#the novelty hasn’t worn off yet

[lattesqueeze]

it’s snowing :)

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

wait. wait a second. is this ALSO why i’ve always felt like people my age are too young to get married, even well into my twenties, and felt really freaked out every time i saw a former classmate’s wedding photos on facebook? i always laughed it off by saying i didn’t feel mature enough to get married, and therefore they shouldn’t be mature enough either, but guys. maturity had nothing to do with it. i just couldn’t fathom the idea of marriage and didn’t want to be reminded of it. fuck. i’ve been bertie wooster this WHOLE TIME

[peachdues]

rejoice everyone, my sex drive as returned with a vengeance.

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Inside your apartment offers little relief from the suffocating heat and humidity.

The air is thick with the scent of sex, musky and heady. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead, slides down the side of your neck to join the thin sheen coating the rest of your skin. Above you, Sanemi fares no better, the ends of his hair having turned a muted gray from the moisture that’s gathered just above his brow.

The coarse hairs around his base are matted down against his skin, soaked from a combination of your cum and his. Still, the faint stimulation his groin offers against your clit with every feeble turn of his hips makes your thighs twitch and spasm where they lay draped over his.

One last, shallow thrust later and Sanemi stills. You hardly notice the shock of cold left behind as he pulls out and collapses next to you in a sweaty, panting heap. His little finger sneaks across the mussed blankets and interlocks with yours. It’s the only contact either of you can tolerate now; he knows it’s too hot for anything more.

“Jesus,” he pants, his voice hoarse from exertion. “That was fuckin’ incredible.”

Two weeks into your relationship with Sanemi and the novelty of it hasn’t worn off.

Despite the exhaustion sitting heavily in your limbs, you can’t help but smile. It’s what he says every time after you’ve finished, and it’s always with the same, breathless wonder.

Content, you roll to your stomach, kicking the blankets away where they tangled around your shins. You bury your face into the lumpy pillow and sigh, marveling at the gush of fluid from between your thighs that further dampens the sheets below.

You don’t mind; Sanemi will wash your sheets for you, anyway, like always. Besides, it may be hot and stuffy inside your apartment, but the warmth left behind by him is a welcome one; tangible proof of how thoroughly he’d just claimed you.

Sanemi is nothing short of thorough.

Exhausted though you are, you can’t help the flutter in your stomach as you feel his hand smooth up the back of your thigh, his fingers gently massaging your hamstring, and then your ass.

If he were to straddle your backside right now and slide into you from behind, you wouldn’t know how to object; wouldn’t want to, anyway.

He’s only taken you from behind twice in the weeks since you’ve begun sleeping together, but it’s rapidly become your favorite position by far. The first time had been slow; a lesson more than an indulgence, with Sanemi gently bending you over the side of your bed, his hands guiding your hips into place and pressing on your spine to deepen the arch of your back.

The second time had reduced you to tears.

There’d been no manipulation of your body that time. Instead, he’d shoved a pillow under your belly and mounted you, those big, strong hands of his holding you down by the small of your waist as he’d rutted into you, hard and deep. At first, you’d only managed a few, gasping squeaks, too focused on the way Sanemi’s thick tip battered away at that spot deep inside that made your toes curl.

One hand pinned your wrists to the small of your back while the other wound gently through your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled your head back, pausing only to press his lips softly to the crown of your head in quiet reassurance.

Then, came his command. Scream, baby. Show me how good I’m makin’ you feel.

Right on cue, Sanemi slammed his hips forward, pushing right into that painfully wonderful spot that made you see stars. He drew back and hit it again and again, and you couldn’t help but wail for him while your eyes rolled into your head, your throat, burning.

You’d ended up making an embarrassing mess atop your sheets, one that made your legs jerk and twitch so violently that Sanemi had been forced to pin them down by pressing his feet to your calves. Yet, he’d seemed to delight in your ruin, if his rumbling baritone groans had been any metric to go by. Certainly the increased force behind his thrusts as he fucked you harder into the mattress meant he hadn’t minded. Not one bit.

But if Sanemi wants to have you again, now, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he finishes his appreciative knead against your ass and sits up, running a hand through his hair. From the corner of your eye, you spy him as he pretends to look back at you, half-asleep atop the messy heap of your pillows and blankets.

His quiet exhale of approval gives him away. He’s not admiring your post-sex beauty; his attention is locked squarely on the mess he’s left between your thighs.

He’s admiring his handiwork just as much as you are.

[malk1ns]

december 7 @ canadiens, 9-2 win.

woah mama that's a lot of goals!

the penguins took a train from montreal to ottawa today because they're a bunch of cuties. i'm feeling sentimental and happy about our little guys, so here's a sappy little thing that reflects that.

Sid wakes up the morning after the Habs game wondering if he imagined the entire thing.

He’s been sleeping poorly for about a week, a side effect of the heavy-duty cold meds he’s been on to keep himself in the lineup. He’s had some extremely odd dreams too, and dropping a 9-spot in the Bell Centre would definitely qualify as one of the stranger ones.

A quick check on ESPN confirms that no, it really happened. Sid shakes his head.

Geno’s still sprawled out next to him, snoring gently into the pillow. Sid watches him for a while, considers letting him sleep in until practice but, well.

Geno’s not happy at first when Sid shakes him awake, but Sid makes it worth his while, and when he gets up to shower, Geno’s still lying flat on the mattress, panting and covered in sweat.

Geno follows him into the shower and gets his own back. They’re both late to practice.

—

It’s the best practice Sid can remember in years, maybe since before the Covid pause. Not to say it’s been miserable the whole time, of course not, but a game like that, in a place like Montreal…the whole team is on a high.

Sully does his best to keep them grounded, remind them that the win only counts for two points and they have a long way to go, but after a while even he gives up and lets them spend most of the practice playing around.

The light atmosphere carries into the locker room and on the bus to Central Station. Normally, this would be the point where everyone starts settling down, to rest or catch up on social media or call home, but the novelty of taking a train instead of a plane keeps them all energized.

Sid settles into his chosen chair next to Geno’s card game to watch the snowy landscape roll by, but he soon gets distracted.

Geno’s loud, teasing Karl and Kris and cheating outrageously, and Sid settles back in his chair, resting his chin on his fist and watching.

He looks good, hamming it up for the cameras and putting on a little show for the guys. The season hasn’t worn him stick-thin yet, and he’s still somehow clinging to the remnants of his summer tan.

When the train pulls into Ottawa, everyone’s calmed down, and the boisterous roughhousing from the morning has settled into quieter jokes and muffled laughter as guys grab their bags and make plans for dinner.

There’s not much in the way of romance to be found in the Ottawa train station, especially not in the grim early days of winter. But Sid grabs Geno anyway, pulls him to the side before they troop off the platform, tugging his face down and kissing him in the manufactured privacy their reserved car and a delayed deboarding affords them.

When Sid finally lets him go, Geno’s smiling. Sid smiles back, taking Geno’s hand and tugging him inside.

The whole team is waiting, ready to catcall them. Sid can’t find it in him to even pretend to be annoyed.

He’s too happy.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

November 22 - The Prefect's Bathroom | word count: 880 | @wolfstarmicrofic

In the years of sneaking around the castle at night, the thrill has worn off. Just another everyday occurrence, mundane as attending classes. Tonight, however, with Sirius pressed against his back, the thrill is back. His veins feel like electricity is running through them as they shuffle through the corridors. He can feel every galloping heartbeat in Sirius’ chest, confirming he is feeling the same. That the thrill of being caught kicks both their hearts into overdrive. Or maybe, it is the fact nobody will know other than the two of them, not even James and Peter. That thought makes him trip up a bit. A secret with just him and Sirius, that not even James knows about.

“Are we almost there?” Sirius asks, breath ghosting across Remus’ neck resulting in a full body shudder.

“Almost.” He whispers back, breathless. Even after three months of officially dating, the novelty hasn’t yet worn off. He still feels like a schoolboy with a forbidden crush he has to keep secret from everybody, especially the boy of his scandalous affections. Instead, he gets to have Sirius practically latched onto his back, their hands tangled together over Remus’ heart.

So, maybe a selfish part of him took the longer route and walked a little slower than necessary and took extra and unneeded breaks. So what?

But eventually, there is no avoiding their destination. Just down one last flight of stairs and around the corner, waits the unassuming entrance to the prefect’s bathroom. Why it couldn’t just be an ordinary hidden door behind a portrait or a tapestry or even a statue of armor, Remus supposes he will never know.

“Why Moony, if you wanted me in a broom closet, you could have just said.” Sirius mocks when they come to a halt in front of the door.

A fierce blush spreads across the base of Remus neck, and he prays to every deity he knows that it is too dark for Sirius to see. Doing his best to ignore Sirius—and his impending embarrassment—Remus whispers the password, waiting a moment to compose himself before reaching for the knob.

The first time Remus entered the prefect’s bathroom, he was in awe. The space is large, rivaling some of their classrooms, though Remus has very rarely seen other students in it. The ceiling is charmed to meet the needs of the students inside, similar to the Room of Requirement. Currently, stars twinkle in and out peacefully, while the sliver of the moon just peeks through a veil of clouds.

There are several large bathing pools scattered about the ground. Without anybody else in the room, the water is clear and smooth, not a single ripple in sight. That quickly changes when Sirius quickly abandons him under the cloak and runs to the largest and central-most pool. He crouches at the edge, his fingers dipping into the water to trace along the surface.

Remus sets the cloak down, watching the awe on Sirius’ face. At least he could give him this. It might not be much, but sometimes, even the smallest light is enough to help stave off the darkness.

Sirius turns toward the taps. “What do these do?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he begins to switch on as many as he can reach. Soaps and perfumes alike begin flowing into the previously clear water, filling the room with a strange aroma, and the pool with far too many bubbles.

“Wait! Sirius!”

But Sirius pays him no mind, singularly focused on the taps. He gets about halfway through before Remus tackles him to the ground. Unfortunately, Sirius was crouched near the edge, and the angle at which he ran causes both of them to tumble over into the pool.

They fall in a tangle of limbs, making it far more difficult for Remus to orient himself. But soon enough, instinct kicks in, and a few broad strokes bring him to the surface. A few moments later, Sirius emerges too, flipping his hair overhead far too dramatically. For a moment, they just stare at each other, chests heaving from the sudden exertion, before breaking down into simultaneous laughter.

It seizes him so fully; he has to swim to the side of the pool and cling onto the tile for support. His lungs burn and his cheeks ache. Sirius’ barking laugh fills the air and Remus’ chest, only further fueling the fire of his laughter. They drift together, clinging to each other in their hysteria. He laughs until he is gasping for air, only stopping when his lungs feel ready to burst.

He rests his head against the cool stone, letting the ease of contentment wash over him. For the first time in a while he isn’t worrying about anything. Not their OWLs looming on the horizon. Not Sirius having to return home for the summer, their first time apart since getting together.  Not even the evidently imminent full moon in a few weeks’ time. Just him and Sirius, together and unburdened as children should be. Free to drift up and touch the ceiling of stars.

“Did I ever mention that I don’t know how to swim?”

Their shared laughter drives them both out of the deep end, toward where they can walk on stable ground.

[be-my-ally]

Do it again. Please.

I HATE COMING UP WITH TITLES.

now this could be, a little bit, related to empty promises - or perhaps an AU off of it but you could also read it completely as a stand alone one shot. Fulfilling a request + prompt fill for ‘do it again. please.’  kinda imagining as if e + p’s month long honeymoon had gone so well they’d extended it rather than returning home 2 days later. 

pairing: fem!reader x Elvis Presley (1967)

warnings : 18+,18+, pwp. As always a lil bit of foreplay, teeny use of the term daddy, p in v sex, e can't stop + accidentally cums in her, couple of spanks here and there, tiny bit of innocence play? I use the term labia minora idk I have no excuse.

wc: miss VERY concise smut! 2.5k. 

The honeymoon period seems never-ending, you’ve been together now for almost three years, although only married for a little while - five weeks to the day tomorrow. You’re still celebrating every day like it’s an anniversary, wrapped in one another and cocooned in a bubble from Hawaii and now in California. Elvis hasn’t had to work for a little while, he’d taken the month off for your honeymoon, and extended that by a few weeks, despite the near-constant calls from the Colonel now. He’s talking about doing something new, something different, but for the moment you’re content to have him with you, even if you can tell he’s starting to itch to get back to the studio. He keeps it mostly to himself though, and you’re doing your best to keep him entertained in any way you can. Despite the months, years, of all the practicing and the training, the novelty of actual sex hasn’t worn off yet for either of you and you can’t deny that you use it to your advantage. 

Nonetheless, just because you’d had sex now didn’t mean Elvis didn’t still like doing other things; your thighs were still slightly sore from where he’d pushed them together to fuck in between last week, cock just about bumping against your folds. He’d gotten you off with his tongue before, ensuring a slick passage - using your own wetness as lubrication. But still, he’d fucked you raw, your inner thighs red and rashed. You knew he’d felt a little guilty about it, watching you run around in your swimsuit, marks clearly visible but it hadn’t stopped him from taking you on the sun-lounger and palming at the marks while he did so, after he’d sent his father and the mafia boys he couldn’t live without away. You should have perhaps been more embarrassed, knowing that they all knew why they’d been sent on a sudden errand, but in actuality you wanted him as much as he did you. Any reservations you might have had had been quickly forgotten as soon as he’d revealed his golden skin in the secluded garden. 

You’d been out to dinner tonight, a fairly casual affair, but still an opportunity to dress up a little - although that dress was now thrown over the back of the bathroom door. You loved to see him in his element, relaxed and happy and it hadn’t taken much, the briefest of touches from your pinky finger on the walk out of the restaurant, a thigh knocking against his in the car for him to get the hint that you wanted to go straight to bed once you returned. He’d stripped you almost immediately as the door shut - barely taking the time to appreciate your special underwear. 

You’re swiftly laid back on the bed, his arms lowering you as he kisses you, and he pulls away to  take a second to look down at all of you. You can’t help but preen a little, pushing your chest up and your hips back as you watch him watch you. He’s slimmer than he was at the start of the year, it shows in the thin corded muscle that surrounds his ribs and in the way his powerful thighs give way to slender shins and legs - you don’t prefer him one way or another, but with his summer tan, sweat glistening across his skin, catching on the hairs on his chest and arms he looks like a goddamn vision. An image you couldn’t have even dreamt up. His hair, that had been so carefully styled in the day, now falling across his forehead - flopping down, you can’t resist reaching up, breaking the lingering silence of both your gazes, twisting a strand in your fingers. 

He presses a kiss to your mouth - going where your hands tug him, before breaking your hold as he pulls back, his fingers sliding into you as he does. You moan at the intrusion but you’re so aroused that they barely catch on your entrance, and a little part of your brain that’s still capable of coherent thought wonders how, barely six months ago you couldn’t even get a finger in and now he’s molded you to him, carved out a space to slot in so perfectly that his fingers can just slip in. He crooks them just so - knowing intimately the exact spots to make you writhe. He takes his time, somehow despite his impatience in literally every other part of his life, he very rarely rushes this - ensuring that you’re not only wanting him by the time he moves on but that you’re desperate. Today is no exception, his other hand comes up to fiddle with a nipple, and you’re already sensitive enough that by the time he rolls one between his fingertips you can’t help but clench on his other hand, a jolt being sent straight down your belly. He continues to slip his fingers in and out of you, spreading them a little before nudging at your entrance with a third. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve done this now, his penchant for dirty talk still surprises you, he’s incapable of silence constantly muttering praise against your skin. He moves his thumb, rubbing up the slick inner folds of your labia minora to your hitherto neglected clitoris. He’s narrating as he does; 

“That’s it baby, Jesus Christ look at how wet you are - all for me, ain’t that right? Just gotta, gotta find that lil’ button of yours, get the right spot.” And he does. A swipe of his guitar roughened thumb and your body lifts from the bed, hips jerking. He laughs at you, a little cruelly, as your breathing hitches, eyes closing about to beg for more before he pulls his fingers out. 

You shift on the bed, still slightly aghast at how filthy he is - holding his hand up and spreading his fingers, a line of your slick still connecting the two. You watch, breathe catching in your throat as he puts them in his own mouth, eyelashes fluttering. Your hips buck of their own accord and from his position between your spread thighs he presses his other hand on your tummy holding you down. You squirm, and he pulls out his now spit-slicked fingers from his mouth, pressing them back down to your burning core. He slips between the folds of your labia, fingers catching the puffy, wet, skin. 

“I’m…I’m ready - El, please - please.” He grins, eyes still focussed where his fingers continue to play with you. You groan, clenching around nothing, desperate for something - for more. 

He steadies you, lining himself up and pressing into you. You feel every inch, every centimetre of him as he pushes into you until he’s pressed in to the hilt - your legs being forced wider to accommodate him. There’s the hint of a burning stretch, but with barely a finger over your clit you can feel yourself relaxing into him, Little Elvis burrowing into the warm little home he’d created for himself. A home that had lain dormant, until Elvis as Pygmalion had moulded it to his exact dimensions - your vagina, in fact your whole body, his own Galatea. 

He thrusts into you, famous hips doing their job as he grips your thighs and knees. You crunch up, unable to stop yourself, at the mounting pleasure - even though you’re not convinced it could be that attractive to have you thrashing about below him. But he breathes a laugh - it turning into a groan as he pulls out and pushes into you again, your body arching back. 

“How’re you -“ He’s breathless, gasping out the words, “how’re you still so goddamn jumpy, so fucking jumpy like a lil baby rabbit honey, like you still ain’t used to it,” he’s practically just rambling and you zone out, letting his words wash over you as you concentrate just on his tone and the movements of his body in yours. “God that’s fucking it, yes, oh lord, how’s your yittle cunt so tight still, fit me so goddamn perfectly.” You try to clutch at his arms, where he’s holding your waist, and he pulls out, briefly, flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up and back to him. You don’t have time to protest, even though you don’t like it on your front as much, your breath snatched away by his sudden manhandling. You turn your face, 

“Oh - El, daddy, I don’t -” He just pulls you back to him though, forcing your legs apart again, and burying himself back into your warm heat. 

“I know, I know baby, but just, just for a little while, give me this -” He sounds moderately apologetic, although not very sincere, its hard to hold a conversation with his cock rocking in and out of you with every roll of his hips but you do your best. 

“Ok, bu-but, but tomorr- “ His hand comes down on your ass - you jump, but can’t help the moan that follows as he interrupts your attempts at bargaining. 

“No baby, you’ll give me it because I want it.” He growls, “Because you’re mine.” His hand comes down again, you can feel the sudden surge of wetness at that, his voice so rough it’s like he’s talking straight to your core. “Say it baby, say you’re mine. We’re married now darlin’. You belong - to - me.” You repeat it back to him, stuttering, promising that you’re;

“I’m - oh - all yours, all yours daddy,” You can hear the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, and the feel of his hands gripping into the marks he’d just made, “I’m, oh god, I’m - I belong to you,” 

“Good girl.” You can’t see him, but you just know from his tone that he’s nodded to himself self-satisfactorily. 

Oh,” Your eyes are rolling back in your head as he continues to fuck into you, your nipples catching on the bedspread as your body is dragged back and forth. “Oh fuck, fuck.” He spanks you again, 

“None-a that fucking filthy language from you baby.” You can’t hear the smirk in his voice, too lost in the sensations, babbling an apology; 

“Sorry, sorry, oh-“ He pulls you out again, and you whine at the loss. But soon his hand is back, finger stroking down your labia where you now remain open, puffy lips slipping between his fingers, slick with evidence of your arousal. His fingertips stroke around your tender entrance and you moan, hips grinding in circles, so close to the edge that you can feel it building in your stomach, only he pulls his hand away just at that moment. Elvis flips you onto your back and lowers himself to be just above you, sinking into you again. You’ve been pretty well acquainted with a multitude of different positions now, but you know you both have a soft spot for the simple ones. The ability to watch his face, eyebrows scrunching and mouth falling open, pouty lips pushed forward when his own pleasure mounts. The ability to hold onto his shoulders as he rocks into you, or pull him into a - usually pretty messy - kiss. He’s been dragging it out for so long now that it doesn’t take long for you to feel the edge again, and he reaches down with one hand, slipping it between your sticky sweaty bodies. 

You’ve not managed this many times, only once before - he’s had to get you off with his fingers or tongue before or after, but as he hits just the right angle again, fingers rubbing over your clit in little circles - the internal and external stimulation combining to send you over the edge, body clenching tight. Your hips grind down in circular movements as you clamp down on him, 

“Oh fuck - fuck, fuck baby, that feels so - oh shit, shit.” You feel him suddenly freeze, twitching inside you, the pulse of his sudden spurt of ejaculate deep within you. You pant, interrupting his swearing even as his hips start to move again, 

“Wha- What,” You swallow, trying to talk around a tongue that suddenly feels too big for your mouth, “What was that?” He groans, his hips pressing himself tight against you before he pulls away with a reluctant sigh, rolling over onto his back beside you,

“S’ok, baby, s’ok -  just oh god I just, I couldn’t stop - god you’ve made such a perfect little bitty home for me, Christ darlin’, I couldn’t stop.” He sounds almost a little nervous, and you wriggle, feeling the way your combined wetness was starting to cool. 

“Oh....” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, a steady pulse, you’d liked it. “….do it again. Please?” He collapses, head falling back onto the pillow -

“Darlin’ I can’t just go again,” You frown, 

“Why?" You blink over at him innocently, watching the flush dissipate from his cheekbones, "You make me do it again all the time.” You writhe next him as if to demonstrate your point. His hair flips forward as he shakes his head, rosy cheeks evident. 

“God, baby, men can’t just - I’d hafta, gotta get myself primed again, I can’t just do it again this second.” You pout, feeling it start to slip out of you, the strange combination of its thickness against the thinness of your own orgasm and the tiny bit of sting where it touches your slightly sore entrance. 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind ‘bout that baby honey you gotta," He sounds like he's thinking fast, "gotta push it out at least.” You frown, trying to regain control of your trembling limbs, 

“El- I don’t -“ He interrupts you, 

“Shh darling, listen to me, promise it’ll be fine you just gotta, go on baby…” 

He groans, holding your legs open, leaning over to watch it bubble out of you, dribbling down onto the bedspread. You moan, 

“Oh, El-it’s I can feel it,” 

“That’s it little, quick ‘fore they get swimmin’.” You groan, rolling your hips at the sensation, and he reaches over, long fingers scooping it onto your inner thighs. You feel your tummy twitch with interest and you squirm as he pats at you a couple of times before wiping his hand on the cover. 

“I… I liked that. Maybe… maybe you could do that again sometime.” He chuckles at you, and you both lay there panting for a second, recovering from the exertion and excitement. He gets up first - rolling you off the cover, throwing a washcloth your way - you do a cursory swipe but can’t get up the energy to do much more. Content to lie there as he pulls all the sheets up to make up for the loss of the additional layer of the bedspread. He climbs back into the bed, joining you where your eyelids are starting to droop closed. 

His arms wrap around you, as he rolls into you, pulling you close to growl into your ear, “Jesus baby, where did that come from? You goddamn little minx,” He puts on a high-pitched voice, “What was that Elvis? Do it again!” You were pretending to be asleep, eyes tightly closed but you can’t help but snicker, his fingers finding their way under your rib cage - digging in, tickling you as you give up the pretense of sleep, caught out, squirming around and giggling. 

tags:

@thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @vintageshanny

[kangals]

Kepler siblings! just posting for fun :) having had rescue dogs of unknown origin for so long, the novelty of knowing what my dogs parents and siblings look like still hasn’t worn off.

smooth tri female, smooth white male, rough tri male, and rough tri female are all from his litter! there were 2 other merle puppies but I haven’t seen pics of them yet, but that’s the whole gang. the big tri is a half-brother (same mom) from a few years ago who I think is gorgeous.

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 4: Cindrella Moment ~ Aemond Targaryen/OC [2,252 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

Anyone can appear fair if they have the gold.

It was something Jeyne’s mother was excessively fond of saying. Usually when someone she disliked looked particularly fetching. And though her family had all departed the capital within weeks of her wedding to Prince Aemond, Jeyne’s mind had now taken to saying it when her mother was not here to do so. Although tonight, it was in response to her own reflection.

She wasn’t ugly, she knew that. It would have been an insult for her parents to offer her up to the Targaryens if she was. Nor was she, however, the sort of woman who had people stopping in their tracks around court in order to stare – in lust, jealousy, or some combination of the two. Aegon himself had commented on it within her earshot.

She’s all right, brother, but from how you never stray, you’d think she was something…well, more.

Jeyne had cast her gaze downwards towards her plate, seated as ever to her husband’s right during the dinner during which Prince Aegon had decided it was fitting to start such a conversation.

You are a prince, you know. It’s your duty to have a little fun. Don’t tell me the novelty hasn’t worn off yet.

In response to that, Aemond had sighed impatiently, well used to his brother’s antics by now, and then turned his head to speak to her instead. Judging by how he stilled thereafter, he’d realised that she had heard every word. Jeyne hadn’t known what to expect after that. Were it another man of the court, her husband wouldn’t have stood for it purely on principle, but it was his brother – and Targaryens were…funny with one another. In many ways. She wouldn’t get far if she expected civil war to break out every time one of her husband’s kin raised an eyebrow at her.

Which was why she was stunned when her husband took up his knife, and drove it into the table scarcely a hair’s breadth from his brother’s hand. Aegon had laughed that that, but the comments ceased. Within earshot, at least.

Appearances were a funny thing here, and still something Jeyne was growing used to – for back home, so long as she appeared neat and orderly, she never gave the matter much thought. Here in the capital, it was more coded. She now represented not only the royal family, but also her husband. Were it only one or the other, it would have been simpler. To represent her new House, that of the Targaryens, she had to be richly dressed so that none would think them weak, albeit not too lavishly or else they’d appear wasteful. But Aemond? Aemond’s tastes were fine, yet simple. His clothing was always impeccable and of fine quality, but there was little about it that did not serve a purpose. It would be easy to appear frivolous in comparison – or worse, like she did not share his values. It was often difficult for Jeyne to think she was meeting the standard of one without somehow failing the other.

Of course, Aemond never made her feel that way, so she knew it was simply her own standards for herself – combined with the imaginary or guessed standards other might have for her – that had her worried. He was a man of few words, but his displeasure was seldom subtle. Indeed, on more than one occasion she’d caught him looking over whatever dress she was wearing that day, one corner of his lips tugging upwards in a smirk, before he would show her his appreciation for her appearance that night. Often while murmuring filthy things, but only ever in High Valyrian, so she could not understand them. Regardless of how much she wished she could.

Still, today was her husband’s name day, and so she wanted to make an effort. For him.

It began with a new method of attending to her hair – a very dangerous method that her handmaiden swore by, involving hot metal that all but seared it into fetching ringlets. He liked her hair down. That much he’d been happy to tell her in the common tongue, at least. The gown she was something she was much more nervous about. Made of brown and gold damask that had caught her eye the moment the seamstress showed it to her, and accented with vivid golden ribbon, it was fine but understated…and with a neckline that she considered rather daring, by her standards.

Oftentimes she’d envy the ladies of the court who could sport the bold fashions, the ones that bared them down almost to the ribcage in a manner that should not have been tasteful but was. She would never be one of those ladies, for whenever her neckline delved but a handful of inches below her collarbones she always felt hopelessly exposed, but tonight she would see it through regardless if only in hopes of prodding a reaction from Aemond.

Knowing him and his self-mastery, though, that was an intimidating goal indeed. But one that she kept in mind with increasing determination – and one that she felt significantly more optimistic about when she noted how people reacted to her. It was the same every time, a first glance upon noticing her and then a second take; a full stare, as they took in her appearance and who she was.

Aemond’s mouse is masquerading as a dragon, the whispers said.

Jeyne was happy to hear them. It meant it was working.

She arrived to dinner just at the tail-end of being on time; unusual for her, for typically she was early for being early. Her handmaiden had sorely underestimated how long it would take for them to attend to her hair, but as Jeyne strode into the hall, she kept her head held high and simply pretended it had all been part of the plan. He would like that.

King Viserys appeared a mix of amused and disinterested when she strode up to the head table, but Queen Alicent had a warm smile on her face as she paused before the table and dipped into a curtsey. When she arose, she looked straight to her Aemond. His eye was pinned on her, a sort of intrigue shining there that was usually reserved for when he saw a move in the training yard that he very much wished to replicate.

“Good name day to you, husband,” she said, returning his gaze evenly.

Aemond smirked. “Come and take your place, wife.”

The seat to his right was empty, saved for her as it always was, and his eye followed her throughout the entire journey it took for her to reach that chair.

“You look beautiful tonight, wife.”

His hand found hers beneath the table, as was their habit now. More often than not Aemond spoke softly – not shyly, but lowly, and in a way that had all listening carefully to his words. And when Aemond spoke, all did listen. Now, though, he spoke softer than ever; so much so that Jeyne had to bodily lean towards him as though he whispered secrets. She suspected that was his intention.

“I thought the occasion a special one.”  

The pad of his forefinger traced the dip of her palm. “Ah, but you look beautiful every other night, too. Are you suggesting there have been special occasions every day since we first met, but I knew not?”

Those gathered could not be blamed if they thought he whispered utter filth to her for how furiously she blushed.

“Aemond,” she breathed a laugh. “I’m tempted to think you’re mocking me.”

“Never,” he said solemnly, bringing her hand up from beneath the table in order to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Now what is my wife giving her husband for his name day?”

“Hm,” she made a show of thinking it over. “A dance?”

It was a daring thing to ask. While she suspected he revelled in the crowds he often drew in the training yard, he was not the sort for grandstanding. Not the way the men who competed in the tourneys were. And dancing, she realised quickly, must have fallen into the same category as tourneys in his mind. They’d danced at their wedding, yes, but that was part of his duty on that eve, she supposed.

“A joke,” she lied quickly, before she found herself subjected to a refusal – however carefully she knew he would phrase it.

Aemond’s eye cast downwards, his head tilting as he appeared torn on whether to argue with her or not, but Jeyne was waving one of her personal guard forward, one of whom she’d tasked with carrying the gift.

“Now, I know you already have this volume,” she said quickly, squeezing his hand. “Primarily because there’s hardly a book in Westeros you haven’t read.”

He smirked proudly at that.

“But this is the original copy from the Citadel. It has the Maester’s original notes in it, which are supposed to contain almost as much knowledge as the book itself. Whoever copied it neglected to bother with them, likely to lighten their workload…which is why I don’t feel half so bad about my liberating it for you.”

This part she explained softly, less the whole court be privy to her less-than-stellar practises. Any worry she may have felt over Aemond’s opinion of her decision to grease palms that prided themselves on never being greased proved unfounded, however, for his delight grew and he smirked

“How did you achieve such a feat?” he asked.

The true story was as anticlimactic as it was tedious, featuring a cousin who was studying to join the Order of Maesters – one who owed her a favour, and who was dying for the approval of House Targaryen, no less. Thank the Seven for snobbish streaks.

But explaining all of that rather ruined the mystique, so instead she smiled, and she winked, and she turned her attention to her cup of wine. Beside her, Aemond gave a chuckle that suggested she played a dangerous game. Jeyne rather liked it; the chuckle and the game both.

The night went as expected from there. Not close enough in line to the throne to warrant an entire spectacle – and not fond of entire spectacles to begin with – gifts were brought forth here and there by members of other Houses, and Aemond did a great deal of nodding and murmuring in response. Other than that, there was dancing, drinking, eating, and all of the making merry that typically went into these things.

It was hours and hours before things began to show signs of drawing to a close. The King and Queen had long retired, as had Princess Helaena, while Aegon was set on gathering his nearest and dearest for a “continuation of the festivities” somewhere in the city. Something Aemond steadfastly refused to join.

Ordinarily, she and her husband would have already retired long ago, but given that this was all in his name, he was under an obligation to see it through…for the most part. Still, as the night pressed on, Jeyne found herself yearning for their chambers. They were his chambers, really, but that mattered little for all she was in them. The ones she’d been given upon moving here were a glorified dressing room, and she had no cause to complain in regards to that arrangement.

Still, she knew he took little enjoyment in the crowd that remained, and so she felt it necessary to hang around until he saw fit to take his leave. But a moment to breathe on the balcony could not hurt.

"We may leave soon – those still around are resolved to drink until the sun rises.”

Jeyne started at the sound of his voice, giving him a rueful look in response to his purposefully quiet approach. Aemond smirked, unbothered by her teasing ire, standing behind her so he might press his hands onto her hips.

“The bards are still playing,” she pointed out. “I wouldn’t think things were dying down overmuch.”

“The bards still play,” he said, “because I commanded it.”

“Oh?”

“Dance with me.”

“Aemond…”

“Jeyne.”

“I know you don’t like it.”

“Dancing with my wife? What brought you to that conclusion?”

“Dancing in general. I would not force your hand in the matter when it matters little. Especially not on your name day.”

“I did not dance with you in there, because then I would have found myself obliged to dance with all who asked. That brings me little joy, nor pleasure. But you, however…” he leaned down to press a kiss to the side of her neck, his lips warm in contrast to the cool of the night. “You cannot expect to dress so finely, nor to dance so prettily with every moron gathered her tonight, without saving one for your husband.”

Jeyne leaned back into his touch.

“What will people think, if they catch us dancing out here?”

At that, he responded in Valyrian – the only words she could make out being hear and your chambers. It wasn’t as difficult to fill in the blanks now as it usually was when he slipped into that tongue.

“You know, one day I’ll have a better grasp at the language and I’ll understand everything you say to me in it,” she teased.

“Then you will blush very prettily, very often,” he murmured, unabashed. “Now come, wife. Dance with me.”

Jeyne smile, and then she laughed, before finally allowing him to guide her. As was swiftly becoming her habit.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[sainthermelin]

maybe the novelty hasn’t worn off yet but tbh going to the laundromat has been like a highlight of living independently for me :) I like it. I like talking to old folks and kiddos who run around the building while their parents do laundry

[calamitydaze]

purple heart anon 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️ that’s extremely nice of you to say, i appreciate it very much :,) i try my hardest to be kind but i feel like lately [waves hands] Everything has made me act far less charitably than i want to so it means a lot that you still think of me that way. im about to go to bed and today was pretty shitty to be honest, i’m very tired, BUT i do have water! and it’s ICY! (<- my ice maker was broken for months but i recently got it fixed and the novelty hasn’t worn off yet) and tomorrow is always a new day :)

[geo-ofnowhere]

some birthday traditions are just the annual smashing of a plant pot

you know?

[sanriosapphic]

I may be an emotional mess, but at least I’m an emotional mess with a cute haircut

[slugchild]

OH also after about three weeks here literally speaking to nobody at all apart from like this one singular time. the last couple of days have been RIDICULOUS laying the groundwork for future friendships + today someone RECOGNISED me out of uni context! someone i’d never spoken to before from my trans studies seminar was at the queer photography exhibition and Recognised me and we chatted!!!! can you believe it i can NOT

SPOKE to people today!! we went for lunch and coffee together!! i now have some contacts in the same country as me!!

[dee-dee-monster]

Then Out of the Aether - (Ch. 7)

Summary: Eddie steps up when you need some support. You can’t help but feel some feelings about it.

Warnings: None

A/N: Multi-chapter slow burn. Henderson!Reader

< Click here to find previous chapters >

_

It’s fine.

It’s fine, fine, fine.

And yet Eddie feels nervous watching you get out of your car.  He’s out on the front couch, knee bouncing excitedly while he works through a cigarette. It’s silly of him. 

But it’s fine. 

He expects you, after all.  It’s Friday – this is your guys’ whole thing. 

Except for today. Today, Jeff and Gareth had shown shortly after Eddie had gotten home. Which …is good. It’s great! They’re his people, and they are always welcome here.

He just isn’t sure what you will think of the change.  

There hadn’t been a chance to give you a heads-up or anything, and there is no guarantee you’ll want to stay.  

Which. Is. Fine. 

You are perfectly allowed to decide this isn’t the night you’d wanted. Will he be disappointed if you head home? Yeah. But you can, if you want, and he’s just reminding himself it’s fucking fine.  “Hey,” you greet as you drop down next to him. 

“Hey…Gareth and Jeff are inside,” he explains. 

“Thought so…I recognized Jeff’s truck… “

Right. Of course. 

Eddie watches you curl one of your legs up under you because it’s getting a little chilly to spend too much time out here. Also, he thinks, because you might be uncomfortable. 

He watches you closely

“They’re in there bickering about what pizzas to order … …that okay with you?”

“Sure,” you nod. “I like pizza as much as anyone…” 

Eddie chuffs out a small cloud of smoke. Rolls his head over in your direction. 

“C’mon…”

“What?” You just blink at him. 

He should let it go. After all, he wants you to stay. He’s convinced himself your comfort trumps his preference, though… 

Look at him being all evolved and shit.

“I know you’re not always .. …into groups”

He thinks he sounds kind enough, even though you squirm and look down at the cushion. Eddie doesn’t feel bad; he knows by now you sometimes just have to ease into the idea of being seen. 

Which is fair. 

“That’s true, but…it’s no problem — the guys are nice”

Though you’d never given any indication of not liking his friends, Eddie feels a strange warmth to hear you state it outright. To know you acknowledge them and don’t think they’re lame or annoying or — geeze, of course you fucking don’t. 

In some ways, the novelty of you just hasn’t worn off yet. 

Which, honestly, is the kind of thought that makes him want to hoard you to himself. Makes him not want to share the Friday nights the two of you share. 

“I would’ve given you a heads up, though,” he vows, trying to really drive home that being understood thing. “This was pretty spur of the moment…”

“Eddie, I get it …it’s fine,” your smile looks genuine. 

And just in time, too, because Jeff comes banging out of the trailer.  “One ham and sausage, one pepp— oh hey,” he cuts himself off and waves a little greeting to you. 

He looks entirely cool about it. 

In fact, he and Gareth had barely had a spare comment to make when Eddie told them you were coming over. He can only assume this means he’ll be receiving a whole heap of shit from them later. They’re just laying in wait to see how things go…

“Let me guess. The other is pepperoni with extra cheese,” Eddie sighs like he doesn’t have anything annoying waiting for him at Sunday band practice. “Why do you waste your breath debating when it’s always the same? They always do this,” he directs an explanation to you. 

“We don’t always do shit”

“Sure you do.  You think you’ll try something new but you won’t put veggies on pizza –”

“Sacrilegious!” 

“You could always try pineapple” 

Eddie and Jeff both stare at you for this. 

“...what? I heard it’s a thing?” 

A thing?

Ew. 

“Who says?” Eddie raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know. Like out in California or something,” you shrug, blushing a little now. 

“... …well I’m going to stay here where we eat sausage and pepperoni.” 

“But you’ll still argue about it next time,” Eddie leaves your suggestion alone in favor of teasing Jeff further. 

“Real welcoming host you are,” Jeff chortles and trudges back inside. 

“Mi casa es su casa!” 

Jeff doesn’t dignify this with a response, and the door shuts behind him. 

“Those pizzas sound okay? I can go hassle them for not asking you…” Eddie is perfectly willing – it probably wouldn’t even take much; you’re kind of a “guest” to the group, and Jeff and Gareth are nice enough guys. 

“No. I’m not a picky eater…”

“M’kay…” Eddie accepts that and takes a slow drag from his cigarette while he drops his gaze to you. Searching once more. 

“...I told you I’m fine with it,” you spot him coming. 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs.  “It won’t be our usual night. I dunno if we’ll watch a movie or what the fuck we’ll do. I’d get it if you want to take off, that’s all…”

Not that you two always follow an agenda. 

You don’t do the same things all the time. In fact, last week Eddie wanted to make you listen to as much of the Motorhead discography as possible, and the pair of you had sat on the living room floor and played board games. He’d dug them out of a cupboard where they’d been collecting dust for a while. Old, half-forgotten things Uncle Wayne had bought back when Eddie first came to live with him so they’d have something to do while they got used to one another. 

“So much fucking Yahtzee back then…” he’d reminisced aloud. 

So you’d played Yahtzee, Connect Four, and Sorry for hours. (With pauses for musical commentary, of course.) 

Point is, it’s not like you aren’t flexible. Fridays have become written in stone, but not in a prescribed way…not really. 

Eddie just doesn’t want you to feel obligated. Ever.

That’s not so crazy, right?

“...you trying to kick me out, Munson?” 

You’re grinning.

“Yeah,” Eddie smirks along. “I’m super embarrassed of you…” 

You give him a light kick to the shin, and he can admit to himself he loves it.  That he enjoys getting you a little riled up. 

“I…could go. If you want to have, like, a guys night…” 

You put on a deep, grumbly voice when you say guys night. It’s light and goofy, but Eddie figures it’s a genuine offer. 

“Nah …and I don’t sound like that”. 

“To me you do” 

“...you said I have a nice voice,” he adds, all smirky and smarmy. 

You blush a little and he knows he’s got you there. You have, in fact, said that. More than once, actually. 

“I was lying back then,” you tilt your chin up with faux-piety.

Eddie laughs.  The two of you head inside when Eddie finishes his smoke. 

Turns out Garreth had spotted the board games still stacked in the corner of the living room, so you all play Yahtzee while you wait for the pizza delivery. 

It’s a fairly subdued affair.

Until after dinner. That’s when a rousing game of Sorry gets underway, complete with yelling, cursing, and accusations of purposeful miscounting!  

By the second round of the game, everyone just straight throws pieces across the room if they land on an occupied space and get to bump another player.  Rowdiness amps up even more by the third go-around because you and Gareth have both won a game, and therefore if either of you win you will be The Sorry Champion. 

This title has become an honor more coveted than it has any actual right to be. 

It’s fucking fun, is the thing. 

And you’re having fun, which thrills Eddie to no end.

This is how games and debates often get when the guys get together. They have a knack for making low-stakes things a little more adrenaline-fueled just for the sake of being shits. Eddie is delighted you’re not only keeping up but enjoying yourself. Even better, you egg the others on in your own quiet ways.  “Pause!” Eddie screeches when the phone rings. “Pause everything – I mean it! Hands up!” 

He doesn’t want to miss a moment of the game in case there is someone he can accuse of cheating. He’s two games away from taking The Championship, but anything could happen.  Jeff has put cards up his sleeve in the past when playing Rummy, and Eddie won’t trust anyone until the Sorry board is packed up and put away. 

Dramatic? Maybe. 

But delightful, all in all. 

Once everyone holds their palms up in a solemn vow to stop playing, Eddie gets off the floor and lopes over to the phone.  It’s late, which means it might be Uncle Wayne. 

Or maybe a customer, but that would be pretty rare… …

“Hello!” 

‘Eddie? …it’s Dustin…’

Wow. Even rarer. And Dustin sounds…weird…

“Yeah? …you alright?” 

‘I’m fine – do you know where my sister is?’ he rushes despite his declaration of fine-ness. ‘I know she was talking to you. Did she say where she was going? She’s not at Lindsey’s. But her mom would say fuck-all.  She’s a damn mess, man, but –’

“...dude, slow down Henderson…” Eddie has to talk loudly over him, and he glances over his shoulder to see if this catches your attention. 

It has. 

You sit up straighter to get a good look at him, Doritos bag forgotten in your fingers. He stares back at you and nods to tell you ‘yup, you heard that right.’ 

You frown, and Eddie can swear he hears the wheels turning in your head before your face tilts in worry and you scramble up off the carpet. 

He covers the receiver when you scurry to his side. 

“He’s trying to figure out where you are,” he whispers. 

You frown again, head tilted like this fact is exasperating. Thing is…Eddie doesn’t think Dustin’s sounds like he’s just being a nosey shit of a brother. He thinks you’ll agree …

“Why?” you whisper back. 

‘Eddie? ….Eddie?!’ You can both hear Dustin through the speaker. 

He uncovers the mouthpiece. 

“Yeah, man – sorry. What’s up?” 

‘Okay. Good. Jesus,’ Dustin’s tone is still pleading and thin, and Eddie can feel you stiffen up next to him. He stares at you. ‘I was asking if she mentioned what she was doing tonight? I don’t want to call our mo–’

“Dustin?” you cut off his worrying like you can’t help yourself. 

You probably can’t. 

Your name trickles back across the line in a relieved sigh, and your eyes pinch in concern once more when Dustin sas it.  You snatch the phone from Eddie’s hand and, despite his curiosity, he lets you do it. 

“What’s wrong?” you demand and turn away to focus on your brother. “...what happened?” 

Eddie whispers your name. Questioning. He wants to catch a look at your face to gauge what’s going on, but he also feels like it would be rude to do so. 

“Dustin,” you urge him, and Eddie’s gut twists somehow hearing you like that.

He’s not sure why, really. If Dustin can call multiple people on the phone then he’s fine. At least, ya know, relatively speaking. Like physically. Right?

Fuck. 

“...oh. Okay, yeah… …yes. Obviously… yeah, I’m on my way … … …go find Tews. Hang tight…” 

Twos?

“See you in a few...” you mutter before lowering the phone. 

Eddie stands by the phone cradle, head tilted and waiting on you when you return to hang-up. 

“...hey,” you greet, darty-eyed and unsure. 

“Everything good?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” your answer sounds like a lie, and you seem to know it. “Or…I just need to head home,” you shrug. 

He nods. 

Jeff and Garreth are watching, too, when Eddie glances over.  You stiffen a little when you turn back to face them, but you muster a small smile. 

“Little twerp okay?” Garreth checks. 

Eddie makes a face and waves a hand behind your back as a threat to the other boy – they don’t know how protective you get. Jeff takes the initiative to smack Gareth in the arm. 

“What?!”

“He’s good. I’ll go…wrangle him,” you attempt to brush the whole thing off, too, and Eddie thinks it’s well done and big of you. 

He refrains from saying so.  He hangs back while you shove your feet into your sneakers and retrieve your keys. You don’t offer much more of a farewell to any of them, distracted as you are. 

When you step out, he follows close behind. 

“Hey…hey,” he taps at your shoulder, then skitters around in front of you. “You sure things are okay?” 

It seems more appropriate to ask away from the eyes of others, even if it’s only Jeff and Gare. 

You nod. 

“You need a ride?” he offers anyway. “You’re upset, yeah?” 

That was fucking stupid to ask. Obviously you are.

He just wants to help.  

“No – or, yeah, I am,” you backtrack and shake your head. “But I’m okay to drive. I promise…” 

Your tone isn’t the most convincing sell, so Eddie looks you over. Clocks how hard you’re clenching at your key ring and the way your other hand trembles and fidgets. Your eyes are clear, though. 

“...okay.” 

“Thanks. For…checking” 

Of course he’s going to check. 

He just nods and steps out of the way. You seem to zero back in on getting home, but you pause again with a hand on the door. Something draws you up short.

“Hey, um. Look, I think,” you twist back toward him. “I think Dustin will be embarrassed about this by next week…” 

You tilt your head at him in a pointed, wide-eyed look. 

Jeeze. 

“Ah, c’mon – gimme some credit,” he rolls his eyes, but in a more subdued way than his usual. “I see it’s off limits…” 

Sure he gives everyone shit even when it’s a little dicey to do so, but there’s a line. He doesn’t find it often, but he knows it when he sees it. And for all he likes to act like he doesn’t care, he does care. 

Like a lot, honestly. 

“....yeah?” your eyes flicker over to the trailer door. 

Ah. 

“I’ll make sure they do, too,” he follows. 

“...m’kay. It’s just,” you shift your weight like you’re unsure of your next words, and Eddie frowns. “You know all the …stuff at StarCourt last year?” 

Okay. Not what he’d expected. 

“Course,” he confirms, eyes widening. 

“Right. Well, Dustin was there, and –”

“Fuck”

“Exactly…he doesn’t talk about it much,” you add. “Sometimes…he just has trouble sleeping...” 

No fucking kidding. Eddie is sure there’s more to that statement, but he can read between the lines. And there’s no room for mockery this time. Honest. Cross his heart and all that shit. 

That was all a huge mess – and Dustin had been there? Fuck. 

“For sure…for sure,” Eddie holds up both hands. “He’s good.” 

You look like you believe him. 

And you looked relieved, which Eddie elects not to take personally. Figures he can chalk it up more to your concern for Dustin than actual doubts in him. 

“Thanks…and,” you pause again. “I’ll take care of explaining…this,” you point from yourself to his trailer. 

Right. 

He hadn’t even thought of that. 

“Ah, doesn’t matter,” he shrugs and hopes you won’t put that high on your list of priorities. 

“...m’kay.Good night.” 

“Night. Drive careful.”

Any mother-hen related jokes you might’ve lobbed at him on another night are forfeited, and you get in your car quietly. 

Eddie hangs around until you’ve gone off down the drive. He feels he hasn’t done enough, though he can’t quite bring to mind what he ought to have said or done. 

You just looked so distraught. Sad. He’d wanted to fix it. 

Wants to. 

He can’t. He gets that. Dustin had been through something serious, something real. It couldn’t be teased away or dismissed; of course you needed to go be with him. 

But. Well. Maybe he can do something…

Jeff and Garreth won’t mind. 

He’s, like, 90% sure.  . You and Dustin don’t really have a relationship full of big, mushy moments. Smiling, teasing, and small gestures are more common. Quiet conversations, sarcasm, or casual nights spent watching movies are how you enjoy each other. 

Still. 

You’re flexible. 

When you get home, you bound through the door and physically haul Dustin into a hug.  And he allows it.  Cool relief floods through you once you lay eyes on him. Nevermind that you’d known, logistically, that he was safe – a nightmare didn’t put him in physical peril. He was upset, but you’d known he’d be in one piece. 

That didn’t matter. 

You’d come too close to losing him. You haven’t forgotten that. In fact, you panic about it, too, sometimes.  “I’m fine,” Dustin tells you when he breaks the hug and looks up from where he’d pressed the top of his head into your shoulder. 

“...are you?” you palm his cheeks between your hands. 

Mostly to try to get a smile out of him. Also a little because you hope to see straight into his brain if you try hard enough. 

He flicks your wrist away with a characteristic grumble but no smile. Halfway there. 

“I’m in one piece”

“...I see that.” 

“I just…didn’t want to be alone,” he scuffs a foot. 

“...that’s okay.” 

“And now I can’t sleep…”

He is staring somewhere around your elbow. 

“...you wanna talk about it?” 

He shrugs. 

“Not much to talk about … …just makes me worry…” 

The usual, then. 

Guilt stabs your gut. 

You should’ve stayed home when Dustin’s scheme for a sleepover fell through. Your mom is out of town, so you’d known Dustin was going to be alone…but he usually loves having the house to himself. He can putter around or call Susie or snoop. 

So you hadn’t even thought twice. 

But you could have canceled your plans with Eddie. If you’d been here maybe he would’ve freaked out a little less.

“Did you check on everyone?” you ask, setting aside your own feelings. 

“Yeah” 

Good. Those walkie-talkies are more handy than annoying anymore, you swear. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here”

Dustin shrugs again, then thinks about it for a while and declares he doesn’t need a babysitter! 

You smile. 

There’s Dustin. 

“I know …I just wish I would’ve been here sooner…” 

“Guess so,” he answers as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him – dirty little liar that he is. 

‘Can you come back?’ 

His plea will haunt you for a little while, you think. 

But you need to focus on now. 

“...wanna do a movie night?” 

“Yes,” he pops his head up and smiles back. 

“Pick a movie. I’ll go change…” 

Dustin is in the middle of rewinding Superman when you reemerge in leggings and a large old sweater. You’re not surprised by his choice; in fact, you could have predicted it. 

Not that you mind…there is comfort in the well-known. 

“So…why were you at Eddie’s?” Dustin addresses you from the floor. 

Ugh!

You’d assumed this might be a Saturday or Sunday conversation. He sounds less accusatory than you’d expected, though. Sheepish and a little leery, maybe. 

“...him and the guys got together for beer and games,” you stick with the truth. 

“...have you been drinking?” he cocks his head. 

He looks so innocent in his bafflement. The Star Wars pajama pants help complete that picture, you think. 

“No” 

A little. Barely. 

“Okay…” 

“They just invited me to join – it’s not a big deal…” 

“Okay…” 

Okay? O-kay? That’s not right. Can’t be. 

Dustin shifts around where he’s kneeling at the VCR. Fidgets like he’s thinking pretty hard. 

“You could have told me – I almost didn’t call there,” he chastises you. “I just thought you might’ve mentioned your plans to him…” 

“That’s smart”

“I know”

You chuckle. 

“I guess I thought you’d say I was encroaching on your friends,” you tease lightly. 

This makes Dustin roll his eyes. Which is wild. It’s not as though you had been the one to make up those words. 

“I’m past that. Mike made some good points…” 

Oh. You see. Mike had made good points. Not you, though? 

Geeze. 

“Good to know,” you let your indignant thoughts go; it’s nice that he’s not flustered with this. 

“And I know they do…band stuff,” he says this like he isn’t quite clear on what that entails. Like maybe that’s just something they say to summarize their shenanigans. 

“...true.” 

“...should I say something to them?” Dustin cocks his head again, then jumps and gets distracted by the tape finishing its rewind. 

“Say something about what?” you frown. 

“...you’re my sister,” Dustin fusses with the player before looking up again. “...and they’re guys.” 

Oh Lord. 

“No,” you laugh. “No, Dustin. It’s not like that, and…” you think of Eddie and your stomach does a flippy little thing, but…no.  “Just don’t. It’s not that kind of thing.” 

Dustin tilts his chin in consideration. 

“Plus I can take care of myself,” you add.

“Ew. Whatever…” he drops it and climbs to his feet. 

“Ew,” you mock him. “Should I make popcorn?” 

“Always”  When you return to the living room with the snack you crowd Dustin on the couch where he’d plopped himself down in the middle.  He’d done it on purpose, you think. Seeking comfort by proximity.  The fact he doesn’t move away or “ew!” you again is confirmation enough in your book. 

The movie is hardly thirty minutes in when headlights flash over the window and bump as they turn into the driveway. 

“You called mom!?” Dustin whines loudly, betrayal clear in every syllable. 

“No…” 

You’d thought about it, but she deserves the weekend away with your Aunt.  Neither of you like to worry her. Besides, you’ve got this. 

Dustin’s eyes go even wider at this news, and he dives onto the floor to army crawl across the carpet and peek out of the bay window.  Which might’ve been funny if it weren’t a little sad…

Nevermind that a guest so late at night has you a bit uneasy too. Who would b—

“...it’s Eddie!” 

“What?” your heart starts racing for a whole new reason. 

You approach the window with more dignity and lift a rung of the blinds. 

“That’s his van…” 

Sure enough.

After a few moments of you and Dustin quietly watching, the headlights die, the door swings open, and a tall, lean silhouette springs out with something in hand.

Jesus. 

Jesus. 

“Huh…” Dustin mutters, still on the floor. 

Ah, shit – you drop your gaze to him. 

“Do you want him here?” 

“What?” Dustin looks up at you, puzzled. 

“...I can ask him to leave,” you promise. “You know if you’re…” Dustin is frowning now, and you falter. “If…you’re embarrassed of your silly pants.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“As if I would be” 

He rolls to his feet and yanks the front door open before Eddie even has to knock.

“Hi,” he greets, right as rain – you’re glad to hear the pep in his voice even if you’re surprised. 

“Hey, man,” you hear Eddie answer. 

“...pizza?” 

Eddie laughs in airy amusement. Of course Dustin would have found some distraction in that. 

“Yeah – gonna have to warm it up, though…” 

“I like cold pizza” 

You watch a box appear in Dustin’s hands. He’s chuckling at his own luck, then glances up at you when he steps back.  It doesn’t look like any gratitude is immediately forthcoming, so you cross to the door and pull it back further. 

“Thanks,” you lead by example once you spot Eddie out on the stoop. 

“Oh. Right. I mean, yeah – thanks,” Dustin agrees. 

“S’nothing,” Eddie seems nervous about the appreciation and shoves his hands into his back pockets, watching you. “I …you had to leave quick. Thought I’d come make sure everything was alright over here…” 

Wow. Gosh. He c– 

“I lost the remote,” Dustin blurts, surprising you – you and Eddie both look at him. “She knew I’d pester her until we found it …would’ve just called over and over and over…” 

You meet Eddie’s eye for the briefest moment. You tick him the tiniest shrug. Dustin seems to miss the exchange. 

“Well, joke wouldda been on you, man,” Eddie rolls along with the fibbing and grins. “I would’ve unplugged the phone…” 

“I’d find a way,” Dustin’s is so nonchalant and sure that you almost believe him.

Kind of. 

Probably. 

“...so did you find that remote?” 

Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by the thin, improvised lie – not offended or even annoyed. There’s something indulgent about the way he asks further. Something fond pinched into the corners of his smiling eyes. 

“Course. We’re watching Superman,” Dustin explains as he wiggles a slice of pizza free.

“Nice choice,” Eddie smiles. 

“Wanna join?” 

You’re taken aback by Dustin’s offer, and Eddie looks like he is, too. He checks the invite by you with a glance, and you shrug. 

“Sure, I’ll watch…” 

“You don’t have to get back to the guys?” you’re surprised. 

“Nah. They took off once the Championship had to be postponed,” he chortles. 

You see Dustin’s confusion, but he’s busy chewing. 

“And they gave up the pizza?” 

“Tell ‘em thanksh,” Dustin mumbles around a full mouth. 

“Them?! What?! Nah, man – thank me,” Eddie declares wildly as he steps inside. “I had to trade them the rest of the PBR.” 

Dustin pulls a face, and you’re pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t know about Milwaulkee’s finest. Probably for the best.  You don’t need him asking more questions about alcohol consumption tonight. 

“Nice place…” Eddie goes on as he enters. 

“I guess,” Dustin shrugs. “C’mon in…”  While he makes his way back to the couch, Eddie sways closer to you. 

“It’s cool if I stick around?” he murmurs.

You look up from the door’s lock and nod.  He raises his eyebrows and dips his chin like a second question – you sure? You elbow him gently and nod again. 

He believes you this time and moves further into the room. Lights are on in the kitchen, livingroom, and hallway – no dark corners. Not on a night like tonight. This isn’t normally how you watch a movie, and you wonder if Eddie notices how lit-up the place is. 

 “Want some or are you full?” Dustin checks, nodding at the pizza box he’s laid on the coffee table. 

“Always have room for more,” Eddie laughs and drops onto the couch next to him. 

You sort of…hover on the opposite side of the table for a moment. Watching. 

Processing, you suppose. 

Because …because Eddie is here.  You had left his place upset, and he’d seemed worried, and now he is here. He’d sent his friends home to bring snacks and make sure everything was alright. He’s…

He’s here. 

You won’t let your mind go much further than that at the moment. 

He’s here – you don’t even really care if it’s more for you or for Dustin. 

He gives a shit. 

And…it just means something, is all. 

“You make a better wall than a window,” Dustin lodges a complaint, pulling you from your thoughts.

“...I think it’s door, dude,” Eddie chimes in. 

“It works either way,” Dustin waves the would-be amendment off. 

Eddie then shrugs like that’s true. 

Right.

Fine. 

You eye the empty armchair but ultimately reclaim your place on the other end of the couch. Dustin sends a smile in your direction as you arrange a blanket on your lap, and you think maybe he’s pleased to be sandwiched safely there on the couch. 

Which has you glancing past him at Eddie. He’s chewing and slouched back, apparently content with his choice to drive over. Not bothered in the least. 

It’s… You try to stop thinking about what it is and get back into the movie. 

Dustin graciously offers you a slice of pizza, but you decline. You’d already had some and, anyway, your stomach doesn’t feel quite right. 

For all you’d relaxed upon getting home to Dustin, guilt and concern still churn around in your gut. It’s easing, but it’s there – probably will be all night. Maybe tomorrow, too.

You do your best to ignore the feeling and lapse into easy commentary with the other two.  After ‘Superman’ comes ‘Young Frankenstein,’ another of Dustin’s favorites.  He starts showing signs of fatigue even while he’s switching tapes, and then he’s zonked out before the movie hits its halfway point. His chin’s resting on his chest and he’s snuffling little almost-snores now and then. You pretend you don’t notice until Eddie snorts. 

You exchange a smile over the top of his head. 

“Want me to go?” Eddie whispers. 

You shake your head. You really, really don’t. Which might be selfish? This isn’t how he had planned to spend his night: quiet and cornered on the edge of the couch next to Dustin. 

Only…he’d come. He’d chosen to do that. Which means he wanted to. He wanted to know you’re both okay. He wanted to help. And, yeah, maybe you shouldn’t be feeling what you’re feeling about these facts, but…..for tonight you can. 

You can straighten yourself out tomorrow. Tomorrow. When you’re feeling more normal and rested – you’ll get back to reality then. 

Tonight you can feel warm about it.  In any case, Eddie doesn’t seem upset about your answer. He just gives you a little smile. 

“Thanks,” you add in a similar whisper. 

Eddie nods. Then reaches across the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder. 

Oh boy. 

You look away and back to Gene Wilder’s on screen antics. Eddie leaves his arm where it is, snaked up behind Dustin and his fingers brushing your shoulder. You can just barely feel their pressure through your sweater, yet you’re hyper aware of it. 

Here in your own house, with Dustin closeby, it feels … …even more thrilling than other small contacts.  More forbidden. More…

Well. Just more.  You let Dustin keep snoozing until he starts to list toward Eddie. Weight drooping to the side. 

“Dusty,” you pat his arm. “Dustin, hey – come on…” 

You shake her elbow and he stirs enough to squint and frown at you. He can be grumpy all he wants, but you’re sure he’d never forgive you if you let him sleepily drool on his Dungeon Master. 

“What?” 

“You should head to bed,” you tell him quietly. 

“Nuh-uh”

“Yeah, man – you’ve been snoring and shit,” Eddie heckled. “Can’t even hear Igor.”  

Dustin scowled.

“I do no–!” he casts a questioning look at you before he finishes, and you shake your head – Eddie tutts in annoyance. “I do not! Jeeze!” Dustin gripes with confidence. 

“Spoilsport,” Eddie chuffs at you. 

“Whatever,” Dustin pouts and turns towards the TV, but after a moment he seems to realize he’d missed a chunk of the film. 

“Guess I did fall asleep…” 

“Head to bed. I’ll clean up all of our crap,” you gesture to the snacks and cups. 

“M’kahy…night,” he rubs at one eye. “Later Eddie …s’cool having you over…” 

“Next time you supply the pizza” 

Dustin smiles and shoves off of the couch. He drags his feet along the carpet, moving in a slow shuffle toward his room. It could be pure sleepiness, but also … …

“Be right back,” you mumble.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods and watches you go. 

“Dust,” you follow him into the hallway. “Hey, you okay?” 

He’s sort of just lingering in his doorway, which is maybe an answer in itself. 

“Yeah”

“...yeah?” 

He shrugs this time. 

“...want me to ask Eddie to leave. I ca–”

“No,” he hisses in alarm. “Don’t make it a whole thing.” 

Fair enough. 

“...wanna crash in my room? There’s an air mattress in the hall closet and –”

“I’m not a baby,” Dustin scowled afresh. 

“I never said that…” 

You don’t even think that. Honest. You just know it might be comforting. 

“Then I’m fine” 

“Okay…”

He sighs and looks up and down the hall. 

“...you and Eddie will be out there for a while?” 

Oh boy…

“Yeah. I think we’ll probably finish the movie…” 

Rather than scrunch up his face in suspicion, Dustin’s eyes sort of seem to relax. 

Oh. 

Maybe he likes the idea of knowing someone’s around and awake. Better yet – more than one someone. 

“I’ll be awake for a while even if he takes off,” you promise. 

You have plenty on your mind to keep you up. 

“Okay…” 

You move closer for a hug, but Dustin ducks his shoulder and slinks backward. He throws a pointed look down the hall and then shuffles into his room. He doesn’t close his door all the way, so a few seconds later you hear his bed thump and squeak. 

You stand there mutely for a bit longer, feeling a little cheated.  Then you realize the hug you’d aimed for had been for you, not him. 

Ugh. 

Okay. Great. Eddie is right where you left him out on the couch. He pulls his eyes from the TV when you reenter. 

“He all good?” he has the good sense to keep his voice low.

“I think so,” you confirm just as softly. 

You sink onto the cushion Dustin had abandoned. You don’t sit as cozy to Eddie’s side as you have taken to doing when you’re at his place, but there isn’t a gaping distance between you. No polar ends of the couch. 

“You…don’t have to stay if you want to head home,” it’s only fair to tell him. 

“Nah,” Eddie hardly hesitates to consider. “I’ll stay and finish movie night…” 

You feel relieved by that. 

There’s more to say, you think. Appreciation that he’d come all this way. Apologizes if it’s inconvenient. Excuses to make on Dustin’s behalf for his flimsy lie about the TV remote. Or…

“How about you?” Eddie brushes hair from your temple so nothing obscures his view of your face. “You alright?” 

“Mmhmm..” 

He tilts his head in disbelief. 

“I mean… …I worry is all. I…” you pause, but he’d asked. “I feel kind of guilty I wasn’t here…” 

It’s silly. You know that. You can’t stop nightmares. But if you’d been here Dustin wouldn’t have had to track you down. That had obviously frazzled him, and –

“Oh, come on…” 

“I know”

Because you do. It’s just...he must have been scared. You could have helped with that part. 

“Hey,” Eddie scratches at the shoulder of your sweater for your attention. Kind of like a cat, you think. “Would you have left him home alone if you’d known he’d…have a bad night?” 

“No,” this answer is easy. 

“Then that’s what matters” 

Yeah. 

Makes sense. 

Very logical. 

So you nod because it’s what you are supposed to do. 

“...still feels shitty.” 

Eddie pulls a rueful face. He can’t counter that one, and it’s okay. There’s nothing to fix at the moment. It’s helpful enough just that he’s here. Which…you should tell him. 

You should say you appreciate him. Only…it feels easier – safer – to let it pass. Let it be assumed, and let all of this just be about Dustin anyway. 

When you turn back to the movie, Eddie does, too. You can feel some warmth off his arm, and you let yourself imagine his heat seeps into the cushions and over to you. 

It’s soothing even if it’s just an idea.  You find yourself disappointed when the movie draws to a close.  

Eddie shifts, straightening from his cozy slouch, and your stomach clenches up. But it’s late… Without invitation, Eddie helps you clean.. He grabs cups and bowls and takes them into the kitchen with you. You quietly squabble over who should keep the pizza leftovers – he stoutly refuses and whisper-insists that he will throw them out the window of his van and “won’t that be a waste, She-Henderson, huh?”

You find it comforting that he’s being very much himself even when you’re feeling… off. 

“Well, thanks then” 

He scoffs and waves you off like you’re gross, but he winks, too.  Then you’re stepping outside with him. He doesn’t need an escort, of course, but he often walks you out the door so it feels like the thing to do. At least until Eddie starts walking backwards about halfway to his car. He flashes a smile that seems to say you’re being silly and needn’t continue. 

Obviously you ignore it. 

“Sooooooooo, you good? Feeling alright?” he checks, head tilted. Searching. 

“Yeah,” you promise. “Just…it’s been a long night.” 

It’s the truest thing at this point. You’re safe. Dustin’s safe. Everyone is fine, but…it’s a lot. 

“I hear you. You’ll be alright, though,” he grades you by his own rubric. “...c’mere.” 

Before you register Eddie is reaching for you, he’s hooked his hand around your shoulder to pull you in for a hug. 

A hug. 

…that’s new. 

It’s nice, though, and you curl your arms around his waist instinctively.  He’s warm, and the pressure around your chest and shoulders is welcome. Steadying. A brief balm against the lingering roil of guilt and worry in your gut. 

You sigh into the embrace. 

“Thanks…” 

“Mmhmm” 

Eddie loosens his arms and lets you step back, but you don’t go far.

“No I mean it…thanks,” you repeat, deciding the thing you were going to leave assumed now needs to be said. “For coming over tonight. It was…it was really nice of you.” 

It’s a lot of things, really. 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Course.”

Of course? Like this is just another thing you guys do? 

Maybe it is. Maybe it should be. 

But it’s not nothing.

“It means a lot,” you insist even though you should probably shut up. “I was really frazzled, so…just. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Eddie runs a hand through his long hair. “I could tell. I just…thought I could help. Or hoped I could…or something...” 

He looks a little iffy about his own declaration even as he makes it. 

“You did,” you reassure him.

“...yeah?” 

“Yeah…yeah, you’re a really good friend…” 

And. 

Well. Huh. As true as the sentiment is, the word friend sort of stings on your tongue. Makes you want to backtrack and say something else. Makes you squirm a little. 

“Aw, don’t get all soft on me, Henderson…” Eddie jabs your shoulder lightly, tumbling you from your thoughts. 

You start to tell him to shut up, but he steps in and pulls you back into another hug. You relax into it quicker this time. Ready. Familiar. You squeeze his waist and tuck yourself against his shoulder. 

“...glad I could be helpful,” he murmurs against your hair and (you think? Maybe?) kisses the top of your head. Or it could just be that your big head is in the way and he has nowhere to turn. 

But…you think he had done it…

You nod against him and let yourself bask in the knowledge he’d come here for you. Sure it was a little for Dustin…but also for you. It’s nice knowing someone had your back, that when your job for the night had been to comfort Dustin someone could comfort you, too. 

“...you smell nice,” you tell him so you have some kind of excuse for lingering in the hug longer. 

The statement is true, though. 

“Like smoke?” Eddie laughs. 

Yeah, the faint smell of smoke is woven into his jacket, but you can smell the leather, too. And something warm and musky. It’s…something kind of cozy. 

“You’re ruining it,” you pinch his back. 

He pitches forward in surprise but laughs. 

“...says the woman who’s abusing me.” 

You chuckle and step back from his arms. 

“...thanks, Eddie.” 

“I’m filing a complaint…” he rubs dramatically at his back. 

The normalcy makes you smile wider. 

“Oh yeah? With who?” 

“The Neighborhood Watch, probably….crime on the streets!” he whisper-yells. “Suburbia isn’t safe with you out after dark…”

“Christ,” you roll your eyes. 

Eddie gasps. 

“And blasphemy!” 

Which is rich coming from him. 

“Get out of here, Munson…” 

He winks at you, standing in the halo of the garage light. 

“Night…” he tugs his van door open.

“Good night,” you smile. 

The smile lingers as he starts up and backs out of the driveway.  You feel a little alone once he pulls away, but you also definitely feel lighter than you had. 

_____

Next Chapter >>>

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

November 01 - Great Hall | word count: 787 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Today, is a great day.

It is such a good day; Sirius is certain he is still dreaming. But he never dreams good things, things that make him feel like he is floating, things that make him want to stay in the haze of sleep, things that are entirely welcome. And yet, some part of that is true, because for once, he did get his dreams. His life is no longer a blur of pain and self-resentment, but rather illuminated by a golden ray of autumn sunshine. Because Remus is finally his. Well, no, he is still his own person, but Sirius can hold his hand, and kiss him, and snuggle close in his arms and… well, he can wake up next to him in the morning, content and not afraid of the nightmares.

It's been a month now since they’ve officially gotten together, but the novelty hasn’t worn off, and he isn’t entirely convinced it ever will. After years of pining, then months spent driven apart by his deceitful mind and a stupid decision, then another handful of weeks spent vying from across the room, they are finally here, and Sirius isn’t going anywhere.

He blames this unburdened feeling on the unnecessary risks he’s taking today. Sitting glued to Remus’ side during breakfast, tangling their legs together under the table. The not-so-subtle glances he keeps casting to his right even as he tries to keep them to a minimum. He tries reminding himself that Remus wanted to keep this as a private matter, but how can he look away? How can his eyes find any more topic more interesting than his boyfriend. His boyfriend! Just the word makes him a bit giddy inside, trembling a bit.

So, what he does next shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. He rises from his seat with the promise to meet the others in Transfiguration after his quick trip to the owlery. But before he leaves, he betrays Remus’ trust once again. He leans down and kisses him, lingering for a moment before pressing another to his cheek. It’s only as he is standing back up, that he realizes what he’s done. That’s when the dread sinks in, an icy cold drip into the pit of his stomach, stopping his heart and squeezing.

He tries apologizing, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

So, he does what he does best when he ruins things, he flees. He spins and swiftly makes his way out of the Great Hall, doing his best to ignore all the burning hot gazes searing into him. He should have known better than to think he could have something as wonderful as Remus in his life. He should have known better, and he should have pulled away before the crash and burn. He should have known better, and now he will be cast out by his friends, and the entire school will think he is a freak. He should have known better. He should have—

“Sirius?”

“You don’t have to say it, Remus. I already know we’re done. I don’t… I don’t think I can bear hearing you say it.”

“Wha—no. Wha are you going on about?”

“You asked me not to… you wanted to keep this private, and I… I mucked it all up. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Now everybody is going to hate you even more, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’ll make this right, I promise.”

“Sirius,” He says, gently cupping his face. Sirus’ mind screams at him to pull away, but his body leans into the touch. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

“Of course I did.”

“No, you didn’t. I promise. I thought you would want to keep things quiet for now, because of… well, this is new to you. I’ve dated boys in the past, and frankly, I don’t care what people think about me. I wanted to protect you; I didn’t want you to panic and spiral and pull away again. But I promise, you did nothing wrong, okay? If you want to kiss me in the Great Hall, hold my hand in the corridors, go ahead.”

“I… really?”

“Sirius, you have to know I’m properly gone for you, right?”

“I—oh I’m so lucky I got to you first.”

“Little do you know that I was waiting for you.”

All Sirius can do in response to that, is kiss him. To pull him in closer, and kiss him. Other students are leaving the Great Hall now, but Sirius isn't going anywhere. Because Remus is precious, and Remus is his, and Remus doesn’t care of other people know. It doesn’t matter if they know, because he is Remus’, and together they will face anybody who dares think otherwise.

Yes, today is a great day.

[brighteststar707]

I saw your requests are open If it's okay, can you do kisses while dancing with Saeyoung Choi? Hehe thank youu. I also loveee ur writing have a great day :)

Hellooo! I've finally gotten to this request! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy <3

Of course I've taken it as an excuse to write another cabin fic.

Saeyoung - Kisses while dancing

Time has passed quickly since you and Saeyoung left the apartment. Travelling from safe house to safe house, doing your best to catch up to Vanderwood and Saeran in a strange game of cat and mouse, you’re not sure how many days it has been. You’re gaining a lead on them, but it’s a painfully slow process.

You have come to know Saeyoung well enough to be able to read his expression as he opens the door for you you to each new house. There’s a part of himself that’s upset over having to bring you to places like this. However, the novelty hasn’t worn off for you yet. Every new safe house is exciting, every night you fall asleep with his arms around you is comforting. It doesn’t matter where you end up at the end of the day, as long as you’re together and you can be sure that he’s okay.

The last few days have blurred into each other, with you both rising before the sun and driving until the sky is dark. The only breaks you take are to eat and for him to check his trackers again and plan the route to the next safe house. Consequently, the houses have blurred together too. You’d like to say that your stop for tonight is not so different form the others. It's small room, just enough for both of you, tucked away in a place that wasn’t made to be found. It’s dusty and old, and clearly nobody has been here for a while.

You’ve made it your job to set up the room for the night in every new place. You can’t help with anything else, and full days of sitting have made you antsy. Being able to take care of practical things makes you feel useful.

It’s simple work, changing sheets and sorting out the things you brought with you. You allow your mind to wander as you work. A part of you is still waiting for the reality of the situation to sink in. The conversations the two of you have had on the road. The weight of your feelings hitting you all at once. The sense of looming doom lingering at the back of your mind. It’s a lot, to say the least.

The room is kept dark, with the curtains pulled tightly shut and the big lights off. Saeyoung is worried about other agents searching the known safe houses for him now that the agency has declared him a traitor. You use only the small lamps to see by. They’re not much, and the room is still mostly dark, but it feels almost cozy.

Every so often, he looks up to search the room for you. You suspect that there’s still a subconscious part of him that’s afraid that you’ll disappear, just melt into the darkness like a figment of his imagination. Soon, you’ll settle down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. He’ll settle down then and finally let himself get comfortable. If you let him, he’ll even explain to you what he’s doing. It doesn’t always make sense, but his voice is soothing.

With the bed made up, you move to the kitchen. There is food to put away in the fridge, ice packs that can be refrozen. You’ve managed to keep a good mix of quick snacks for the road and actual food. Especially as you head towards the mountains, he has been worried about keeping the food you have fresh.

You don’t hear his footsteps behind you (he’s always too quiet), but you hear him calling your name in a hushed whisper. After the silence in the apartment and his reluctance to even mention you, hearing your name from his mouth sends shivers down your spine. It sounds different when he says it, like he was the one meant to be saying it all along.

You hold out your hand for him and he doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers through yours and pull you closer to him. This is new too. He has become far more comfortable with being close to you and touching you. He’s making up for lost time, and you can’t complain.

The fridge is still propped slightly open, and although the light is weak and flickering, it’s enough to make out his expression. The look of grim determination he has been wearing since you both left the apartment has been replaced with something lighter. The smile he gives you comes to him easily, and it warms you up from the inside out. It’s how you always want him to look at you.

“Hey,” he says softly. It feels wrong to be loud in this space, even with the windows closed. Even though there isn’t a soul outside. You rest your head against his chest and listen to the steady beating of his heart.

He doesn’t often leave his work so soon.

“Hey,” you reply. “Did you find something?”

“We’re really close now. We’ll be able to reach them very soon.”  No wonder he looks so relieved. The realization that in just a day or two you’ll reach him is enough to make you feel all light and happy too.

He pulls away from the embrace, but before you can complain, he places one hand on your waist and reaches for your hand with his other.

“Dance with me.” He says, with a mischievous grin. He sounds like the person you talked to over the phone a million years ago.

“Here? There’s no music.”

“That shouldn’t stop us.”

He rests his forehead against yours and hums a soft tune, something you had been singing along to in the car a few hours before – you hadn’t even realized that he could hear you.

Slowly, he starts to step in tune to the song, pulling you along with him. The kitchen is too small for a real dance, but you make do.

“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here with me. Have I told you that yet?”

He has shown it time and time again, in warm embraces and smiles shared over the console of his car. In snacks he brings you back from quick grocery stops and how he holds your hand everywhere you go. But you haven’t heard these words coming from him before, and it makes your heart jump.

He already knows the answer. “I haven’t, have I? Well, then I’ll say it again: I’m so happy that you’re here with me,” he says, words whispered into your ear. “You’re so bright, you manage to light up even the gloomiest of places. I’m so thankful for you.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and you reflexively look up so you can kiss him properly. Your hand reaches up to cup his face, and it’s like you’re moving in sync.

Your lips meet in the middle in soft kisses that only seem to reinforce his statement over and over. You hope that he can hear you heart reply I love you I love you I love you.

You’re still dancing, although the humming has stopped. You’ve gotten used to the little steps, and now you move in silence. You let go of his hand to wind your arms around his neck. His hands have moved from your waist to the small of your back to press your body closer to his.

This is closer than he has ever let you be, and you feel like your skin is going burn where he’s touching you. Every fiber of your being is aching to be closer closer closer.

You’re rudely earth by the pulled back to reality by the repetitive beeping of the fridge. You’ve completely forgotten about the task you were doing just a few minutes ago. Saeyoung laughs under his breath and nudges the door shut with his foot. You’re plunged back into the semi-darkness, but you don’t mind. In fact, you prefer it.

In the dark, you can kiss him harder. He can sweep you off your feet and hold you as close as he wants to.