continued to be sung.

[denaliwrites]

The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

Ian Malcolm x Fem!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Service"

Summary: (18+) You weren't quite sure how the chaotician became famous, but you were starting to see how he got his reputation.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Excessive use of filler words. Oral (f receiving). Age gap (only mentioned).

You were pretty sure, from the moment you first saw him, that Ian Malcolm was famous. Did you know who he was or why he was famous? Of course not. He just had an air of superiority about him that only came from spending an extended period of time in the spotlight.

Well, a spotlight, at least.

You later found out that his claim to fame had something to do with math and chaos -- he'd been all too eager to explain it to you, but to be honest, anything to do with numbers slid right off your brain, and his pretty smile didn't really do your retention capabilities any favors.

You first met him when he brought his perfectly ordinary, if a bit "Hot Rod"-esque, car into your dad's shop to be serviced. While he waited for your dad to finish fixing up the car, the two of you talked.

Well, more accurately, you flirted shamelessly with no parent hovering menacingly over your shoulders.

You rather enjoyed the flirtatious attention of the older man, and you suspected he probably liked the equally flirtatious attention of a younger woman.

The next time you saw him, he had a different car. It was new, but only in the sense of whose hand it'd most recently fallen into. It was certainly older in every other way, maybe as old as Ian himself, though none of the previous owners had taken good care of it. The shell was rusted, parts were damaged or missing, and the seats almost certainly had blood in them.

Fixing it was going to be a multi-visit affair.

And that was how you found yourself being serviced by Ian behind your dad's car service shop.

It'd started like any of his other visits. This was his sixth, overall, and the two of you were emboldened by the idea that your father hadn't caught on yet --

Well, you were emboldened. You were pretty sure Ian didn't need a reason to be, he was just like that naturally.

He'd come to your counter, as he always did, to buy a Surge he never actually drank. He'd flirted, as he always did, and you flirted right back, as you always did.

You mentioned taking a break, and he mentioned needing some air.

His Surge was left forgotten on the counter as he made his way out the back door. You followed behind five minutes later and found him waiting for you in a shaded corner where no one would see the two of you.

His eyes feasted eagerly over your legs, bare but for your upper thighs, though they were shielded only by the loose skirt of your sundress.

"Those, uh, go on for days, don't they?" he asked as he stepped nearer. Before you could respond, he swept you into his arms, and you couldn't help but notice that you seemed to naturally fit together, like puzzle pieces.

"I, uh, always wondered... what your, uh. Legs. Looked like," he continued as you were pressed to the wall and his mouth landed hot and heavy on your bare shoulder. "Could never really, you know, see them. While you were, uh, behind the counter."

You whimpered as his lips trailed down your arm a few inches, his heated breath leaving goosebumps as it dissipated over your skin and left only a cool reminder that he'd been there. "I-Ian," you gasped, a hand reaching up to weave into his curls. You tugged down, and he easily let you pull him away from you.

The smirk he shot you had you all but melting, and the growl that accompanied it had you all but quaking.

"Hey, uh, you're the one in control here," he said, though the smirk he wore made you think maybe he was the one that was really in control, he just happened to not mind much what he ended up doing with you, so he could afford to let you have the illusion of control.

Not that you minded, much. Either way, you were getting yours.

"Do whatever you want," you told him.

His smirk grew just a touch wicked at that. "That's a, uh, dangerous invitation," he said carefully, though you could hear the arousal choking his voice even so, "be careful you don't let any, um... vampires... in."

"Are you a vampire?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered simply, before his lips were back on you, trailing ever downward until he was on his knees before you. "Oh, this is much better."

His breath teased your inner thigh, eliciting another whimper from you. Hearing the effect he had on you only made him do it more, and soon all you could do was whine desperately.

"Pretty, uh, sensitive?" he asked. All you could do was nod in response and gasp as you felt, more than heard, the dark chuckle that emanated from his throat.

He moved on, his hands splaying over your thighs and fingers digging in as his mouth moved over the tender flesh, all but worshipping you as he delicately lifted your left leg up and over his shoulder to lay gracefully across his back.

He had nearly perfect access to you, now, though your panties obscured his view. He didn't seem bothered, though, as his face disappeared under your skirt.

A moment later, you felt a finger gently brushing the cloth aside. You whined as it inevitably made contact with your slit, hips rolling eagerly for more.

"Ah, ah," he tutted, breath dancing over your slit drawing forth a moan. His growling chuckle only made you moan again. "Good girl," he said in amusement, his hands returning to your thighs to rub them comfortingly.

He gave the thick meat of your thighs a squeeze, and then you felt his hot mouth on you -- you choked back a yelp as his tongue teased at your clit, circling it a few times and flicking against it once.

To keep yourself quiet, you bit down on a curled finger, and to keep yourself grounded, you buried your other hand in Ian's curls.

This only seemed to egg him on. His tongue swiped swiftly down your slit and plunged into your cunt. Your teeth sank into your finger and the squeal that would've otherwise sounded instead died in your throat.

A breezy chuckle rolled over your clit as Ian drew back to lave attention on it. Your hips rolled in response, which only made him chuckle more.

You could feel your insides starting to coil, could feel the desperation building. Ian seemed to sense it too, as his ministrations became quicker and more precise. Every breath, every flick of his tongue and touch of his lips, had shifted from teasing to drawing out your orgasm.

You wanted to scream as one last lap of his tongue from hole to clit finally brought you over the edge, but you bit it down, even as his tongue continued to circle your little nub to ease you through the high.

To compensate for your inability to scream your pleasure, you tightened your leg draped over Ian's back, drawing him in deeper to your core. He didn't seem to mind, even as he found his mouth fuller than he anticipated, if the grin you could feel was anything to go by.

Gradually, and with Ian's expert guidance,, you came down. You panted and sagged against the wall once the post-orgasm fog drifted in, and Ian carefully eased your leg down so that he could stand and offer you support.

You could see your slick shimmering on his lips and mindlessly pulled him into a kiss. He eagerly returned it, hands holding you tightly to keep you close.

"Would you, uh... marry me?" Ian asked in a low whisper, his eyes meeting yours.

"Bit quick, isn't it?" you replied, though you were grinning.

He returned the gesture. "I, uh. Never was one for... moderation."

You were about to answer, but then you heard your father calling for you. You shot Ian an amused glance. "Guess you'll have to come back to get my answer."

"I. I, uh. Look forward to it?"

"Maybe you should come back with a ring. Just in case."

[yourstory-teller]

when Messi was younger he would get sick and puke after or during a match?? so can you please do one where like right after the match the reader is with him and notices somethings off so she takes him into a private dressing room and like helps him while he gets sick

Heyy, thank you for requesting! I took the liberty to make it about the barça vs albacete match where he scored his first goal, bc I thought it'd make it even more sweet 🥺

Warnings: Mentions of throwing up. Just slightly though, not at all graphic. This one's really pure fluff ♡

Gif is mine <proud>

First out of many

It would be a ridiculous understatement to say that you were climbing up the walls. To be honest, you'd describe yourself as being in a state of pure bliss.

You were a huge football fan, always had been, so of course it was meant to be a big event for you. Being able to watch a match of your favorite team, from up close, to feel the stands vibrate after each pass, crowd going crazy with each goal.

But, there was something else. Something that made everything even more exciting, more incredible.

Your boyfriend would be playing. He would be down there, running and sweating, giving everything he had to defend his team's badge, and you would be there to support him in the best ways you could.

The whole moment right before the match was extremely hectic and distressing for you, but it was certainly a thousand times worse for Lionel. Poor guy, looked like a kettle about to explode. You were able to share only a brief moment before the game started, in which he asked for a good luck kiss, that you promptly granted him. After that, you both parted ways, and you went to, excitedly, take your seat on the bleachers.

The first half passed, a goal was scored and everything was going well, but your boyfriend still hadn't come off the bench.

In the exact same way, second half came, and nothing. The match was almost over, there were less than 5 minutes left and you were about to pass out.

And then there he was, walking onto the field.

The game was about to end and you could barely hide your anxiety, frantically moving your hands, sometimes reaching up to touch your already messy hair or snapping your fingers in an almost painful way. Three minutes.

You had your eyes on him the entire time, unblinking. He was fast and agile, slippery as he passed the ball through all of those big men who kept unsuccessfully trying to take him down. He was unstoppable.

You were standing in one of the lower rows, considerably closer to the lawn. From there, you could clearly see Ronaldinho dribbling the defender and making a beautiful pass, which Leo mastered perfectly. He ran, the ball at his feet, passing one and another player and then shot at the goal, over the goalkeeper's head. Jesus, what a goal!

The referee whistled. Offside.

Sighs and screams of indignation at the questionable decision were shared by the entire crowd, and you were now nervously biting on your nails. Everyone tensed up once more as they waited for the players to get back into position. It was the final minute.

One more whistle. The game was back in action, everyone moving at full speed, and you almost -almost- lost sight of him.

There were a few seconds left in the match and you swear you could feel how determined he was.

Once again, he had the ball. It was taken from him, but quickly recovered. A touch for Ronaldinho who, somehow, managed to replicate the exact same pass from the previous move. Lionel lets the ball bounce once and, before a defender throws himself desperately and the goalkeeper tries to leave the goal, it happens, this time leaving no space for complaints.

That was it, game over. 2x0 for Barcelona.

He runs off with his hands in the air, cheering, and the Camp Nou goes wild. The noise was almost deafening and you would not be able to hear properly for at least a couple of days, but you couldn't care less. It was a fantastic goal, the very first of his professional career, and you were there to see it.

You practically jumped from your place in the bleachers directly onto the pitch, rushingly making your way over to your boyfriend who was already waiting for you with his arms wide open. You both broke out into giggles as he grabbed you tightly and spun you around.

"Fueste increíble, mi jugador!" You half-shouted, trying to make yourself heard over the incessant screams that came from both the crowd and the team that surrounded you. "Gracias, hermosa" he answered with a smile. However, despite his apparent efforts, you could see that something wasn't quite right. He looked odd, his usually rosy cheeks now pale, even though he'd spent the last few minutes running non-stop.

"Are you feeling okay, honey?" You asked, brow furrowed in a newfound concern. He looked back at you and cracked another smile, a considerably less joyful one this time. "Not so much. My stomach feels a little weird." You noticed, then, that one of the hands that previously rested on your waist, was now holding his belly.

Before he could think of uttering another word, you were already grabbing his hand and making your walk to the changing rooms at the back of the field, occasionally smiling and waving to some of the other players you met on the way.

Once you got there, it seemed like a switch had been turned on for Lionel, as the boy usad every bit of energy he still got to run at top speed towards one of the private cabins. You followed, a little slower, and knelt beside him, carefully holding his hair and rubbing his back in what you hoped would be a soothing way.

You stood like that for a few minutes into the distressing situation, to say the least, until Leo finally seemed to be starting to get better. He wiped the corners of his mouth with a piece of paper you handed him and then sat down with his legs sat straight, leaning back against the toilet. "I'm so sorry" He mumbled, throat sharply sore.

"No, no, there's no need to be sorry, cariño." You repositioned yourself so you'd be facing him and carefully reached out to cup his face, gently brushing a few strands of wet hair away from his forehead. "It's okay, huh? Are you feeling better?" He nodded weakly, leaning into your touch.

Moments later and the two of you remained there, sitting on the floor of a toilet stall, his head now resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his long tangled locks.

You felt him move slightly, just enough so he could look up at you. "You saw what I did there, princesa?" You stared into his big brown eyes and they were shining in a way that was so mesmerizing, it took you some time to finally answer.

"Such a beautiful, beautiful first goal." You said, pressing a kiss to his temple. "There's still many more to come." And you prayed, to whatever God could hear you, that you'd be there for him after each and every one of them.

Hope you like it! Send me requests at anytime!

[justsomewritingblog]

Unrequited Love (Part 2)

Request:  None

Requested By:  Nobody

Pairing:  Adrian/Cat Noir x reader (unreciprocated)

Summary:  Y/n gets to know people.

Warnings:  None?  Jealousy?

A/N:  Repost!

Word Count:  1K+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was lunch period, and everyone had taken their seats.  Y/n was sitting in the corner, with her empty lunch tray sitting on the table before her.  She was sketching some more.  Y/n let out a huff, drawing (wink wink) a blank.

She stared down at the page before her, hoping it held answers.  She heard a throat clear.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She didn’t look up, figuring the voice was talking to someone else.  The voice tried again.

“Y/n?  Right?”

Her head shot up and her e/c orbs stared into green ones.  She placed a hand on her chest in question.  “You’re talking to me?”

The boy laughed.  “Of course.”

Her face burned as she moved her things, making room for the friendly man.  He took a seat, and began to eat as she stared at him in shock.  His eyes darted to hers.

“I-I’m sorry.”  She apologized.  “It’s just that…..nobody wants to talk to me usually.”

The boy gave her a sad smile.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t look very inviting….I guess.”  She added with a shrug.  The boy smiled.

“They’ll never know if they don’t give it a chance.”  He advised.  She smiled at his kind words.  He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Adrien.”

Y/n smiled, taking his hand in hers.

“Yes, I know.  I’m Y/n.”

Adrien smiled back as well.  “I know.”

“Well, I know that you know.  I was introduced in class.”  She countered.  Adrien smiled.

“Nice ring, by the way.”  She complimented.  His eyes widened a little bit.

“Thank you.  Are you new around here?”  He asked, trying to change the conversation.

“Kind of.  I’ve been here a month or so, trying different schools.”

“That must suck.”

“It does.  But it’s alright.  Seeing as I don’t talk to people, I don’t get attached, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Adrien frowned, resisting the urge to say something.  Y/n became nervous, and started fiddling with her pencil.  Adrien’s eyes glanced down, seeing movement, and noticed the sketch she was working on.  He smiled, seeing a conversation.

“You like to draw?”

Y/n looked up.  “Yeah.  There’s something bugging me about this piece, though.”  She turned the sketchpad towards him, and he observed it.

There was a building, with a few in the backdrop.  There was an open window with music notes floating into the air.  A small tree sat in the small yard, enclosed with a gate.

“Okay, what’s bothering you?”  He asked.

“Well, I can’t figure out what instrument I want being played, and by whom.”  She clarified.  Adrien nodded, understanding.

“What instruments do you like?”  He inquired, trying to be helpful.

“I like the piano.  It’s one of the nicest sounding ones.”  She paused.  “That’s how I feel, anyway.”

Adrien smiled.  “I get it.  I play the piano.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Do you play any instruments?”

Y/n shook her head.  “No.  I tried the piano for like, a month before quitting.”

“You quit?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“To be perfectly honest, I can’t recall.”  She confessed, pinching her eyebrows together.  Adrien smiled.

“Well, I think you’re a very good artist.”

Y/n felt her cheeks burn as she bowed her head, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

“Thank you.”  She mumbled.  Adrien smiled at the shyness.

“If you want……I could try to teach you how to play the piano….if you’ll teach me how to draw.”  He offered.  Y/n’s head shot up, eyes wide, and a surprised expression on her face.

“Really?  You’d do that?  For me?”

He nodded.

“But why?  You don’t know me.”  She defended.

“I want to.”  He countered, sticking out his hand.

“What do ya say, friend?”

Y/n had never smiled so wide in her entire life.  She took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Friend.”  She repeated.

~Meanwhile~

Marinette groaned.

“Marinette, chill out.  He’s being friendly to the new girl.  Isn’t that partly why you admire him so much?”  Alya asked.  Marinette groaned again.

“I hate it when you’re right.”  She mumbled into her arms, folded onto the table.  Alya smiled, shaking her head.

“But what if he falls in love with her?  That means he won’t fall in love with me, which means I’ll be heartbroken.  I’ll grow up all alone, with no three kids, no hamster, and probably become a crazy-cat-lady, or a hermit.  I’ll die old, and alone, with no one there for me.  I think I may faint!”  Marinette managed to get out in a single breath.

“Girl, you have to relax.  You remember that Miss Bustier told us to try to get to know her, right?”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Soo.  When Adrien leaves, go talk to her.  Try to get some information, if you’re that worried.  Although, frankly I don’t see the point.”

“Easy for you to say.  At least you have Nino.”  She looked back over at Adrien and Y/n.  They were smiling, and chatting.  Marinette buried her head in her arms.

“It’s over.  I’m through.”  She muttered, hopelessly.  Alya rolled her eyes and shoved Marinette over.  Marinette stumbled forward, nearly reaching the table.  She would have made it, if not for the seating design.  She tripped over a chair, falling to the ground in an uncomfortable position.  Y/n and Adrien turned, upon hearing the ruckus.  They quickly stood to their feet, rushing toward the clumsy girl.  They both extended a hand, ready to help her stand.  The girl looked up.  Her eyes widened as they locked onto Adrien’s.  Her eyes spaced out slightly, making her look like she was in a daze.  Y/n noticed this and frowned, retracting her hand slightly.

“Marinette?”  Adrien asked, trying to get her attention.  Oh, he had it alright.

“Y-y-yes?”  She answered.

“You okay?”  He inquired.  She nodded hastily, taking his hand and helping herself up.  Y/n looked at her own ignored hand and retracted it, resting it down by her side.  Marinette and Adrien looked at each other for a moment.  Though to Y/n, it felt like an eternity.  She quirked an eyebrow, sick of this already.  Suddenly a girl jogged over.  She wore glasses, and had dark brown hair, that turned red farther down.

“You alright, girl?”  She asked Marinette.  The girl in question made a noise that Y/n wasn’t even sure was English.  The boy that sat next to Adrien this morning ran over as well.

“Dude, you alright?”  He asked.  Marinette seemed to have found her voice.

“Yes.  Thanks, Nino.”  She responded.  Noticing that everything was under control, Y/n backed up a couple steps, stuffed her things into her bag, returned her empty tray, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n:  Repost!

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Day 1 of asking for any Kimi snippets you might still have for your deranged readers 😬😭

It's taken me half a century to finally sit down and start digging, but let the floodgates open—I’m here.

Summary: Media Day at Ferrari marks the start of something good.

Word Count: 750+

Warnings: None

Authors Notes: This is RPF, be respectful of the person who is mentioned, and don’t be a fucking creep. We're combing through the archives at this point. I've got about 20K worth of a half finished fic and some one shot style notes leftover. Enjoy!

“Well, as long as he got on the plane, he should be here any minute, I had the driver meet him at the steps.” The sound of a door cut Laura off in the middle of her sentence. “Speak of the devil, good morning Kimi.” She leaned in to Gianna, whispering. “I told him no detours.”

“You are not late! Excellent.” Gianna pulled her face into a grin and greeted Kimi with a kiss on each cheek before whipping out a clipboard full of the days schedule. 

“He wouldn’t let me stop!” Kimi put a hand on the clipboard and frowned at Gianna before turning to give Laura a full pout. 

“So weird how those two things coincide.” With a coy smile she took Kimi’s bag and pressed her hand into the small of his back, guiding him towards the dressing rooms. “Let’s get you changed and then you can start with the bitching.”

Kimi turned his head, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t like you.” 

“Didn’t I just say that you had to wait?” She laughed and set his bag onto a chair before pulling his suit rack out from behind it, flipping through the labels to find the first pieces. Cyril had never worn a racing suit, for obvious reasons, figuring out the system would take a few tries. “Besides, you don’t sign the check, do you?” She handed him a Nomex shirt, sliding the hanger out of it as he grabbed the hem. Was she trying to flirt or be a bully? If she couldn’t figure it out herself, it would be anyones guess. 

“No.” He took the long johns from her with a faint slant on his lips. 

“Then it doesn’t matter does it?” 

“No.” He gave her a smirk, slipping out of his sneakers as he sank onto the couch, arms full of underwear. 

“Long or short?” She held up two pairs of socks, cocking her hip to the side as she waited for him to decide. 

“I don’t know.” He wiggled his toes and looked between the two, shrugging with indifference. 

“One of each?” She pulled one from each set. 

“No.” 

“Short, then.” 

“No, long.” 

“Fucker.” She tossed the socks into his lap and went for the door. 

“You are okay.” Said Kimi, pulling his mouth into a line as he announced his final decision. 

“See you in a bit, old man.” She gave him a wink and slid out the door, shutting it softly as she leaned against it in frustration. Old man? God she was dumb, he’d never see her as anything more than a kid if she started paternalizing him right off the bat. Maybe somewhere in her frazzled brain the wires for flirting and bullying had become crossed? Was she trying to attempt both? For the sake of self preservation she promised to ignore her own mind for the rest of the media day. 

Easier said than done. The sight of him in a racing suit sent her into a downward spiral. She wanted to say something horrible and kiss him all at the same time. Both actions for perfectly selfish reasons. One to kill his confidence because it made him so kissable, and two because of the aforementioned kiss factor. 

“Can’t believe they found someone for him.” An unfamiliar voice pulled her from her fantasies. “I’m Greta.” 

“Laura.” She looked over at the girl next to her, a skinny brunette with a long ponytail and impossible heels. “Are you Vettel’s assistant?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been with Seb for a few years now. I was starting to worry they’d give me the Iceman too.” She laughed and gave Laura a quick elbow in the side before turning serious. “How bad has it been, you can be honest” She had an accent that Laura couldn’t place but whatever it was it made her endearing, perhaps German like Sebastian?

“He’s a piece of cake. Grumpy, but cake.” She looked back to the Finn, standing in front of a ridiculous lighting rig with an annoyed look on his face. Laura shot him a grin and then turned back to Greta. “And Sebastian?” 

“Easy. Nicest guy ever.” Greta waved to him and then gestured to Laura. “Look, they got one for Kimi! Laura, right? Her name is Laura!” 

“Hello Laura!” Sebastian stepped out of his pose to wave but was quickly set right by Gianna. 

“No talking, no talking, just pose.” She put his arms back across his chest gently and then set him back to back with Kimi as he had been moments before. “Almost done.” 

[bloodgulchblog]

Alright fuck it, s2e1 liveblog.

I'm watching this with people later so the goal is just to get through it enough to sate my impatience, so I'm back to ye olde standby of watching it at high speed with subtitles on. (...Only I guess I'm gonna be slowed down by making comments, huh?)

Spoilers and uncharitable opinions and unfunny jokes will follow.

Not going to talk about stuff in the episode opener until it comes back bc there's not enough to say anything about.

5 minutes in and we're already doing whatever this is huh?

6:30 - Alright okay, fuck, Vannak took his spine pellet out and gets to have one (1) personality trait and it's animal facts and I kind of don't hate that. TV Chief is very unlikable but characters like Kai and Vannak playing the angle of having very youthful quirks bc having emotions is new is cute.

~10:00 - I have nothing to say yet about spooky shapes in the fog but I think this shot of Chief back to back with a marine is fun. Also I wonder if Corporal Perez (this character) will still matter 5 minutes from now.

Also looks like the foggy sword fight from the trailer is here, too difficult to get any kind of cap that doesn't suck out loud. I'm thinking about how I heard someone making a big deal about how Season 2 feels "less like a video game" (whatever that means), meanwhile "fog full of stealth sword guys trying to kill you" feels very very video game level.

~13:00 - Man, and I really thought that sword fighting stuff in the trailer was a solid indicator they were dragging Thel 'Vadamee into this mess. Hey guys look, Arbiter's in this season. 4,000 of him!

Additionally, if a bunch of people decide this is a ship the fandom owes me twenty dollars.

~15:00 - Congrats to Perez for surviving five minutes. Also, we're still doing whatever this is:

16 minutes in we finally get the show's opener. (It has the Halo in it now, I don't think it was there before but let's be perfectly honest it's not like I cared a lot.)

~17:30 or something, reminded once again that a lot of people are attracted to this actor

Also guess what, Keyes is an Admiral now I guess????

Do we think he still gets to get eaten by the Flood eventually? Do we think the Flood will even be in here? Place ur bets at the counter.

Anyway, they're basically diving into a big timeskip here where a bunch of planets have been glassed since last season (including Madrigal). This whole AU is weird to the bone in terms of how its timeline is shaking out.

Anyway anyway, aww here we go

"I'm not here to replace Dr Halsey, I'm here because I believe in you!"

Ohhhhh he knows all the Spartans' names already, ohhhhh they want the audience to like this mf so bad, they want it to be such a tweest that he sucks shit-

Moving right along, at 22:30 we have the Rubble having a crowd decide whether various refugees should be spaced or taken into indentured servitude, because of course we do.

tl;dw the nebbish redhead knows where Catherine Halsey is and there's a big bounty out for her and he's trying to use it as a bargaining chip to not die and everyone thinks that's very funny, also Soren is here. I guarantee he decides to go after her, but first we have to have a scene cut back to whatever TV Chief is doing.

Man I'm really noticing they haven't shown the weird ridged rubber tech suit yet this episode, I wonder if they decided to replace it.

Anyway here's Perez, I still think they want people to start shipping:

Then Jimmy Rings has a meeting with tv show's new guy they want you to like so bad.

Also he says "The O-N-I" like a complete tool. (This is how you know he sucks.)

And while I'm talking trash about him: Ackerson stop flirting, didn't they tell you nobody's allowed to be gay in Halo? Get your shit together.

Thus ends the dream of the funniest possible universe where we just had Cortana: The Show forever. Someone get the penny whistle. My heart will not go on. 😢

Fuck, I was doing timestamps, right? I'm like half an hour in.

THEY STILL WANT YOU TO THINK ACKERSON CARES, BY THE WAY, IN CASE YOU DID NOT NOTICE

They're laying this on so thick so fast there's no way he's not a shitweasel in this AU, but also that would be the funniest possible thing to me.

(If anyone ships this, the fandom owes me forty dollars and therapy.)

ANYWAY... Action figure time. (Remember to boycott Jazwares!)

Soren's kid is playing with a MASTER CHIEF ACTION FIGURE and being weird, meanwhile Soren's wife is calling him out on shit and reminding him that refugees being turned away is, you know, bad.

Congrats to Soren's wife for continuing to be the most unexpectedly sympathetic supporting character I guess, but they made Soren so unlikable off the 1st season it's hard for me to feel investment of any kind here.

35 minutes in: the Spartans are watching a space TV broadcast. They have Ca-ADMIRAL. Admiral. Admiral Keyes presenting the Colonial Cross to Corporal Perez for blah blah blah you saw the start of the episode. The shape of the ceremony and the hovering tv drone thing are obvious H2 references.

(Does this mean Perez is our Sergeant Johnson now? Vote with your phones.)

Get your face out of here, Ackerson, I know what you are.

Oh god there's another team of Spartans (Cobalt) and having adult Spartan-IIs call each other names like children is fucking weird.

Aaaaand tumblr is capping the number of images I can post here and I'm still only about half way done. Fuck. I am not doing this this way for Episode 2 I can promise you that.

(Also hey look the tech suit is back, I guess Silver Team doesn't use it so much anymore to show you they're more human now or whatever?)

[portraitoftheoddity]

“I have a lead on Vash.”

It’s the first thing Meryl says as she slides into the booth at the back of the small diner where she arranged for them to meet by radiogram, not bothering with any of the niceties of small talk or helloes after over a year of not seeing each other. Wolfwood can appreciate that about her -- she knows he knows perfectly well that she wouldn’t call him here just to shoot the shit. They have one topic of shared business, and she’s getting right down to it instead of wasting his time.

“Where?” he asks, schooling his expression and keeping his voice flat. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but feels his chest tighten nonetheless. 

“Small town about ten iles north-by-northeast of Lost July,” she answers, pulling off the reflective sunglasses she’s taken to wearing and folding them on the table. “One of my sources was talking with a freight hauler who does deliveries there, and he mentioned a blond man with one arm, so I put out feelers--”

“Lotta amputees in the world,” Wolfwood mutters, that flicker of hope sputtering with the growing sense that this is likely to be yet another wild thomas chase. “Doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“So I put out feelers,” Meryl repeats, a touch louder, purposely ignoring him, “and it turns out the guy in question goes by Eriks, and he turned up looking beat to hell just a few weeks after the July incident and got taken in by a local family.” She meets his eyes, and he can tell she’s almost buzzing with excitement. “All the physical details line up, the location lines up, and so does the timeline.”

Wolfwood exhales raggedly, reaching into his suit pocket for his cigarettes. “So, what--  you want me to go check it out? See if it’s really him?” Deal with the disappointment if it isn’t? He doesn’t say, as he pulls a smoke from the pack. The idea that Vash would just sit on his ass in a small town for two years instead of traveling Noman’s Land in search of self-flagellation following what happened in July just doesn’t track with what he knows of the guy. And despite how little time they spent together in the grand scheme of things, Wolfwood thinks he had a pretty good read on Vash the Stampede.

“I think we should both go,” Meryl declares, then presses her lips together into a line in the way Wolfwood’s learned she does when she isn’t being fully honest.

His eyes narrow, the cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She squirms slightly in her seat, and for a moment Wolfwood is looking at the fresh-faced rookie that hit him with her truck once more instead of the self-possessed reporter he’s watched Meryl grow into. But then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and the rookie is gone. “Word is that ‘Eriks’ is an amnesiac with no memory of his life prior to two years ago. Could be a cover, to escape his past, or he might have had head trauma from July and genuinely not remember, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up--”

The whining drone of the diner’s overhead fan is suddenly impossibly loud in Wolfwood’s ears. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging deeply into his palms as he struggles to focus on what Meryl is saying. But he’s only half listening, mind iles away over half a sand ocean--

“--So I think if both of us go, we have a better shot of helping him remember,” she concludes, looking determined. “If we leave now and take the truck, we can make it in just under--”

“No.”

He cuts her off, unlit cigarette falling from his mouth and rolling across the tabletop. Meryl stops and blinks a few times. 

“Oookaaay, I know you’re not a fan of the truck,” she begins, but he cuts her off once more before she can continue: “We’re not going.” He pulls his sunglasses down so he can look her dead in the eyes and impress on her that he’s not fucking around. 

For a moment, she looks gobsmacked. Then, her brow furrows in anger. “What the hell do you mean we’re not going?” she hisses, “it’s Vash! And if he doesn’t remember anything--”

“If he doesn’t remember anything, there’s a damn good reason,” he argues. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a traumatic brain injury! Which makes sense given what he survived, but--”

Wolfwood slams a hand down on the table, hard enough that several other patrons glance disapprovingly their way. Meryl jolts in her seat, finally shocked into silence. “Shortstack,” he growls, “you told me how messed up Spikey was after Jeneora Rock. About how long he wasn’t eating before we crossed paths, all because he blamed himself for what wasn’t even his fault, when he saved a lot of those ungrateful shits, right?” 

“...yes?” she responds, cautiously now.

“And how exactly do you think Needle-noggin’s gonna react when he finds out that his crash landing wiped an entire city and its population off the map?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but no less full of venom. “That his shithead brother probably got vaporized in the process? You think he’s gonna thank us for that knowledge? You think he’s gonna be happy we filled in that blank and told him the entire planet wants his head on a damn platter?”

Meryl is frowning still, though it’s more thoughtful than angry. “He deserves to know who he is,” she insists quietly. 

“He deserves better,” Wolfwood snarls. “After all the shit this world’s put that spikey-headed idiot through, he deserves better than to be reminded of who he is in the worst damn way, and I’m not gonna be the one to tell him just so I can watch him blow his damn brains out to escape the truth that he got made into a weapon, into a monster--”

His voice cracks, throat closing painfully. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Meryl takes his trembling hands in hers, eyes wide. “Nicholas,” she says, “breathe.” 

He struggles to inhale through a windpipe that’s suddenly narrow as a straw, equal parts mortified and feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I’m not gonna... be the one to tell him,” he mumbles wheezily as Meryl shifts her chair over, resting a small hand on his back. “Not again.”

“Okay,” Meryl agrees quietly, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a damn little kid again (he can’t find the breath to tell her to stop). “You don’t have to. I promise.”

He does his best to get a hold of himself, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the image of Vash’s eyes widening like Livio’s had, right before--

He draws in a shuddering breath. “You’re still going to, though,” he says, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

Meryl makes an uncertain sound. “I... maybe. You do make a point, that it would be a lot to handle.” 

Her hands slip back into her lap, and she chews her lip thoughtfully while Wolfwood recovers his abandoned cigarette and fumbles for his lighter, hoping the nicotine will help settle him. 

“Maybe we can just... observe,” she offers after a few long moments where he’s finally succeeded in lighting up and pulling familiarly acrid air into his lungs. “Check and see if it’s him, if he really doesn’t remember, and... if he’s okay.” She looks down. “If he’s happy.”

“If he’s happy,” Wolfwood repeats gruffly, exhaling smoke, wondering what that would even look like -- Vash with a smile that wasn’t forced or tinted with sadness. 

“And if we decide we’d do more harm than good by telling him,” she continues, “we can walk away. Deal?” 

He considers it. It wouldn’t be the first deal he’s entered into involving the Humanoid Typhoon; but it might be the one whose outcome he’ll be able to live with.

He shakes on it, and tries to bury his dread.

[yournecessaryevil]

🍸 Tipsy Tumbles 🍸

🖤CHRIS MOTIONLESS X READER ONESHOT🖤

You can usually handle your alcohol pretty well. But when you and your friends go for a fun night out while on tour, it turns out you might not be able to handle your alcohol as well as you usually do...

• fluff; language; adult themes (alcohol use)

☠️ TAGLIST: @krystal-miw-lover

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

He was going to be so mad when he found out.

No, actually, livid was probably the better word for it.

Or at least that's what you thought.

You had met Chris about a year and a half ago, back when they were doing their tour for the album release of Disguise. You had been good friends with one of their makeup artists, Kenzie, the other girl helping you along the road to becoming a rather successful makeup artist, yourself.

And when the guys had been making their rounds on the first leg of their tour, they had all been more than willing to have you join them for the rest of said tour. They were all very welcoming towards you, easily making you feel right at home.

You and the boys got along quite well, a certain camaraderie settling into place amongst all of you. But you had always found Chris to be the most intimidating out of all the guys, and upon telling him so, he had laughed and reassured you that he was not, in fact, as scary as he seemed.

The two of you had become fast friends afterwards, growing rather close with one another over the next couple of months, until the day had come when Chris had taken you completely by surprise, asking you out.

Naturally, you'd said yes, and things afterwards had only grown more intense between the two of you. An entire year had gone by and now the guys were doing another tour, this one being for their newest album release. So when Chris had asked you to join him and his band for their Trinity of Terror tour, you'd quickly agreed.

The tour life was great, you had to admit. But if you were being perfectly honest, there were some days where a break would have been much needed, much appreciated. Which is why you and several of the guys were now headed out for a night in the city, to eat, drink, and be merry... and subsequently drink some more.

You, a few of the guys from Motionless, and even Kenzie had all gone out tonight to try and get a bit of a release from the stress of tour life. You knew Chris didn't drink, so he had stayed behind with the others, asking you to go out and have some fun on his behalf.

And that's exactly what you did.

Kenzie and one of the guys had somehow convinced- or perhaps coerced was the better word- the rest of you all to do shots at some club they had found in downtown Seattle.

You had only done about three shots so far, but you were already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol burning through your throat and your veins, the fire spreading and creating a feeling of warmth and freedom within you.

Normally, you could handle your alcohol just fine, but you knew that it'd only be a matter of time before it would affect you more than even you could manage. Kenzie had announced rather proudly earlier that evening that she could out-drink everyone involved tonight, and you knew damn well it wasn't just talk.

She was already on her sixth shot of the night, but you knew what she was like. It wasn't even a buzz for her at this point. You, however? You reached over, tapping her on the shoulder and giving her a grin when she turned to face you.

"My head doesn't feel pretty yet!" you called over the loud bass music reverberating through the club's speakers. Kenzie shot you an answering smile, looking very much the cat that ate the canary. "You need more alcohol in you, that's why!" she laughed.

She was right; Chris had told you to have fun, right...? Technically, you wouldn't be breaking any rules if you did indeed have maybe one more shot... or two. Or three.

You nodded, happily accepting the shot Kenzie passed down to you, making eye contact with Vinny along the way. He shot you a grin, raising a brow at you. "Not buzzed enough yet?" he called out. You shook your head, grinning back at him before downing the shot.

As before, the alcohol burned a streak down the back of your throat, setting your soul alight and making your head feel a little lighter than before. Kenzie was right; more was better...

More was not better.

More had actually been an awful idea, in retrospect. But for now, it seemed like the greatest thing on the face of the earth.

Your head did indeed feel rather pretty, although if you were being honest, it was getting a little too warm here in the club. But that could just be the alcohol. You also really had to pee, which wasn't helping you out any.

Reaching over, you tapped Kenzie on the shoulder, getting her attention. "Hey, Kenz, be right back, got to pee!" you called out over the music. She arched a brow at you, looking you up and down. "You gonna be okay on your own?" she called back.

You waved her off with a smile, clumsily sliding down off your barstool. "M'good! Be right back!" you answered, stumbling past her and the guys. You could swear you heard one of them make a comment about you being a lightweight, but you weren't sure.

All you knew was your head felt rather nice but you had to pee. Unfortunately for you, there was a line outside the restroom, which meant you had to wait. Heaving a sigh, you leaned back against the wall, pulling your phone from your back pocket and powering it on.

You were scrolling through Instagram when you stumbled across a picture some fan account had posted of Chris, and that's when an idea popped into your head. Grinning and trying not to laugh, you opened your text messages, typing out a quick text to Chris. His reply came back in an instant, so you sent him another.

Like before, he instantly texted you back, and you grinned when you saw his reply.

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped when you read his text. You'd definitely been drinking tonight, and it felt fine. He didn't need to know how much you'd had though, right...? You typed out a cheeky reply to his text, hitting send and waiting for him to respond.

Not even a minute later, your phone pinged in your hand, and when you read his text, your heart skipped a beat, tripping over itself within your ribcage.

Aw, fuck.

Okay, so in hindsight, drunk texting him may not have been the greatest idea after all. Shit, what were you supposed to do now?? If you called him like he wanted, you had no idea what would be waiting for you on the other end. Still... he had always been rather understanding and caring towards you... hadn't he?

Your heart racing and your nerves rattled, you hit the call button, bringing your phone up to your ear, trying to listen over the sound of the music from the club. Finally, after two rings, you heard Chris pick up on the other end, and your heart nearly stopped as you greeted him.

"H-hello?"

"Aren't you worried about her though? Being out with them? Here in Seattle?"

Shevy arched a brow at Chris, a bemused little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

He could feel the others watching him, waiting to see what he'd say. Instead, he just shrugged, returning her smile.

"Not really, no. They're responsible, they'll keep an eye on her for me. I mean, I did tell her to go out and have some fun for me, so... you know. Not too worried. Besides, Y/N can handle herself just fine," he answered.

Right at that exact moment, his phone chimed from over on the side table, and he reached for it with a grin, briefly raising both brows at Shevy. "Bet you that's her," he said, glancing down at the screen. Indeed, it was her.

She seemed like she was having fun, definitely in a great mood, that was a good sign...

And then he reread the texts she'd sent him.

"Aw, fuck..." he swore under his breath, quickly typing out a reply asking her how much she'd had to drink, and promptly hitting send.

Y/N's text came back not even a second later, and the smile dropped from Chris's face when he read it.

Oh, hell no.

She was not, in fact, good.

"Fuck," Chris swore again, trying his best to ignore the stares he could feel coming from everyone else.

"What's up? Is it Y/N?" he heard someone ask. He held up a finger before typing out a reply, hitting send.

"Yeah, give me a second. She's... fuck. I gotta take this," he answered, right as his phone rang. He answered on the second ring, Y/N's voice just barely audible over the loud music he could hear in the background.

"H-hello?"

"How much?" he asked.

There was a brief moment of silence, and for a second, he thought she'd disappeared on him. And then he heard her voice on the other end.

"I don't wanna tell you..." her words came out sounding a little slurred, a clear sign she'd had far too much to drink tonight.

"Y/N. How much?" he repeated, his tone a little more firm.

Another brief moment of silence passed by, before she answered him again, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like "Too much."

Goddammit. They were all supposed to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't have too much to drink tonight! Then again, he hadn't exactly told them that, not before they'd left.

This was just... absolutely fucking perfect.

Chris took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. Only then did he hear Y/N's voice on the other end again.

"...mad at me?" was all he heard.

His heart sunk a little at her words, hearing her ask him if he was mad at her. It took him at least a full minute before he could answer her, and when he did, there was silence on the other end.

"No. I'm not mad. Well, not at you."

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, before he could hear the music in the background grow quieter, and Y/N's voice a little louder.

"But still mad..." he heard her say, the syllables all running into each other.

He was indeed still mad, but not at her. No, he was more mad at himself, really, for not making the decision to go with her and keep an eye on her himself that night. But it was out of his hands now, the damage was already done.

"Where are you, where did Kenz and the guys take you?" he asked, after a minute's pause.

There was more silence on the other end, and if he listened hard enough, he was pretty sure he could hear Y/N using the restroom. Finally, she answered him, only two words being spoken over the line.

"Club Trinity."

Fuck, that was very downtown Seattle.

Still, he knew what needed to be done.

"Alright, I know where that is. Have the guys wait with you out front and stay there. Do not leave, understood? I'm coming to get you," Chris spoke rather firmly before hanging up, not even waiting to hear Y/N's reply.

There was silence all around, until someone quietly spoke up.

"Was that Y/N? Is she okay?"

Chris stood up with a sigh, running one hand through his hair, all traces of his earlier good mood now gone.

"Yeah. That was Y/N. And now I need to go and bring her home," he muttered.

Someone laughed, causing a spark of irritation to build up within him.

"Eyy, no fucking way, did she get shitfaced drunk tonight??"

Chris shot whoever it was a brief glare, before turning and heading for the door. "Yeah. My poor sweet girlfriend had one too many," he threw over his shoulder, before abruptly leaving.

Hopefully he'd make it in time...

He was mad, you could tell that much.

Sure, he'd said he wasn't mad at you, but the doubt was still there.

You stumbled back out into the club, quickly locating Kenzie and everyone else.

As you approached them, Ryan took one look at your face and winced. "Ooh, you guys, we need to get her outside. She doesn't look too good," he called out over the music.

Kenzie turned to look over her shoulder at you, and like Ryan, she winced.

"Yeah, you look a little tipped, babes!" she called out to you.

Bit ironic, really; you'd felt fine up until they'd both said something. But now you were starting to feel... not so good. In fact, you were pretty sure you were about five seconds away from throwing up in the club.

Everything was too warm, too loud, your head didn't feel quite as pretty as it had a few moments ago, and you knew without a doubt that when Chris showed up, he was going to be very disappointed in you, especially given the state you were currently in.

He had told you to go out and have some fun on his behalf, but this... nothing about this felt fun right now. Your eyes met Kenzie's, and you barely had time to mouth the word "Help" before you could feel the room begin to fall sideways... or was that you?

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ryan and someone else reach out towards you, and not even a second later, you were being led out of the now fully packed club, out into the chilled night air. "Should we tell Chris?" you heard someone ask, from your left.

"He already knows..." you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

"He already- how?" that same voice from before asked.

"She probably texted him while waiting to pee," you heard Kenzie murmur.

"Called him.." you answered, the syllables tripping over each other.

"Wait, you called him?" she asked, moving to stand in front of you.

You looked up, seeing her raise an eyebrow at you, and you nodded. But that brief little movement had a rather violent effect on you; your head felt too light, it felt too wrong, you felt like you were going to throw up, and oh gods no-

"You guys, look out, I think she's gonna be sick-" you heard Vinny warn the others.

Someone took you by the wrist, leading you over to the edge of the curb, and they had just enough time to move out of your way before you immediately threw up everything you'd drank that night.

You could feel the tears slip from the corners of your eyes, and oh fuck, how your throat felt so raw after this!

Never again, you were never drinking again after this, if this is how badly it would affect you.

Your shoulders shook with quiet sobs as you threw up, and from your left, you could hear the sudden approach of a vehicle, the tires screeching against the pavement. The sound of a car door slamming shut was heard, followed almost immediately by a voice you were both equal parts relieved and dreading to hear.

"Is she okay-" you heard Chris ask someone. His question was promptly followed by a muttered expletive, and a minute later, you could smell his familiar scent nearby, a woodsy smell reminiscent of cedarwood and dark amber.

You felt one of his hands on your back, the other holding your hair out of the way for you as you continued to dry heave over the pavement, until there was nothing left.

You let out a quiet sniffle, more tears leaking from your eyes as you straightened up again, your gaze meeting Chris's. You were rather surprised to see nothing but soft worry in those warm brown eyes of his, eyes you could get lost in, holy fuck, they were pretty-

"Y/N."

Only then did you realize that he had been trying to get your attention, while you'd been standing there staring at him.

"How much did you have to drink tonight?" he asked you. One of his hands moved to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks that rested there.

That small gesture, his whole demeanor, it was taking you entirely by surprise. You had thought for sure he'd be absolutely livid when he saw the fragile state you were in, but no... he was completely gentle with you, protective, he really was worried about you.

You swallowed hard, hating how raw your throat felt from the alcohol (and the subsequent expulsion of said alcohol).

"Three? F-four? Whatever number comes after six..." you whispered, your gaze dropping from his. You didn't want to see the look on his face when you told him.

"More than you can handle, apparently. I think maybe we've overdone it tonight, Tipsy Tumbles," Chris spoke softly.

"We weren't trying to get her wasted, I promise. I didn't know she'd had that much to drink, she seemed to be doing okay after her third," someone suddenly spoke up.

You snuck a glance at Chris then, waiting to see his reaction. But he sighed, shaking his head at whoever it was that had spoken.

"No, I know. I probably should've warned you guys to watch out for her. That, or I should've been here to watch her myself. But what's done is done. I'm gonna take her home, are you guys gonna be okay out here?" he answered.

"Yeah, we'll probably stick around here for a bit and we'll head home later," Kenzie said, shooting you an apologetic look. "Sorry tonight didn't go well for you, babes," she said softly.

Your throat felt so dry, you didn't think you could gather up an answer for her, so you just nodded. You could feel a headache starting to form between your brows and behind your eyes; tonight had indeed taken a rather unpleasant turn. You were going to be so hungover tomorrow, fuck...

"Hey. Come here, come on. Let's go home, yeah?" Chris reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You nodded again, letting him lead you towards his car parked by the curb, your thoughts still much too loud in your head for the time being.

×♡×♡×♡×

Silence had fallen over the dark car interior for most of the drive home, until Y/N's voice finally broke the quiet.

"...you mad at me?" Chris heard her whisper.

She still thought he was mad at her?

"No. Never. Disappointed, maybe," he answered quietly.

There was a soft, humorless laugh from the passenger seat, and when he glanced over at Y/N, she had a rather rueful little half-smile on her face.

"Why does that feel worse?" she asked, her voice barely above a murmur.

"Because you've never done anything to warrant my disappointment before? At least not until now?" he answered.

There was a moment's pause before Y/N answered him, her voice quiet again.

"Yeah, maybe."

Her words were still a little slurred, but not as badly as they had been before. That had scared Chris more than even he wanted to admit.

Hearing her unable to form proper sentences, unable to take care of herself like that, he'd never seen her like that before. He didn't like it, he didn't like how vulnerable she was, how vulnerable she would've been to someone else.

"I think the important thing is, you're here now and you're okay. But... just for future reference, what have we learned from this, angel?" he asked, after a moment's silence.

Y/N's response was immediate, firm.

"Don't drink 'nymore."

He had to fight hard to keep the smile off his face when he heard her answer.

"Well, no, I mean... well, if that's your decision, then yeah, I suppose. But I meant, if you're going to go out to have drinks with someone else, maybe let's not overdo it again? Maybe limit ourselves a little there, Tipsy Tumbles?" he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N stick her tongue out at him, although he swore he could see a brief smile of her own on her face.

"You keep calling me that," she sighed.

Chris was unable to hide his grin that time.

"Because you are. You're my little Tipsy Tumbles," he said, giving her a brief wink.

"Hey," he continued, bringing the car to a stop at a red light and glancing over at her, "for what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. Kind of out of it, sure, but... you know."

She shot him a rather shy sideways glance, before nodding towards the front windshield. "Light's green..." she whispered softly.

"And thank you," she added a moment later, reaching over to place her hand in his.

As he drove the two of them home, he happened to look over and see that Y/N had fallen asleep, a barely visible smile on her face as she slept.

Tonight hadn't gone exactly as planned, that much was clear. But at least now Y/N knew her true limits when it came to alcohol. It was one of the biggest reasons he himself didn't drink.

He didn't see the appeal in it, couldn't fathom why anyone would want to surrender their free will and their clear conscience like that.

To him, it was just another of the many dark vices of the world concealed as a sweet, seductive promise, just waiting to trap another unsuspecting soul in its grip.

He hadn't fallen for it then, and he wouldn't now. He was just more than a little disappointed that his sweet girl had fallen for it. But it wasn't her fault, he knew that. Things with this tour had been kind of a strain on everyone involved, and she had wanted a night out, a brief escape.

He could understand that, hell, he'd lived it.

At the end of the day, he was simply glad that she was alright, that she was at least living and making the most of it. He couldn't fault her for that...

×♡×♡×♡×

"So... is she gonna be okay?"

Vinny's voice cut through the silence, a note of worry concealed within his words.

Chris nodded, casting a brief glance over his shoulder at the stairs. When they had gotten home, he had immediately taken Y/N upstairs to put her to bed, not leaving until he was sure that she wouldn't throw up in the middle of the night.

Kenzie and the guys hadn't come back until close to 1 am, the scent of alcohol surrounding the entire group. At least they'd all had a good time of it...

"Yeah, she's going to be okay. She'll have one fucking hell of a hangover when she wakes up, but other than that... she's okay. We've sort of come to an agreement that she's going to limit herself next time," Chris answered.

"Although," he added with a grin, "from what she told me, I don't think she's gonna touch another drink again, not for a long while."

There was an answering laugh from Ryan, followed by Kenzie's amused "Can you really blame her though?"

He couldn't, no. He had seen how badly tonight had affected her, even she'd seen it, despite the fragile state she'd been in. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if the next time everyone else went out, she'd stay home with him. But that was more than okay, the two of them could make their own fun...

If he had to admit it to himself though, he did get kind of a small laugh, going back and rereading the texts she'd sent him. She'd been rather bold tonight, hadn't she? It was one of the many reasons he had fallen so fast and so hard for her, she could easily match him wit for wit, but she made it look so fucking adorable...

As he sat there, Chris found himself missing her even though she was just upstairs. But that was alright, tomorrow would come soon enough, and she'd need him as much as he needed her, Tipsy Tumbles and all...

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

A/N: Here we have it, the second oneshot to be released! Please, let me know if you guys like these, because me being me, I am TERRIBLE with social cues. 🤭 Also, be on the lookout, there's gonna be another oneshot coming up soon, as well as a potential series involving Demon! Chris x Reader! 😏🤘🏻🖤 Thanks for reading, and stay spooky, my fellow Creatures!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[elisysd]

Somewhere only we know – Keane

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

So, tell me when you're gonna let me in I'm gettin' tired, and I need somewhere to begin

The bottle of red wine brought by Charles had not lasted long and the two young adults had quickly found themselves a bit tipsy. They both laughed happily at every little thing, no matter how insignificant, and started a game of Q&A about each other's tastes. It was an opportunity for them to get to know each other a little better. It started with harmless questions, like their favourite colour. Red for Charles and yellow for Lyanna. But very quickly the conversation became deeper.

“Hey, if you hadn’t been a F1 driver, what would you be?”

“Architect, or anything that is remotely connected to art and building. What about you?”

“I don’t know to be honest. The only thing I’m good at is acting, I never thought of doing anything else. And with acting I can be so many different people. Like, once I was the daughter of a fisherman. I had to do so many research and I spent three weeks in Alaska, where the movie was shot to understand what it was like to live the way they do. It’s so different from what I was used to and it really was an eyed opening experience. Acting is all about knowing your character inside and out. I would not trade that for anything in the world.”

“What’s the toughest thing in your job?”

She hesitated briefly.

“Being away from my family. I’m used to it by now, but still, it’s not always easy especially when you are missing birthdays and family gathering. Yes, there are phone calls and texts but it’s not the same.”

“Yeah, I feel you. It’s the same for me. I’m a family guy but even if I have the chance to have my brothers travelling with me most of the time, it’s still hard. I chose this life; I can’t really complain.”

“That’s the thing with our jobs, we can’t complain because we are part of the lucky ones. So many people dream of being out our place and failed, it’s not fair to them to say that our lives suck when it’s not the case.”

“That and also my family sacrificed so much to see me fulfil my dream, I can’t let them down.”

“Can I ask you something really personal, Charles? You can tell me you don’t want to answer if I’m going to far.”

He nodded.

“Are you racing because that’s what you love more than anything or are you doing it because you don’t want to feel like you failed your dad and Jules?”

“I’d say a little bit of both. There is nothing that makes me happier than getting in the car and race, but I would lie if I said that being at Ferrari is my dream and only mine. It was our dream, to me, my dad and Jules. I want to stay there and win a championship with Ferrari for them.”

It was the first time he admitted to someone, even to himself but for some reason it just came so naturally with her. He knew he would not be judged. He didn’t have to be the guy who knew exactly what he was supposed to do. He didn’t have to pretend that he had his life figured out and mapped out. God knew she didn’t so he didn’t have to pretend in front of her. They could be two lost people together. She didn’t say anything and when Charles looked at her, he noticed that she was sound asleep.

Uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her alone with the door unlocked (he didn't feel like going through her things looking for the keys to the flat), he decided to settle down on the couch after putting Lyanna in bed. She was heavier than she looked, much to Charles' surprise, who winced when he took her in his arms. She was so deeply asleep and relaxed that her muscles had become heavy. Charles had taken this as a sign that she was perfectly comfortable in his presence, which pleased him.

Once back in the living room he grabbed a cushion that was lying on the floor and a blanket that was curled up on the armchair by the fireplace. He knew he was in for a bad night, but at least he was reassured that nothing would happen to the actress.

Indeed, the night was tough. If Charles had to rank the worst nights of his life, the one he had just spent would be in pole position. His back was stiff and every single bone in his body was aching. Every stretch he made to wake up his still sleeping body hurt like hell. Every movement was agony. As best he could, he stood up from the couch and gave it a nasty look. He had to say something to Lyanna about this.

Speaking of, he was surprised to not see her awake. The sun was already high in the sky and he could hear the bustling crowds outside the windows of the apartment. He slowly approached Lyanna's room and tried to listen to see if he could hear any noises behind the door indicating that she was awake. Nothing.

Faced with this silence, he took the initiative to surprise her by preparing breakfast. He was also hungry, which was probably the main reason why he found himself in front of Lyanna's fridge and kitchen cupboards, and noticed to his horror that they were empty. There was not a single thing he could do for breakfast. So he chose the next option: home delivery.

Lyanna was startled awake by the doorbell. The young woman was not expecting anyone, and it was with a pounding headache that she got out of bed.  Still groggy from the previous night's events and the alcohol consumed at the party and afterwards with Charles, she clumsily pulled on a sweatshirt that was lying on the floor. She fumbled for her phone, only to find it completely dead. The day was definitely off to a good start. The second thing that made her suspicious was the noise that seemed to come from the kitchen. On her guard, she quietly and slowly opened the door to her room and saw a sneaky figure in the living room. It took her a few seconds to realise that it was Charles.

“What the heck are you doing here?” she asked him, surprising him.

“Didn’t feel good about letting you alone with the door unlocked yesterday.”

“So you just stayed there? Where did you sleep?”

“Your couch. A couch that you should change if you want my opinion because it’s fucking uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well it’s a couch it is not made to be slept on Charles. And I won’t change it, I’m not gonna stay here anyway.”

Her comment stopped Charles dead in his tracks as he held both coffees in his hands. For the first time he was truly aware that Lyanna would leave sooner or later. The young woman noticed the confused look on her friend's face and feared for a moment that she had said or done something wrong.

“It’s just that I didn’t realise that you were going to leave Monaco at some point.” He explained to her.

“Yeah, well I’m here to work, my life is in London. What were you thinking? That I was going to fall in love with Monaco and leave everything behind?” she said amused while laughing slightly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking to be honest. When are you leaving?”

“In a month exactly. I already booked my plane ticket to go back home. I can’t wait to sleep in my bed again. You travel a lot, you know how it is. When you’re away from home, what you miss the most is your bed.”

Charles absent-mindlessly groaned is response. She was genuinely happy to leave and he couldn’t help but to feel a little hurt. Of course that, deep down, he knew that she wasn’t here to stay but still, he didn’t want to have to tell her goodbye.

“I’m going to miss you, you know.” he confessed, a little abruptly.

She looked at him.

“Same. You made Monaco a little more bearable, but hey, I’m still here for now. Let’s not be sad for something that hasn’t happened yet!”

Charles then proceeded to explain to her that his season was about to start again and that in the next few days he would be doing a lot of travelling back and forth between Maranello and Monaco. He knew that he would have little time for her. This suited Lyanna perfectly as she was also very busy. But still, the two young adults were aware that the bubble in which they had isolated themselves over the last few weeks was about to burst and that reality was catching up with them at full speed.

“Well, I’d say, let’s make the most out of these three weeks.”

“You’re right. How do you feel about dinner? Out?”

She hesitated. There are some automatisms that you can’t get rid of, not matter how hard you try.

“ If I tell you that it won’t be in public and I can organize something where I can guarantee you it’ll only be the two of us, without any risks of being interrupted, does it reassure you?”

“You’re not going to rent out a place, are you? Because if so, let me tell you that it’s a boring cliché.”

He laughed.

“Who do you take me for?”

She arched an eyebrow in response.

“Okay, okay. But trust me on this one.”

“You are not going to give me the choice, so go ahead. But please, nothing too grand.”

“You are going to love it! I gotta go, I have some calls to make. I’ll text you the details later.”

Charles was excited that the young woman had agreed. He got up from the couch, put on his shoes awkwardly, under Lyanna's amused eye, and approached her, planting a kiss on her forehead before bursting out the door. Lyanna laughed silently and shook her head. She was curious to see what the Monegasque would prepare for her.

It was Arthur, Charles' younger brother, who was called in for the operation. Charles had thought big. He was going to take Lyanna to dinner at sea, on his yacht, away from the people and the constant bustle of Monaco. Nothing but them and the sea as far as the eye could see and the sunset. He hoped it would relax Lyanna and that she would enjoy the attention. But a part of him was anxious, nonetheless. What if she got seasick? What if she hated the ocean? What if she got sick from his cooking, he would blame himself. And at the same time, he wasn't taking any risks with pasta Bolognese. Unless she was vegan. He should have asked. Seeing his brother on the verge of panic, Arthur decided to have some fun and see how much stress he could add to his brother.

“You are aware that it looks like a date, right?”

“It’s not a date.”

“It sure looks like it.”

“It is not.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s a friendly date, then.”

Arthur groaned in response.

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“We’re just friends Arthur.”

“I believe you.”

“She is leaving soon anyway. And I’m gonna be busy with the end of the season.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Charles sighed, clearly annoyed. Why did it seem so hard to believe that there was only friendship between him and Lyanna? For Charles, this friendship was far too precious and important to him to let it be ruined by any further desires. He didn't want a relationship for a long time. His priority was his career, the rest was irrelevant. And what was the point of starting a relationship when he knew he didn't have room for one in his life? No, really, he and Lyanna would never be anything more than friends. And that was just fine.

“Come on, make yourself useful, go and sweep the floor for me.” he commanded his brother.

“You owe me 50 euros for that!” complained Arthur.

Lyanna got a text from Charles the morning after asking her to wear something casual but dressy at the same time. He could not be vaguer if he wanted to. So it was a lost Lyanna who called her childhood best friend Emilie to ask her advice and to summarize the situation, which already took her a good hour.

“You do know that it’s a date, Lya?”

“It’s not. It’s a friendly outing away from people so I can be comfortable. It’s thoughtful.” the actress tried to justified.

“He definitely wants to bang you girl. No guy is this nice with a girl unless he’s trying to get her into bed.”

“Charles is not like that.” Defended Lyanna.

“Darling, I love you but you’re so naïve sometimes.”

“Is it so hard to believe, hum? That he wants to be my friend? You’re friend with a lot of guys and I’ve never told you anything about it!”

“It’s not the same.”

“How so?”

“Okay. I did some research on him. And don’t be mad…”

“Emilie…” groaned Lyanna.

“This guy seems to be a walking red flag. I looked at his dating history and it doesn’t look good.”

“Well perfect because I don’t want to be a part of that. Again we’re just friends. Nothing else.”

“Yeah well, he was also friends first with is exes … I’m just saying be careful okay. I don’t want you to end up like how you ended up when you broke up with James.”

“I won’t. Charles is a nice guy, really. I trust him and you know how hard it is for me to trust people. It means something, right?

“I still don’t like him but I won’t change your mind so I give up, for now.”

“Thanks, and I’ll prove you wrong about him just wait and see.”

Emilie gave up and after another hour of facetime going through the contents of Lyanna's wardrobe, the choice was made for an emerald green linen short jumpsuit with a bare back. White wedge sandals and some silver bracelets completed the outfit.  Lyanna wore her hair in a braid and chose to leave her face bare, without makeup. She liked herself better this way.

“Good luck for your date that is not a date. I want to know every single details as soon as you come back.”

“Promise. And thanks again. He is supposed to be picking me up real soon. I have to go.”

She was about to hang up when her friend interrupted her.

“Hey Lyanna…”

“Yes?”

“I just want to see you happy, okay. I know that I can be a little protective over you but I just don’t want to see you heartbroken again.”

“It won’t happen. I promise you.”

“And if Charles is really honest, ask him to talk to you about his exes, okay? Because from an external point of view, his past relationships make him look like a jerk.”

“If the opportunity comes up I will if it can make you feel better. I really gotta go though, love you.”

“Love you too. Have fun but not too much fun.”

“Yes mom!”

They quickly exchanged their goodbyes before hanging up. One last look in the mirror before meeting Charles outside, a few blocks away from the residential building, a long and deep breath and she was ready.

“A Fiat 500? Really?”

Those were her first words when she saw him, dressed in a plain blue shirt, a pair of white trousers and his Ray ban sunglasses hanging loosely from his collar. He was standing proudly next to the car, a smile beaming on his face.

“I thought that the Pista wasn’t really giving ‘we want to stay on the lay low’ kind of vibes. So I rented this! What do you think?”

“Are we both going to fit in there? Or will we have to squeeze because it seems so tiny.” she said with a grimace.

“Oh come on, I know a lot of people who would be overjoyed at the idea of being stuck with me in this box.”

“Your ego doesn’t need me to feed it.”

“I’m wounded Lyanna. Deeply.” he replied with both hands on his chest, pretending to have been mortally injured.

The young woman laughed heartily and patted him on the back of the head before opening the passenger door and getting into the seat. The journey was made in silence, only punctuated by the music coming from the radio. They soon arrived not far from the harbour where Charles parked the car before beckoning Lyanna to follow him. A few metres further on, they stopped in front of Charles' yacht.

“Tadam!” he exclaimed.

“Your yacht. Are you playing to kill me and throw my body in the water?”

“Ah ah, smartass. I hope you’re not seasick and you like pasta because that’s what we are going to eat. I planned a little trip on the water. I told you I was going to find a way to give us privacy and still enjoy being out.”

“I have to admit, well done. I didn’t think you were that resourceful.”

“I’m full of surprises. Stick around and you might find more.”

Charles was the first to climb aboard before reaching out to Lyanna who took it, having little confidence in the bridge between the boat and the mainland. Charles' firm hand in hers did not prevent her from wavering slightly as she stepped onto the yacht. Her hip bumped against the rail and she winced in pain. Although she didn't have a bruise there, David's grip on the red carpet had left her muscle sore. 

“You’re okay?” asked Charles.

“Yeah, I’m fine don’t worry. I’m just a little sore here, nothing bad though. I’ll survive.”

“A bad fall? I have a good doctor if you need one.”

“I’m not made on paper Charles, I’m fine, okay. Just drop it, please. David just has a strong grip, that’s all. He hurt me a little.”

“What do you mean ‘he has a strong grip’? Charles asked with a frown.

The actress briefly explained to him, without going into the details of their altercation, what had happened with David on the red carpet. But her explanation did not seem to please Charles who tried to ask her more precise questions, feeling that the young woman was not telling him everything.

“Lyanna, I’m just going to be straightforward but has he been violent with you? Physically.”

“Oh no Charles, you’re not going to act like a watchdog with me, okay. I won’t allow it. He is just an arrogant asshole; I’m not scared of him. And you’re certainly not going to stick your nose into my business.”

He grumbled a little but, anxious not to ruin the dinner, he let it go. Charles then went to the cabin of the boat to indicate to the captain that they were ready to leave and then motioned to Lyanna to come with him and together they went to the back of the boat where Arthur had set up a nice table waiting for them. The pilot proceeded to pull Lyanna's chair so that she could sit in it. At his gesture, she gave a soft laugh.

“A real gentleman.”

“Or you do things the right way or you don’t do them at all.” He replied.

He then excused himself to fetch two plates that were waiting to be eaten.

"Well, you didn't do things halfway," Lyanna said.

“You deserve it and I did promise you a nice evening. And as it probably is our last before a long time, let’s enjoy it.”

“To our last times, then.” she toasted, a drink of champagne in her hand.

“Hey, we will still see each other. Not as much but I’m sure we will find occasions.”

“How come?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, you could come to some of my races? I was thinking that maybe you could come with me in the Netherlands. It’s the next one in three weeks. And you don’t have to watch from the Ferrari garage if it scares you, you could be officially Pierre’s guest. Kika will be there, you could spend time with her you know.” At this point he was rambling.

“I see you thought this through.”

The truth was, he did. Charles could not bring himself not to have her around. He had become far too accustomed to her presence and the idea of being away from her bothered him more than he had imagined. So he had spent the day thinking of a solution. Preferably one that wouldn't make her run away in advance. He knew that if she came to one of his races, it would only rekindle the rumours, and considering how it had gone the last time for them, he certainly didn't want the situation to happen again.

“And what do you think? I have a whole plan prepared, you just have to say yes and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Charles… I have no doubt that you do but I can’t come. I’m wrapping up the movie soon and I’m really needed here, I can’t leave. And then I wanted to go back in France for a few days to see my family before going back to London. I just don’t have the time to squeeze a race in there.”

“You can’t or you don’t want to?” he asked abruptly, hurt by her answer.

“Don’t take it like that…”

“I’m trying to find solutions to not have to say goodbye to you Lya.”

“And it’s really nice from you. But hear me out as well. I can’t drop everything to be at your side every chance we get. I have my life too, my work and obligations. It’s not that I don’t want to be there with you.” She explained.

“Well if you don’t want to come to Zandvoort, come to the football charity game organized this week. I would love to have you there and you won’t be alone, Kika will be there too since Pierre is participating. And I will film some stuff for my youtube channel. I would like to have your input.”

“Don’t you have a team to help you with that? Surely, they know what they are doing.”

“They do, my best friends manage most of the content I post online but I would like to have your opinion, you know, as someone who is used to being in front of the camera.”

“Well, tell me when it is exactly and I’ll see what I can do.”

The rest of the dinner went relatively well. Charles opened up a lot about his past and told her some funny anecdotes about is dad and Jules without having Lyanna asking for it. It made her happy, seeing that he trusted her enough to let her inside this aspect of his past. But Lyanna could not help but to have in the corner of her mind the words of her best friend, telling her to let Charles speak about his dating history. She didn’t know how to ask him without it being awkward.

“Can I ask you an intrusive question?” She ventured.

“Yeah. I’m not hiding anything.”

“How come you don’t have anyone in your life?”

He sighed and leaned against the back of his chair, staring into space, trying to find the best way to formulate his thoughts.

“If I’m meant to have this conversation, we should at least have it while eating the tiramisu I bought.”

He stood up and quickly returned with two generous slices of Italian cake.

“I didn’t have much romantic relationships in my life. Well, not many that really mattered I would say. My life is busy, always being away, working a lot, you know how it is. It doesn’t allow me much time to meet people or develop new relationships. If I’m being honest, you are the first person, in a long time, I befriended that is not from Monaco or that is not linked to the motorsport world. And you see what happened with the rumours, everytime I’m seen with a girl, it is blown out of proportion. It scares away a lot of people. So it’s really not helping. The scrutiny I get on the daily is hard to handle. I’m not counting on the number of paparazzi pictures of me and my ex-girlfriends that were in the press.” He explained.

“Is this why you always date girls that are in the same friends group?” The question slipped out and he looked at her in surprise. “Sorry, it’s rude. It’s just that I read that online and… anyway forget it.”

“I… well… I mean, I guess it has always been easier this way? It’s no excuses and I know that it can make me look like the biggest jerk ever…”

“No, you think?” she tells him sarcastically.

“The truth is, that way you don’t have to question people motive, I can already trust them a little bit. I don’t have to tell them my story, I don’t have to allow the trust to grow. Time wise, it’s easier and it’s spared the awkward situations.”

“Yeah well, basically you are saying that you don’t have to go through what you went through wit me. I don’t know how to take it.”

“Lyanna, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not the same with you.”

“How so?”

“Because I know that nothing will ever happen between us. We are just friends, you are not expecting anything from me. It’s refreshing.”

She didn't show it but deep down she was hurt.

“Am I a distraction for you?”

“What? No of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s how you make me feel right now. Like I don’t matter. Like I can be replaceable.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I want you in my life Lyanna? Our friendship is important to me. We don’t know each other for that long but you quickly became one of the most important people in my inner circle. I want you to meet my other friends, I want you to meet my family, I want to show you what my job is, I want to include you, okay? It’s clear from my end. The question is will you let me to?”

Lost in the middle of the ocean, with the water stretching as far as the eye could see, Lyanna felt trapped. So she got up from the table and went to lean against the rail a few metres away.

“I would love to trust you fully Charles, but it’s hard for me. If I do that, if I let my guard down with you, I need to be two hundred percent sure that I’m not making a mistake, that I can trust you and you won’t judge me. Because I would not be able to handle it.”

Charles slowly approached her before putting his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against him. She could feel his breath in her hair and his body scent mixed with the smell of the sea air and his aftershave reassured her. She felt good, protected and safe there.

“I promise you Lyanna, you will always have me in you corner, no matter what happens;”

She moved away from him and sat down on the floor. He did the same.

“Then, I guess it’s time for me to tell you what happened 5 years ago.”

========

tag list: @zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals

[kotamagic]

LORE OLYMPUS IS BACK, BABY! LET'S GET DIS SHIT!

Recapping: Hades did a dream dive and almost instantly got taken over by Kronos! He took Persephone hostage! Thankfully, just about everyone present was more than willing to kick his ass.

Every time Persephone demanded Kronos release what he took, he demanded Hera like a broken record. Like, listen here, you piece of shit....

....and Hades literally breaks through! In style even! Like, I daresay he used PRIDE CRYSTALS to get Kronos out of him. Dat shit even went through the WALLS, motherfucker!

That was a pretty quick cutaway to Hades bandaged up in bed. Immediately, his first concern is Persephone, and he's terrified by the bruises the bastard left on her.

The love and support Persephone shows him is beautiful. She knows her man has gone through centuries of trauma, and while he has worked hard to heal from that, no one is perfect. And that's PERFECTLY acceptable.

There's not just words involved in her comforting him; there's touch as well. (Most of those shots saved for the follow-up post!)

Ok, so dreams, as a general rule, are strange. You either remember them, or you don't. Sometimes, it's not what you see but rather what you feel in dreams. And strong feelings can shake you.

Ok, so.... in the original mythology, Leuce and Hades did have a relationship going, but since Leuce was a nymph, she eventually died, and he was heartbroken.

I suppose this was Rachel's way of getting Leuce out of the way without actually planting/killing her. Weird flex, but ok. I was genuinely convinced that Kronos had an affair with Leuce while in Hades' body, but... I guess this works too.

Since Thetis is in this shot, I gotta ask--- where the fuck is Achilles? He should be fine after that dip in the Styx.... you know, besides that heel of his... right?

Ah, poor Kassandra.... always honest, but never believed....

Why is this asshole (I mean Apollo, not the other girl) bugging Kassandra? Hasn't he done enough damage to actual gods/goddesses, but now has to mess with mortals?

As for the other girl, yeah bitch, he actually fucking is standing right there....

Anyway, thanks for coming to my LO post! Bonus visual post coming shortly!

[canirove]

Best friends… forever? | Chapter 22

Author’s note: Next Tuesday’s chapter... 👀

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Good morning, Mila."

"Morning."

"Are you... Making breakfast?"

"I am indeed" she says. "It's my way of saying thank you for putting me to bed last night."

"I couldn't leave you on the sofa. And you kind of were glued to me" Rúben smiles.

"I can't remember that. I was asleep" Mila shrugs.

"Yeah... You were" he says, still smiling. "Anyway, what are you making?"

"Your usual avocado toast. And I got you your ginger shot too" she says, putting the little bottle in front of him. "I don't know how you can drink that."

"It's good for you."

"Seeing the faces you make when you drink it, I'm not so sure."

"It is good. Look at how healthy and strong I am" Rúben says, flexing his biceps and making Mila feel her cheeks get warm.

"I actually think you drink it so you can be around the house like this and don't get sick."

"Like this?"

"Shirtless, Rúben. Since we started living together, I think I've never seen you having breakfast with a t-shirt on."

"Are you complaining?" he asks with a cheeky smile.

"Whatever" Mila says, turning around and moving to the fridge to hide that, this time, she is properly blushing, something he would definitely be able to notice.

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"What are you doing at the door?"

"Watching" Mila says.

"I thought we were going to train together. Burn those chocolates, you know?"

"You have to burn them. I ate one, and I eat some chocolate every day. It's part of my diet, I don't need to do anything" she shrugs.

"Not even some stretching from falling sleep on a weird position?"

"You have a very comfortable shoulder. But I could do with some yoga, yes. I'm gonna see if I left any work out clothes in my room" she says as she leaves the gym. When she moved to her own place, she left some clothes and random things at their apartment. Rúben didn't mind that she used it as some sort of storage room.

After getting changed and going back to the gym, Mila can't help but stare at him. He's resting next to one of the machines with his back to her, and in a position that asks for his butt to be slapped. That, or for a photo. Or both, to be honest.

"What are you doing?" Rúben asks her when he sees her in the mirror.

"Taking a photo to put it on my stories. After the one with the chocolates, we need to make sure Pep knows you are burning them."

"Does he follow you?"

"Nope. But his daughter does. She knows Manchester is red" Mila says, putting her phone down and picking a mat.

"Manchester is red..." Rúben repeats, shaking his head.

"It is and you know it" she replies, lifting her arms and bending down.

Now Rúben is the one staring. Since when is yoga this... Sexy? He's seen people doing those same moves many times before, and he's never felt anything. But seeing Mila arch her back during the cat cows, and the way her butt is popping out, is making him think of things they've done and...

"Focus."

"What?" Mila says while looking at him, her body on that exact position that is driving him crazy.

"Nothing. Just thinking what I'm doing next" Rúben says, moving to one of the machines.

"Ok..." she says, going back to her routine. She's so focused on it, that it isn't until she gets up and does her first warrior two, that she notices that Rúben has taken off his shirt. And to make things worse, he's doing some back exercises. "Oh, c'mon."

"Uh?" Rúben says, looking back at her.

"Did you really need to do that?" she says, not being able to hold her pose anymore.

"Do what?" he asks, taking a towel and rubbing it over his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Rúben" she says, rolling her eyes. "Did you seriously have to do that shirtless and in front of me, when you know they way the muscles on your back make me feel? And now... That too?" she says, moving her hands in the air and in front of his chest.

"Me? You are the one sticking out your butt while stretching, and you perfectly know how that makes me feel."

"That's how the moves work!"

"And with a t-shirt it's uncomfortable to make my moves!"

"Since when?"

"Always! When have you seen me on that machine and with my t-shirt on?"

"Maybe never" Mila says after thinking about it for a few seconds. "But things are different now."

"They are, yes. And we need to do something about it" Rúben sighs.

"What do you mean?"

"We need to get this out of our system."

"Rúben... We are not going to..."

"We are going for a run" he says, cutting her before she can finish her sentence. Though he knew what she was going to say. The smile that he's trying to hide says it all.

"Running? On our free day?"

"Yes, running. Did you leave any shoes here?"

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"I fucking hate you, Rúben" Mila says, trying to catch up her breath once they make it back to their building.

"What?"

"That was horrible."

"That was nice" he says with a big smile.

"Nice is the bath I'm having the moment we walk through the door. That run... That run was torture."

"C'mon, Mila. You are a professional football player, that should be nothing for you."

"I'm a professional football player, yes. But I'm not a freak. Only freaks like you can run like that, my God."

"Maybe you should try being a freak, it can help you against certain players. That West Ham goal from the other day? I think you could have avoided it if you were a freak like me."

"Oh, fuck off" she says.

"It's the truth" Rúben shrugs.

"Did I ever tell you that Rodrygo, the one that plays for Real Madrid, follows me on Instagram? He sends his regards."

"Oh, that was low, Mila" he laughs.

"It's the truth" she shrugs before walking towards the door.

And that's the mood for rest of the morning. They keep teasing the other and laughing, feeling like the old days. Like what they've always been. Like two best friends.

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