#the trouble building reflecting back how hard it is to gather my thoughts enough to act instead of getting decision paralysis

[medicinemane]

Well, I seem to have gotten my minecart system working. No lost carts this time

Just... slowed the whole system way way way down, after a lot of research the best answer seems to be that too many carts too quick overwhelms the hopper, and taking a closer look as I was dismantling things showed me that the observer was managing to send two pulses

So I added my go to comparator decay clock and then with a little work put a falling edge monostable circuit (ie a piston with an observer on it that triggers nothing when pushed but something when pulled back), so basically it's extended when the signal is decaying and only goes off once the signal dies... double pulse from the observer just extends the timer

Still reasonably depressed. I've said it before, I'm just brittle at this point. It's not like some stupid cart system in minecraft is making me want to die... I'm just fucking tired of living, so guess what? This just adds to the list of reasons to fuck off

Nothing I do matters. This doesn't matter in the slightest. I build it more compulsively than with any purpose

I want to finish that mountain base (which is still probably a few years off at least at this pace), and I just kinda want to finish it cause I want to finish it... but can you honestly say that once it's all said and done, that I won't just pass it to my friend who I play with, and then in like 20 years when I'm dead it won't fall victim to digital decay without anyone even having seen it?

Like be honest for a minute, it's not gonna stop me working on it, but be honest and ask yourself... will anyone besides one other person even see it?

I don't need a million fans or something, I'd just like some of the shit I do to matter or last a bit... and nothing does

Tell me a single thing I've done that actually has some kind of meaningful impact... or anything that I'll ever do

[ffxiv-f13ndish]

Calm Before the Storm: Not a Hallway Conversation

Collab. write with @sorrel-haven [ also credit to sorrel-haven for gpose shot ^^]

Characters:

Kore Grimvik [featured] (sorrel-haven)

Lament Sorrel [mentioned] (sorrel-haven)

Tofu Curry [mentioned] (@ro-valerius)

Miyu Murasame

Miyu has had a little too much to drink, and their guilty conscience has brought them to talk to Kore of a conversation they overheard. A talk of shared feelings for another takes a turn after Kore notices a spot of blood on their dress.

Despite having been dragged back to the Flower House from the festival, Miyu wasn’t keen on going straight to bed, as was suggested. At least, they faked it a little before they snuck out again. And when they had returned from their brief escapade, they had begun to wind down — to regain some of their senses from their inebriated, embarrassing state. 

At the very least, they were no longer nonsensical and mischievous. Instead, the thrilling buzz died down to something more reflective… forlorn. It seemed the lack of inhibition not only broke down behavioral walls, but walls within their mind that locked away a certain guilt which they have been trying very hard to avoid.

Miyu planted themself in the hall, seated on the floor right across from Kore’s door. They remained seated there in silence, up until they recognized the footsteps of their friend. Miyu didn’t look up just yet, staring at her shoes while their face remained tucked behind the knees they had folded up against their body. 

“Kore… I really need to talk to you. Theres… there's something I need to tell you,” they murmur, voice slightly muffled from their mouth pressed to their knees. 

Kore almost missed Miyu sitting there, if it wasn’t for them speaking. She had just come in from her late night practice. She crouched next to them and gently moved some hair out of their face.

“What’s wrong my little Rainbow? You sound troubled.” Her voice was soft, so as not to disturb anyone else in the flower house. 

Miyu shrank at the softness in Kore’s voice. They took the hand which brushed away the hair from their face into a gentle hold. Slowly, they looked to meet her gaze with great trepidation. Their mouth held open, lower lip wavering a moment as they gathered themself in the storm of their thoughts to collect what they needed to say.

“I’m… so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know. If I did – I don’t – I think…” they stumbled as the words tumbled out, and then it all surged out of them. “You deserve so much. So much better. I’m sorry you had to sit in silence with this for so long, and just watch someone take…”

Miyu took in a breath, and swallowed the lead that built up in their throat. It dropped into their chest like an anvil. 

“Miyu- what are you tal-”

“I heard what you talked about with Lament. In the garden.” 

Kore’s eyes widened. “Oh…” she said, barely audible.

She stood up, still letting Miyu hold her hand. She opened her door and gestured for them to come inside with her free hand. This was not a hallway conversation. Miyu followed Kore into the room, still holding her hand when the door closed behind them. Almost like an apology, they brought the back of her hand to their lips, and followed it up with pressing their forehead to the surface. 

Kore brought them further in the room, sitting on the bed, she pulled them down to sit next to her. She was quiet for a while, not knowing how to start. She did not let Miyu’s hand go, she didn't want them to think she’s angry. She was. But not at them. She sighed in an attempt to let out the tension building in her shoulders.

“So…” she began, “How much did you hear?”

“I got… enough to get an idea of who you were talking about. Who you were…” Miyu trailed off a moment, lowering their gaze and staring down at the interlocked hands as they idly brushed their thumb along the back of Kore’s hand. “... who you were trying to get close to.”

“Ha..” she laughed dryly. “Of course you did.”

Kore was hard to read, for she herself was conflicted. She didn’t want to be having this conversation. She had been resolved to let her feelings die, leave the words unspoken. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Look, I am fine. I- I fall in love easily, it’s nothing to worry about really.” She tried to sound nonchalant about it and hoped this would make Miyu drop it. 

The longer they sat together in the room, the more Miyu thought of how they should’ve spent more time thinking before acting without a clear head. They began to think of how this was a knowledge they should’ve just kept hidden away. This impulse to always try and fix things only appeared to do more harm. 

“I wasn’t trying to listen in. I was just… by a window and…” they began to explain, but found that excuses didn’t help here. “I’m sorry.”

Miyu chewed on their lower lip as they thought. 

“You mean so much to me — to everybody, that I’m certain. You have so much courage and compassion and value… the last thing I want to do is hurt a friend like you.” They look up to her now, though their vision was partially obscured from their heavy eyelids as the post-drinking crash began to hit them.

 “If you would be more comfortable with me leaving, I can do that. Or if ya need someone to yell at… can do… you’ve… a right to express your feelings… no shadows,” they continued, words slurring together slightly as their speech slowed. 

Kore sighed and pressed her forehead onto Miyu’s shoulder. She didn’t want Miyu to give up their feelings for her sake… She supposed that Miyu might be feeling the same way. The problem with being friends with a, for lack of a better word, rival. It hurts to lose and it hurts to win.

“Miyu… I don’t want to yell. I want… I want Tofu to be happy. I want to protect him, and be by his side. But it’s okay if you fill that space… He likes you.” She looked back up at Miyu and smiled, though it was a bit of a sad smile.

Miyu clenched their eyes shut to try and quench the burning sensation. Come on, they couldn’t cry every time they had a serious conversation. They managed to keep their eyes dry, though a less than appealing hiccup escaped them. What followed from that was an awful onslaught of occasional hiccups, their shoulders jumping with each one as they leaned into Kore. 

“I… I want the same,” they admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. Maybe the agreement came without saying, but the words left their mouth before they could properly think over what was coming out of them. 

Miyu rubbed their eyes, an exhausted sigh escaping them. When they opened their eyes again, they looked down at the gifted ring on their finger. Their heart gave a little twist.

“I should probably go to bed before I pass out here. Sorry about tonight,” they say, averting their gaze to look at the door. They gave Kore’s hand a squeeze in apology.

“Why are you apologizing?” she held on to Miyu’s hand so they couldn’t easily leave just yet. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I have been… I…” She looks away.

Was she really getting into this with Miyu? Slightly inebriated Miyu at that? 

She sighed. “I… fell in love with him… Before I even met him. Officially.” 

Miyu — who had just been preparing to stand — went still. Their head gave a little tilt in confusion, only for it to shift into one more downcast. Their gaze lowered once more.

“Echo, huh?” they go on to presume, knowing of Kore’s proficiency with her ability. “I… understand.”  

She didn't look at them and squeezed Miyu’s hand as the tear she’d been holding back rolled down her cheek. 

“I must seem pretty pathetic… Falling in love with a memory?”

Miyu was silent for a moment as they battled their own conflicting emotions. Their eyes lingered on the door.

After a minute of holding their breath, they turn their attention to Kore once more. Miyu raised their free hand, holding it to Kore’s cheek as they leaned in to catch the tear that rolled down her other cheek with a gentle peck. 

“I think you are pretty great,” they murmur, bringing her in for an embrace. 

Kore wrapped her arms around Miyu and buried her face in their shoulder. She wasn’t to the point of full sobs, but she sniffled. She stayed in their embrace for a moment. Miyu held on as long as Kore needed. They really were the best. She slowly pulled away, her eyes downcast, it was then she noticed the spot of blood on Miyu’s dress.

“What is that?” She asked, concern taking over her features.

Miyu tensed again. 

“T-” they began, only to cut themself off as they recalled the nature of Tofu’s ordeal. Unaware that Kore had found out about Tofu’s condition, they were hesitant to say anything.

“Tofu… tripped,” Miyu answered, giving some semblance of the truth. Maybe if they were more sober, they’d realize the ridiculous nature of the excuse. They glanced over to the door again. 

“Wow. Would ya look at the time! I am… exhausted,” the Miqo’te yawned and stood to leave.

Kore grabbed Miyu’s arm and sat them back down. Her concern was clearly written on her face.

“Please Miyu, tell me what happened? Did he “trip” or did he… Was it more than just tripping?” She knew, she hoped they picked up on that.

In their unsteady state, Miyu nearly fell back onto the bed, but they managed to stay upright. They clutched onto the skirt of their dress, tapping their feet anxiously. 

“A bit… more than that,” they reluctantly responded. 

“But he is safe – okay right now, for the most part,” Miyu added on, in a quick breath, “I just don’t know how much he… I… it might be best to ask him.” 

“So it’s getting worse…” she gripped Miyu’s arm tighter. “So he told you about it before?”

Miyu sucked in a sharp breath at the tightening around their arm. By no means was it physically painful, but the action alone set off a deep-rooted panic in the Miqo’te. They shrank back, ears pinning to their head while they turned their face away. They didn’t respond.

“I-” she sighed and let go of Miyu. “I’m sorry. I’m keeping you up.” she turned away from them.

Immediately after Kore let go, they stood and took quick steps to the door. They paused, hand on the handle. 

“Have a good night, Kore. I’m sorry,” Miyu said, a faint waver in their voice. They cleared their throat, then made a hasty exit.

[anyotherwriter]

"What do you mean you never learned how to swim?" -> in which the reader discovers Daryl can barely keep afloat in deep water and teaches him how

Masterlist / buy me a coffee? / art insta

Dear anon, big props to you for literally just typing "deep water" and sending me into a spiral of fear, I love it. You win the entire game LMAO. It's probably not what you expected but I was thinking about sharks and alligators and walkers that don't die and just linger at the bottom of the lake waiting to pull you down and I?????? My b.

Okay, love you, bye.

\\\\\\\\\\/////////

You initially thought it was a mirage, the type you'd see in the movies where a dehydrated man traveling through the desert has just found salvation. Right now, you were that man in that movie, except it wasn't the actual desert - more of a deserted road in the middle of nowhere North Carolina (at least that's what the map said).

The group had been walking and walking and walking, much like their dead counterparts, trying to find a safe place. They had squatted in run-down homes, holed up in general stores and bars, and made quick camps in the woods out of desperation. Now was one of the desperate times when their feet ached a new level of bad, there wasn't a building in sight, and they knew they couldn't go any further. So they pitched a camp and gathered twigs and branches to start a fire, hung noisey miscellaneous around, and in a matter of minutes, a few of them had already fallen asleep.

You hadn't; you could've kept going. Instead of sitting and letting your leg bounce out of stagnant frustration, you wandered. Never too far, but also never alone. You couldn't break off alone no matter how hard you may try. Daryl was always a step behind you, 'keepin' ya safe' is what he'd said. He knew you could stumble across trouble very easily, but he also knew that sometimes you liked to search for it when you got bored. This time was no different.

But this was a different kind of trouble. A trouble that really only hindered him. He had no words, and the heat rising up his neck into his face was a huge contender to the hairs rising on his arms as he'd watched you shimmy out of your ratty blue jeans to walk into the lake they'd stumbled across. You waded in until it was up to your thighs and then turned back to him. You waited for him patiently, knowing there was a good chance he wouldn't even follow. And he didn't plan to. The sun was on its way to slip down past the horizon, it would get cold, and wet clothes weren't good in the cold. He told you as much.

But, again, this kind of trouble was different. You looked excited and content and he wanted to slip down into the frigid water with you. Daryl only agreed once you slipped out of the water, your teeth immediately beginning to chatter, shirt clinging to your form, and taking his hands. You tugged lightly, gently, in hopes he'd come with you. There typically was no issue getting Daryl to follow you; you usually never had to ask.

When you turned around and started to disappear back into the water, he slipped out of his jeans and followed behind. Once the water tickled his waist, he stopped. You were floating out a ways, the bright oranges, pinks, and purples of the sunset reflecting off the water around you. You looked peaceful and he couldn't get to you. You peeked one eye open, directed at him, and called for him to come out.

But he couldn't. Even in all of his survival skills, swimming was never put on the table. He made sure to always avoid the water, hugging banks and trees instead. He remembered Merle laughing at him, telling him 'the damn kids next door could do it', that Daryl was just being a 'pansy'. Then Merle threw him into a lake off the ratty boat he used to take out to fish and get drunk and smoke weed. Daryl kicked and clawed at the water just enough to keep his head up, but the panic took over as his arms grew tired and Merle had to grab him by the back of his shirt with both hands to haul him back over the side of the boat.

"You never learned how to swim?"

You asked gently and inquisitively and a little shocked. The man that everyone would put good money on to save them, to unstick them from any situation, to keep them alive, couldn't swim. Daryl felt embarrassed and he shook his head. He was afraid you'd make fun of him, laugh, call him names… anything to make him feel lesser. But you didn't, and you never would. And in his silence, you cleared the distance between them no problem and grabbed at his hands again. You murmured small encouragements and comforts and eventually his feet started to move again. He held onto your hands tightly as he focused on the soft floor of the lake until his toes could barely touch anymore. You offered him a chance to go back, to do it another time if he wasn't ready. He would've panicked had you not been there but you made sure he knew he was safe and that he had a choice.

He always knew he was safe with you, even as you pulled him out into the open water, where his feet no longer touched, his shirt waved like silk around his torso, and he learned to kick his feet.

[golddaggers]

midnight rendezvous

pairing: louis tomlinson x f!reader

warnings: filthy smut with hints of fluffness. period sex. petnames. him calling you baby doll. defo nsfw +18, so my dudes, read carefully.

a/n: it's your renegade writer back with her fantasies. i've written this a while back and though it'd be such a shame to share. if you do like it, make sure to reblog and like. thanks and enjoy *wink* leth x

word count: 3k+

xx

It’s just a bit past midnight when I park home, no one wandering the streets, or children playing about, there’s just the chilled breeze fumbling with the leaves. I don’t notice a second car on the driveway until I’m up close, I blame the dim yellow streetlights and my exhaustion. It had been a particularly busy shift at the hospital, I wanted nothing more than to sleep for about two days straight.

The cold crisp air makes me tremble for a split second, but I am soon welcomed by the warmth of the inside. I kicked off my sneakers, trying to be as silent as possible, I didn’t want to wake him up. A second car meant Louis had come home and he must be tired, it had been weeks since he had a break, we hadn’t seen each other for even longer. The weekends he happened to be around, I couldn’t work my schedule to spend them at home with him. It sucked, and I missed him more than I could put it into words.

A frustrated sigh slips while I walk to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. After so many years, I should be used to it: the busy schedule, the months spent apart. I’m not, though. And being honest, I don’t think it’s possible to not be in pain when waking up to an empty bed beside me, to not hear the soft humming when he’s doing the dishes, to not miss the press of his lips on mine. I just wanted us to buy a bunch of lands somewhere, live a quiet, happy life, have children, and grow old. Just the two of us.

This was something I would never tell him. Robbing him of his passions wasn’t on my mind. I knew he’d oblige if I did say so. If I asked him, but I couldn't.

I leave a half-drunk glass behind, and go upstairs, taking off my plain white shirt then unbuttoning my jeans. Before I got to the bedroom, however, I froze, strangled sounds coming from there startling me for a second. It's followed by a smile creeping in, I’m very much aware, and familiar, with them.

The door isn’t closed, so I peek in. I see him naked, sheets pooled by his feet, and one hand wrapped around himself, moving up and down with ease, his thumb applying just enough pressure. I feel my mouth watering at the sight, a cramp twisting my belly. Desire gathers quickly, I was so touch-starved that I might as well come undone just by watching him get himself off.

His eyes are closed, thin lips parted. I slide off my pants, throwing both them, and my shirt away, walking inside in just my black lingerie. Even that was starting to be uncomfortable.

“Lou?” I call him, standing with crossed arms. He’s quick to drop everything, shooting me a wide, surprised glare. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spoil your good time.”

I’m half-joking at this point.

“I thought you’d only be home in t’ mornin’,” Deep blue eyes, sparked with lust, stare up at me. I'm very aware of how much I want to be near him again. “C’mere.”

He pats the space on his right side, it’s mesmerizing how quickly he can go from a sex god to a warm loving man. I go, but I don’t stay beside him, instead, I take my seat on his lap, which makes him laugh, rough hands on my waist, squeezing the flesh. I shift, uncomfortable, feeling him beneath me. So hard, so ready. It’s been so long I might just assume I'm a virgin all over again, shamefully responsive to anything he might do to me.

Louis leans in, planting a kiss just between the curve of my breasts. The prickle of his bead makes my pulse rise. It’s the intimacy that gets me hooked. He feels like coming home. A warmth that springs from the tip of my toes to my head, flushes my cheeks, and makes my forehead sweaty.

A “missed ya” whispered on my skin makes me shake, he then kisses the soft spot where the shoulder meets the neck, I let out a groan, moving, seeking friction. His smirk is taunting, both hands going up to my cheeks, four eyes meeting in the middle of a tired night.

“What now?” I say, unsure, panting as his thumb toys with my lips, pushing inside for a moment.

“Do you want a shower first?” He asks, staring at me, a boyish smile on his face.

“I should. I’m disgusting.”

“Nonsense,” The tip of his nose is pressed to my cheek, a ghostly kiss left behind on my jaw. “You look amazing anyway. Why d'ya think I’m so worked up?”

“Were you thinking of me? Getting yourself off imagining my hands around you? My spit and my lips, hmm?”

Louis pants when I grind down on him, slick with the throb of him against me. The fabric of my panties still forbids me from knowing his skin on mine, from sinking and swallowing him whole.

“Yeah, I was. Always think abou' ya', love.”

“I think about you too,” The friction makes me lean forward, sighing against his warm neck. “Nights get so lonely… I miss you so much, you know.”

“Darling…”

“Mmhm, I have to touch myself, grab my boobs,” I place his hands on them, and he squeezes, promptly. Fills his hands. It’s swollen, sore even. I’m burning up.

“Do you say my name when you come?” Louis asks, quietly, sucking a patch of skin. I’ve got goosebumps, I’m reeling from the build-up.

“I do. Over and over and over,” The room feels warmer if that's possible. Sweat drips down my back. I’m aware as to why I’m so sensitive, besides the yearning when it’s been months since he last touched me, my period heightens things up.

For a moment there, I almost forgot it.

“Can I just fuck you now, doll?” It’s a hoarse whisper, I clench in frustration. I’m hot, nearly suffocating. “Want t’ feel yeh so bad.”

His accent thickens, I’m lost, too into the moment to think coherently. I go for his lips, kissing him with passion, biting down on his bottom lip, still moving my hips, rolling against his. He pushes back, groaning into my mouth. It’s sinful. Everything about him is.

“Can’t, sweets,” It slips out, breathlessly. “‘M bloody down there.”

He smiles, soothing, hands firm on my hips. My stomach somersaults, it’s amazing how Louis manages to make me feel 17 every time he gives me that gorgeous smile of his. I feel like one of his groupies.

“Never cared ‘bout that before. C’mon, help me out.”

“Lou…” A strangled noise followed. I’m reaching a point where pleasure mixes with pain, I’m too aroused, too sensitive. He touches me there, trained fingers light to not hurt me but enough to stir me on. “You’re trying to bribe me, aren’t you?”

“Am I getting there?” The double entendre makes me chuckle, nodding. “Good. Let me take those off, hmm?”

“Come,” I untangle myself from him, the cold, empty feeling brings a pang to my lower belly. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it in the shower.”

I slide off my panties, tossing them at him. Louis laughs wholeheartedly, balling it in his hand while kicking the sheets away to follow me into our bathroom.

It’s bright, with mirrors everywhere. My hair looks an absolute mess, strands falling down my shoulders, I’ve got flushed cheeks, and glistening skin, perspiration all over. Five minutes with him just does that to you. He looks impressive from behind me, his brown hair was thrown back, wide blue eyes staring right at me from the reflection. I can see the extension of his tattoos, the tanned skin from being under the sun a little too long last weekend.

Louis is a sight for sore eyes.

We exchange a look then smile. The kind of intimacy that only comes when you love someone, beyond passion, beyond attraction.

He undoes the clasp of my bra. I sigh in relief, gasping when his hands cup my boobs, pinching my oversensitive nipples. I can’t help but toss my head back, resting it on his shoulder. He’s good at this, playing with me, edging me out.

“Missed them even more,” Louis expresses, a half-smile on his face. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you’re probably the only man on earth that can get away with saying stuff like that, right?” We share a laugh. “Turn the water on, sweets, yeah? I need to take the tampon off.”

While he busies himself with getting things ready, I put my leg up on the toilet and gently pull it out, being careful not to spill any blood on the floor. I’m mentally grateful it’s not an extra heavy day. I wrap it up in toilet paper and toss it in the bin.

“Water is warm, baby,” Steam starts to fog up the room. “Come.”

“I hope I will.” I wink at him. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so cheeky.

“Don’t tease me,” Lust soaks up his voice, eyes stern. He’d punish me for sure. When I wasn’t expecting him to do so. When we weren’t so desperate for each other. Whenever he’s back home, there’s no games, just tension relief.

He goes in, standing beneath the shower rain, his back facing me. I look at his ass, all perky and round. It’s no secret that I got a thing for it, and I might’ve bitten it a few… hundred times. Whenever I get the chance, really. I grab them, squeezing the muscle, a hoarse laugh falling from his lips. Louis thinks it’s silly, doesn’t see how it’s so great.

We kiss, then. In a brief moment, he spins and pulls me in, tongue rolling ‘round with mine. It’s wet, crude even. I make sounds that would mistake me for a pornstar, groaning when his tip brushes where I’m aching with need. He pulls my hair back, exposing my neck to him, sucking and biting. Leaving behind bruises I’ll have trouble covering. The adrenaline high doesn’t let me focus on that, though.

His hand slides between us, lodging between my legs, his palm pressing my pulsating clit. I call out for him, squeezing his shoulders, whimpering. Just this faint touch sends me into overdrive. It’s borderline ridiculous. How good he is. Or how much I want him. How I crave for him like a junkie craves a fix. It’s the trip of a lifetime when he’s inside me.

I go for his dick, so painfully hard it could cut right through me. There’s something about watching his eyes snap close, or how he moans, but I wobble, my breathing going fitful. He says my name, pressing his soft lips to my forehead, still rubbing me out. My hand seems smaller when it’s wrapped around the width of him. Louis feels heavy and scorching hot.

“I want to do something,” I whisper, high on the pleasure he was giving me. “Would you let me?”

“I want to fuck you, darling,” It’s raw, doesn’t sound dirty, more like a pleading question. “Please let me, hmm? I want to fill you up. Watch it drip down out of you. My pretty baby with cum all over her legs.”

A pained whimper comes out.

The tip of his fingers are stained red, they never really slipped inside me, just circling, creating a build-up that leaves me in discomfort. It’s unusual how much time we are taking with this, at this point, we would’ve fucked about three times already. Either way, I like it. The glint in his eyes, eyes that I adore. Diamond beauties staring down at me, so full of desire. It’s powerful. To know you have such an effect on a man like him.

I place him in the tight space between my thighs, both of us groaning with the stronger contact. I’m dripping and it’s not just blood, he’s thrumming, hips sloppily jerking forward. I feel him almost in me, but not quite. I scream, I’m sure our neighbours would make complaints. I don’t find it in me to care. It's way too heavenly.

Tattooed hands land on each of my love handles, our bodies are almost one at this point. That’s when he lifts my leg, we both can’t do any more foreplay, no more waiting. I help him inside, a little bit of blood gushing before he’s deep within. It takes a while for me to get used to him again, two months can be enough for things to shrink back up.

“God, your cunt is so fucking tight,” He mumbles, out-of-worldly. “You’re gonna make me come and I barely even started.”

“And you’re so fucking big, gonna split me open,” I shoot back, gripping tight on his forearm, trying to balance myself as he starts to pound, slowly at first. “Fuck, baby. This is so good.”

“Tell me who can make you feel so good, baby doll,” A particular hard snap of his hips makes me sway on my step, but his iron grip steadies me. “Use your words. I want to know.”

“You!” It’s a desperate squeal, I feel full, he stretches me to a burning point. Pain mixing with pleasure. It doesn’t take a scientist to tell me I’ll have trouble sitting down tomorrow. “You, baby.”

Louis lifts my other leg, both on the crook of his arms, and presses me against the tiled wall of our bathroom. His teeth clamp around my nipple, biting, sucking. I feel dizzy with the torrential rain of emotions. The water keeps falling on us, warm. It splashes when he thrusts.

None of us is lasting longer. I wasn’t particularly known to do so, not when he was the one handling me anyway. Some people are just skilled. Just know how to push somebody else’s buttons. And Louis knew how to push mine. He knew how to push me into the fucking edge. Coax a string of orgasms out of me if he so wanted. With his fingers, with his tongue, with his dick.

I moan, one hand tugging the hair at the nape of his neck and the other going to where our bodies met. It’s a fucking sight. Watching him go in then out of me. I start rubbing myself.

“You have to be quieter,” He says, our foreheads glued together, still slamming into me like I’m his favourite rag doll. “We don’t need people calling the police.”

“It’s your fault,” My reply is followed by a curse word. “Giving it to me so good like that.”

“Mmhm,” Dark blue looks at me, I can feel him getting sloppier. It’s close.

In urgency, he kisses me, I’m too frail, too putty in his hands. A numbness starts on the tip of my toes, it makes my eyes roll back, I can’t even voice anything anymore, entirely surrendered to him. To the vulnerability of this moment. Being his as much as he’s mine.

Time stands still whenever I’m with him. And right now, I can’t even keep track of it, too lost in him. That’s why I don’t know how long it took, it could’ve been seconds or minutes or hours. But I broke. Went up screaming. Barely registering he was telling me to shush, that it was too late in the night to be so loud. If that was what he was saying at all.

I’m shuddering, that I can tell with conviction, convulsing. That doesn’t happen often. I mean, it’s always fucking good, but like this, like I’m on something, that’s exceptional. At one point, he growls, squeezing me tighter. His hips stutter, face squashed against my chest. He spends himself inside me, as it was promised. I’m beyond satisfied, I’m in a state of bliss no one can reach me. Where the world doesn’t exist, only him.

Louis stays in for a while longer, nuzzling between my breasts, I play with his hair, a bubbly smile on my face. No high higher than this. He helps me down, I don’t trust my feet, clinging to him like a child. A chuckle falls from his lips.

“That good, huh?”

I just nod.

“I’ll help you clean up.”

With a sponge and a bit of liquid soap, Louis rubs down my body, taking his time to bubble me up. I’m still sensitive to touch, I have to pull his hand away when he tries to touch me down there, where I’m probably red and still swollen. I can feel the burn. Good burn, though.

When we both finish cleaning ourselves up, we step out of the shower. He still has a protective hand around my waistline. I wince at the thought of moving away, but I have to, I can tell I’m one second shy of making a mess on the floor.

He fetches us towels while I go deal with the bloody problem. Pun intended. I clean the dripping blood mixed with cum on my thighs, and when I look up, deep blue is fixed on me. As if entranced.

“What?”

“You just look hot.”

A little laugh slips.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad,” I groan, it’s still sore-ish when I slide the tampon in. “You really did a number on me.”

“Eh, who’s counting?”

Louis winks, helping me up, I’m still weak on the legs. There’s no need to get dressed, so we wrap ourselves under the sheets, our sopping hair making stains on the pillows.

It’s so painfully intimate.

“I love you,” I whisper, half-asleep, minutes later.

“I love you more.”

His voice is the last sound I hear before I drift to the first night of sleep where I feel full, happy, and satiated. Slept like a queen, his arms wrapped around my waist, cheek pressed to my back. I was on my little piece of heaven and no one could ever snap me out.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Halfling from the Mountains Cont’d

Hey all! So I wanted to write something for Fanfic Writers’ Day, and even though it’s coming in a bit late, I decided to write a small continuation of the Mulan AU. It is almost a year exactly since I posted this little drabble, and it’s by FAR the most popular drabble I have on tumblr. Also, I really needed Kili to ask Bilbo if he “would like to stay forever.”  😆 Please enjoy.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely hobbled their way to the base of the hill before they were swarmed by allies. Healers ushered them to one of the many tents being erected on the cleanest part of the battlefield. While Bilbo only had a few bumps and bruises of little concern, Thorin was all but thrown into a cot as they tended to his foot. Bilbo was able to get one more glance at the protesting king before he was shoved down on a makeshift bench with a bowl of stew in his hands.

“Eat up, laddie. I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet.” Oin instructed before leaving to tend to others.

Bilbo allowed himself the moment of peace as all the adrenaline seeped out with each bite of the bland, but very welcome food. Perhaps, truly this time, the worst was behind them.

“WHAT A MESS! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE ARKENSTONE THIEF?”

Then again, perhaps not. Bilbo’s head whipped up to see a furious Dain stroll into the camp. He jumped to his feet, the stew regrettably spilling to the ground only to invite the irate dwarf’s attention. Dain immediately stalked into his direction, and for every step forward, Bilbo took one back until he bumped into someone behind him. He startled and turned to apologize only for the person to put a hand on his shoulder and gently push him behind them. Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Dwalin. Dain, on the other hand, was flummoxed.

“Stand aside.” Dain ordered. “That creature isn’t worth protecting.”

Bilbo flinched at the sheer acid in his tone. Before Dwalin could respond, his brother appeared on his other side completely blocking Bilbo from view now.

“He’s a hero.” Balin argued.

“He’s a Halfling and a thief.” Dain scoffed.

Bilbo’s jaw nearly dropped as he was suddenly surrounded by his entire company minus the Durins. Each of them with a hard glint in their eyes.

“Listen here you pompous windbag.” Bofur growled. It was the only time Bilbo ever recalled him truly angry. “I think we know our Burglar better than any here. You owe the life of your King to him.”

Dain looked about ready to spit fire as his face changed to match the color of his hair.

“HE BETRAYED MY KING AND ANY THAT DEFEND HIM ARE JUST AS BAD!”

Well that seemed to set everyone off as the Company started to yell loudly in defense of their honor, and Dain and his men continued to besmirch the hobbit’s name. Bilbo, having quite enough of such nonsense, was about ready to find some way to shut them all up when a strong voice broke through the clearing.

“SHARZA!”

Silence rang through the camp as all eyes be they man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit, turned to regard Thorin. The king’s foot was wrapped tightly yet blood still managed to seep through the bandages. Because of this, he was being supported by his two nephews, but all three managed to look regal and proud in their grimy states. Thorin’s cold eyes bore into Dain until the other dwarf dropped his head. At that point, Thorin regarded the Company and silently demanded they stand aside. Bilbo was once more exposed to the glares and curious stares of the surrounding crowd. He could kill Thorin.

“This is Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin announced in a clear voice that somehow seemed to ring for miles without being too loud.

“He was contracted by my Company of thirteen dwarves to leave his home in the Shire and burgle from a dragon. He thinks of nothing but creature comforts of good homes and good food. He was inexperienced with a blade prior to joining us, and knew nothing of how to survive in the wild and yet…”

Bilbo blinked in shock at the warm smile that split Thorin’s face.

“He has saved us all. As King, I pardon any and all crimes against his person. Master Baggins shall only ever be treated with respect on behalf of all Durin’s folk.”

If Bilbo was caught off-guard before, the sight of Thorin bowing to him nearly had him flat on his back. What made it worse was it started a domino effect as next the Company was bowing, then the rest of the dwarves, and finally the remainder of the entire Free People’s army. Even Dain, who looked like he tasted something foul, bowed in deference to his king. Bilbo wanted to scream that he wasn’t a hero! He was just a simple hobbit from the Shire, but faced with the truly humbling sight, he couldn’t find the words. Almost as if realizing his newfound conundrum, Thorin rose with a hidden twinkle in his eye before he turned to return to his tent using his sister sons as his crutch, satisfied that Bilbo would have no more difficulties. The Company patted his back or ruffled his hair. Dori even offered to stay with him if he felt unsafe, but Dain’s hasty retreat spoke volumes about any remaining troubles Bilbo would had. In a matter of seconds, he was alone once again.

“There’s seems to be an awful lot of excitement this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Almost alone. Bilbo looked up at Gandalf whose smirk somehow managed to reflect amusement and pride all at the same time.

“He didn’t have to do that.” Bilbo finally found his voice, regardless of how awe-filled it was.

“I would think Thorin has a differing opinion on the subject. You’ve done well, Bilbo. You can go home now knowing you have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo mused, not registering Gandalf’s words.

“Why back to the Shire! You do still plan to return to Bag End, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Bilbo snapped reflexively only to flinch at the harshness of his own words. “I mean, yes, I do...I just...”

“Well,” Gandalf offered. “We have a few days. Think about it, and let me know, whatever you decide.”

***

Bilbo thought about it, but he was no closer to an answer. He had to go back to Bag End. He was a Baggins after all, but the idea of leaving his dwarves. Leaving Thorin...it left a hole in his chest that refused to be closed. He finally decided it was just the freshness of leaving his friends. A few months back in the Shire, and the pain would leave him once he was back where he belonged. Therefore, despite how much it hurt, he told Gandalf he did still intend to go home.

His dwarves did not take the news well.

Bilbo ignored the pleading eyes of the Durin princes as he finished putting away his new clothes from Dori into his pack along with trinkets from the whole Company. Well, all but Thorin. Even Dain had come by to apologize for the way he had reacted after he got the full story and left Bilbo with a rather large and impractical shield. Remarkably, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of the new King Under the Mountain since his declaration to return home. 

“You could build a new home here! You don’t have to go, Mister Boggins.” Kili pleaded.

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking as he patted the dwarf on the shoulder.

“As I have said before Kili, the Shire is where I belong."

“You also belong here.” Fili added, looking oddly serious and melancholy.

Bilbo’s smile fell as he turned his back to hide how effected he was by the prince’s words.

“Me? I’m just a silly hobbit. I no more belong in a mountain than an acorn in a window garden. Now, are you going to walk me to the gate or expect me to carry all of this myself?”

Fili and Kili had many more protests for him, but in the end gathered the ornate shield and the chest bearing his company’s treasures to be loaded on Bilbo’s pony. The rest of the Company, minus their king, was gathered just as somber as Bilbo’s companions. The wizard was ready to go, and waited for Bilbo to make his goodbyes.

“Well...” He started. “T-Thank you. Thank you all for...the most amazing adventure. If you’re ever in the Shire, tea is at four...don’t bother to knock.”

That earned a weak chuckle from his friends.

“And I suppose tell Thorin that...”

His throat closed, and Bilbo had to look down at his toes to gather his courage.

“Tell Thorin...”

“Yes?”

Bilbo’s head shot up as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Thorin!” He breathed in delight.

The king was looking much healthier if but for the dark circles under his eyes and the saddened expression.

“You’re here.” Bilbo remarked in awe.

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile. 

“I was getting your going-away gifts together.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo should have been delighted much like he was with the other Company members’ gifts. However, he had been hoping for...well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Without further ado, Thorin pulled out Bilbo’s small sword he had been rather fond of but sacrificed in desperation to rid them of the monster orc. Sting.

“I asked Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel to try and find it. They were more than happy to assist. I hope that it reminds you of all that you’ve done for Erebor.”

He presented it to Bilbo with a small bow, and Bilbo repeated the motion happy to place the blade back in the scabbard on his hip. Even with his limited experience, it certainly made him feel better having it on his person.

“Also,” Thorin added almost eagerly. “I want you to have this.”

Letting his braid flutter lose, Thorin tugged one of the hair beads from his own raven locks and presented it to Bilbo.

“So all of Arda will know what you have done for me, a grateful and indebted king.”

Bilbo was practically trembling.

“Thorin.” He croaked. “I-I can’t...”

“Please.” The king whispered as he carefully closed Bilbo’s fingers over the bead sitting innocently on his palm. “For me.”

It was too much. Thorin looking at him like that. His too large hands still softly cradling his hand. There was only so much a respectable hobbit like Bilbo could take. Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and surged up onto his tiptoes as he planted a kiss on the handsome king. It was quick and chaste and breath-taking all at once. Thorin seemed equally befuddled but hopeful. Bilbo tried his hardest to ignore the cheers of the Company and the heat in his own cheeks as he gave Thorin a single nod.

“Well then...good evening.”

He turned to saddle the pony when his actions seemed to catch up to him. What exactly was he doing?! He loved Thorin. How could he leave him now? His mind struggled to process the influx of emotional information while he remained halfway on his pony, staring into the setting sun.

“Perhaps...” Gandalf finally offered, far too amused. “We got too late a start.”

Thorin picking up on the cues rushed to Bilbo’s side.

“Would you...? Would you like to stay for dinner?” He blurted much to the annoyance of their friends.

“WHAT HE MEANS IS WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” Kili corrected.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh including Bilbo and Thorin. The hobbit finally returned to the present turning to Thorin with a large grin.

“I think dinner would be a lovely start.”

And Bilbo enjoyed dinner in Erebor for many years to come.

[hiro-gari]

Troublemaker

Garou x GN Reader

Warnings: vague webcomic spoilers, canon divergence, language, slight manhandling, mostly SFW

~

The first time you saw him was purely by accident. Typically, you’d wait for the sound of the delivery truck rumbling away before sneaking your package off the porch in your bare feet...

But you hadn’t even heard him arrive.

And so, instead of going for a walk as planned, you were standing stunned, with the door wide open. You weren’t expecting anyone to be there to begin with, but the sight of him specifically had you reeling internally. The look on your face must have reflected as much, and he stopped in his tracks, eyebrows raised.

He seemed very out of place; his face a little too wild, framed by haphazard spikes of silvery hair, and certainly too handsomely built for any delivery guy. He shifted the box resting on his shoulder, his golden eyes catching the light from under the shadow of the cap he was wearing. It was only then you realized he was speaking to you.

“What..?”

“Where do ya want this-”

Before you could react, the box was on the ground, and he was crouched down. He was holding your cat with both hands, slowly picking her up. You hadn’t even noticed her dart out between your legs, and you wondered how he’d managed to set down the box and perfectly catch the agile creature in the time it took you to blink.

“Here,” he handed her off to you, calloused hands brushing your arms as he did, “you should probably keep her indoors.”

“Sorry, thank you, uh- sir...”

“Garou.” He corrected, picking up the box again. You tried not to ogle at the way his arms flexed with each movement, “I’ll set this inside then, since your hands are full.”

You kicked the door wide open, perhaps a little enthusiastically, and he followed you through the doorway. He set the package to the side.

“Is this fine?” He scarcely waited for your reply, and his hand was already on the door.

“Garou,” you started without thinking. The way he looked back at you made your throat tighten, but it wasn’t every day you had a man this fine in your house, “can I get you a coffee or anything?”

He seemed to hesitate, tapping a finger thoughtfully on the doorknob. He eyed you up and down with sudden curiosity, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck.

“Thanks, but I really-“ he started before the horn from the truck blared from the street, causing you both to jerk towards the sound.

“Sorry, I hadn’t realized you had someone waiting for you,” you said apologetically, letting the cat squirm out of your hands and run to the bedroom.

“Asshole...” he growled. You stepped closer and peered around him to glare at the man causing all the noise on the street. “It’s my first day that’s all, I’ll be on my own soon enough,” he added indignantly, as though he’d been offended.

“Oh, of course.”

“Yeah, but thanks anyways, er, what was your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied, glancing up at him. He leaned almost too close, and yet, you didn’t back away from him.

“Y/N,” he grinned, flashing canines that seemed a little too sharp. He brushed your hair out of your face so smoothly you barely registered that it had happened at all. “Next time, ‘kay?” As he stepped outside, the thought of giving him your number crossed your mind. But the words wouldn’t come, and you were sure your face was beet red by now. He didn’t give you a chance anyways, not hesitating for a moment as he closed the door behind him.

~

As determined as you were to restore your dignity when he returned, things were not going as planned.

For starters, the man on your porch this time was, well, a disappointment to say the least. It was a short, squat man, with an expression that looked as though he were about to fall asleep at your doorstep. There was no sign of that tall, gorgeous man you’d met days earlier. If your dismay showed on your face whatsoever, the man paid no mind to it. He only shoved the notepad into your hand with a barely decipherable grunt. And of course, you’d made sure specifically to require a signature, just to make sure you wouldn’t miss him.

Darn.

Avoiding eye contact as you signed, you asked casually,

“Where is Garou? Off today?” You handed the signed paper back to him. His brows shot up,

“Eh? Oh, the kid- nah he didn’t last. Caused all sorts of trouble for the boss,” he gave a half-hearted wave as he turned his back. “Ya don’t need to be gettin’ involved with a scoundrel like him,” he called over his shoulder as he went on his way.

Scoundrel? Trouble? All sorts? That was pretty vague.

Resigning to the fact you’d probably never see him again, you tried not to dwell on it.

~

The man’s warning probably should have deterred you from calling out his name the instant you recognized him.

He had you off the main street and tucked behind some dingy building almost before his name left your lips. You understood then, of course this wasn’t just some punk. This was a wanted man. Wanted by a lot of people, if his reaction was any indication.

“You?”

He studied your face, looking apologetic for half a second. As he should, considering the way his hand was clasped over your mouth. His hard body was roughly pressed against yours, scraping your back against the coarse brick. His eyebrows knitted together in an expression that was too terrifying to be simply annoyed, but he backed off slowly nonetheless.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“I’m-” You were headed somewhere, though it seemed terribly irrelevant now. His closeness made it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. “-was just on my way to work and recognized you...”

A half assed, mumbled explanation wasn’t going to cut it.

“But what do you want.” The authority in his voice was chilling.

“I was just glad, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you added hurriedly. That alone granted you a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, pulling at his cold scowl, raising your confidence marginally. “That guy- one of the delivery guys said you were in some kind of trouble-”

“In trouble?” he pressed.

“Well, it kind of sounded like you caused it,” you tried to look down, anything to ease the pressure of his steady gaze.

“I see, and yet,” his fingers grazed your jaw, then firmly tilted your chin to face him again, “here you are.”

Those bright golden eyes searched yours, wandering over your face, fixating on the way your lips parted slightly as he encircled your waist experimentally. “Is this what you wanted after all?”

The small mewling sound you made was all the affirmation he needed. Grinning widely, he rumbled with what might have been a chuckle, or a growl. It resonated in his chest, which by now was pressed flush against yours as he pulled you closer. You clung to his broad shoulders with every ounce of strength left in your body, drunk on the heat radiating from him and the smell of his warm skin.

His lips touched your forehead sweetly, completely contradictory to the way his palms were coasting slowly along the curve of your hip. But suddenly his warmth was notably missing, and he pulled away. Your phone was now in his hand, deftly removed from your back pocket while your head was in the clouds.

“Hey-” you protested futilely. But now he was unlocking it, backing away from you, leaving you dumbfounded and wavering in his absence.

“Hate to tell ya this,” he was typing fast, talking as he did, “but I’ve got somewhere to be.” He placed the phone back into your hand with a crooked grin, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Call me, baby.”

And he was gone.

~

Gathering your wits in the wake of his abrupt departure, you straightened yourself out, brushing the dirt and creases out of your clothing. Unable to contain your curiosity, you scanned through the contacts on your phone, eventually landing on his name:

[Garou😈]

You could only begin to guess at what that little face was supposed to mean.

You’d find out soon enough.

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

Lady in Gold

It’s just a date at the Neue Galerie. That’s all it is, right?

Rating: M

Word count; 3,062

Warning/Includes: fluffy fluff, exhibitionism, slight choking, fingering, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink if you squint I guess?!

A satin tea dress, a mellow golden. It flowed to just below your knees, and it had been paired with nude block sandals. A simple yet elegant jewelled clip held a side of your hair back and you felt.. beautiful. This date had been planned for a while, he had said to meet him on the corner of 5th and 86th Street; you would look out for him, he would be in a brown suit. The night was young, the sun just beginning to set over the skyline. You’d wonder if he would be there earlier than you, or if he was barely going to come at all. These must be normal nerves, the churning feeling flowing around your stomach; it was just a date.

Clement and peaceful, the last streams of daylight laid upon your skin as you leant against a tree outside the building. Skimming your eyes against the array of people departing and arriving at the gallery; they finally landed on the tall figure ambling towards you. A soft smile, reflective aviator glasses and the brown suit. It was him. His own masterpiece, he gave a small wave as he grew closer. The faint scents of coconut, coffee and cologne overwhelmed your senses as you managed to stutter out a soft ‘Hi Matthew’.

‘Y/N hey! I’m glad you found this place okay, sometimes people end up on the wrong end of the mile.’ he exclaimed, waving behind him at the never ending street.

‘I’m that person, what should’ve been a 15 minute walk turned out a hell of a lot longer.’ you giggled out.

‘Well hey, we made it in time for the private slot, should we head inside?’ you nodded, and intertwined your arm around the one he held out for you. There was a way that he held you tightly against his side that felt as though you were fragile and he didn’t want you to fall and break. As he mentioned to one of the guards inside you were here for a private viewing, you couldn’t help but stare up at him with veneration. A king couldn’t hold the grace and charm he could.

You’d been meandering for a while, stopping to talk about Werkstätte accessories and admiring the vintage fashion. You were excited to get to the portraits. A favourite of yours was on display, Klimt’s portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer. Filled to the brim with facts and knowledge on his art, there was a passion in your eyes as you tugged his arm towards the exhibition you’d been waiting for. Placing your clutch bag on a nearby seat you almost skipped up to the portrait.

‘Wow,’ you breathed out, ‘it’s even more beautiful than I imagined. The gold just hits different when it’s not on a phone screen huh.’

He stood behind you a few steps, observing and listening to your spirited words and facts. The way you vehemently expressed yourself started to get into his bloodstream, every time you said something new, turned to look back at him; goosebumps arose across his forearms and the back of his neck. He sauntered quietly and slowly closer to you, gently placing a hand on each of your hips. Inhaling abruptly, you didn’t stop exuding truths about the painting before you.

[[MORE]]

‘The painting was handed down to Adeles family members, but the Nazis stole it in 1941. After quite a long journey through multiple agencies, it was bought in 2006 and displayed. I’m literally speechless that it’s in front of me - ah!’ Matthew had pulled your hair to one side as you were speaking, slowly leaving open mouthed kisses to your exposed neck. His grip had tightened on your hips, subsequently beginning to run one hand up your body; the fingers coming up to grip your chin and turning your head to look back at him.

‘Do you know how beautiful you sound?’ he muttered, eyes travelling from your glossed lips up to meet yours. Maybe two centimetres between each set of lips and breath fanning against each other had changed the mood immediately. ‘It, uh, it really is my favourite piece. I could stay here and look at it - all- all night.’ Stumbling over your words, you kept your gaze on Matthew, as he lowered his hand a little; the slender yet gentle fingers contradicting themselves by squeezing the sides of your throat slightly.

‘I could say the same thing about you. This pretty dress, on such a pretty girl. I know which lady in gold I’d rather stare at.’ Smiling gently, he pulled you closer and pressed his lips against yours, breathing getting deeper when you whimper against his mouth.

Reaching your arm behind you to hold the back of his head, his other arm held you flush against him. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t rough; but it was a higher level of passionate that you wouldn’t usually show in such a public area. You wondered if there was a subtle message in Matthew reserving the museum for a private tour, instead of the romantic gesture it had seemed to be.

‘Was this your plan the whole time? To win me over with my favourite art and fuck me in the middle of the gallery?’ you breathed out, pushing back into him and curving your hips upwards into his. The satin of your dress was thin enough to feel the coarseness of his trousers and the cool metal of the belt holding them up. Matthew’s breath hitched beside your ear and he bit down on your lobe. Quickly clutching at your hips again, he ground his hips down into you and mustered out a small grunt at the contact. ‘I bet you’d like that huh? Already pushing up against me, needy little thing.’

The quiet moan that left your lips woke you up out of the sudden delirium you had fallen into, remembering where you were. ‘We’ll get into trouble.’ Matthew let out a condescending chuckle into your ear, a hand beginning to ruche the fabric upwards at the front of your dress. ‘Your body tells me you aren’t at all that worried, y/n. I bet you won’t feel as worried once I bring my fingers a little higher hm?’ He read your body language like a book. You were leaning into him, your hips bucking and following his hands. You were completely under his spell, entranced by the gentle but somehow rough feel of his fingers growing closer and closer to where you wanted him. Until he pulled them away.

‘No fuck please-‘ whining, you turned around to see why the sudden halt on his movements. He’d walked a few steps backward to the leather spectator couch in the middle of the room, sat down with legs spread; watching to see if you’d get the hint. ‘Come and sit on my lap baby. I want you to be comfortable when you’re talking.’ He smirked, knowing full well his actions were going to cause your brain to falter and words to fade away. Slowly walking towards him, you lifted your dress slightly to be able to straddle yourself across his lap; frowning when he spoke a stern, ‘no.’ He wiggled his finger in a circle, indicating he wanted you to face away from him.

Two could play at this teasing game.

Spinning around gently, you still lifted your dress before sitting down on him, giving him a slight peek of the white lace garments underneath. Judging by the way he pulled your hips down hard against him, you knew he saw the underwear. Leaning your back against his chest, he flopped his chin against your shoulder and gave a sweet peck on your cheek. All of these cute gestures couldn’t foreshadow the sheer vulgarity of what he was about to do; if there had been anyone in the room with you, they would’ve thought you two were adorable. He leant back, pulling you with him and the front of your dress up to mid-thigh. Trailing his fingers underneath the thin, yellow material, he ran his middle digit along your slit, feeling the damp patch that had formed on the even thinner lace. ‘I knew it. Filthy little slut. Was it me or Klimt who did this huh?’ he chuckled, gripping your hip when you tried to push against his finger. All you could let out was pathetic whines, and attempt to manoeuvre his finger inside you.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you sweetheart. You were spitting out facts a minute ago, where have all your words gone?’ he said, the condescending tone not helping your situation at all. ‘Please, I need, fuck, I need your fingers Matthew please.’ you begged, head falling back into his shoulder and hands gripping his arm that was around your waist. ‘Wow, you managed to ask so nicely too. Good girl.’ The sudden dominance he portrayed had you completely at his mercy, feeling nothing but a dull throbbing inside that you knew he could provoke. Stroking up and down your lips slightly to gather up your essence, he hooked his middle finger inside you so deep, so harshly you mewled out loudly; Matthew promptly covering your mouth and smiling into your hair. He nudged his index finger into you, curling the two together up against the spot that made your legs tighten around his wrist. He pulled them back open again and held them in that position, trusting you to be quiet. He wasn’t messing around; quick to thrust and curve his fingers upwards until your thighs began to shake against his arm. ‘Shit Matthew, i’m close already, please.’ you tried unsuccessfully to say it quietly, but the feeling he brought you came on so intensely you felt he needed warning. ‘Fuck yes, you’re so good to me. Letting me play with your pretty cunt right here in the open. Are you gonna come for me? I want you to fucking break baby. Come.’ He sped up his fingers, the wiggle of his fingertips against the spot, mixed with his palm grinding against your clit; the uncivilised words he growled into your ear had you gone. The hand returned to your mouth as you moaned and whimpered too loudly, bucking against his fingers, arching your back and gripping your fingernails into his legs as you came.

Matthew bit his lip and smiled into your neck as he drew out your orgasm, cock at its hardest as he felt your cunt tightening sporadically around his fingers. He needed you here and now. This beautiful woman spread across his lap, desperate and needy under his touch. How tight you got when you released onto his hand, the way you breathed out his name. If he could take you like that in this room, he’ll take you on his cock now too. Withdrawing his fingers from you and abruptly pushing them into you mouth, he pushed your hips forward a little so he could pull himself out of his trousers. You’d barely recovered from the intensity of the orgasm when you tasted yourself on your tongue, moaning around his fingers and curling your tongue around the tips. ‘Gonna take you right here baby, can’t wait anymore. Can you lift your dress a little higher for me?’ Trembling out a moan, you bunched your dress up around your hips, letting the spare material fall to the front so as not to expose yourself too much, which seemed ridiculous given the previous activity. ‘That’s it pretty girl. Sit yourself down on me, I want you to take as much as you can okay?’ the condescension had left his voice this time, his voice had become lower and exuded urgency.

Matthew lifted up your hips whilst you balanced your hands on his knees, bringing your legs together in between his. He grasped the base of his cock, pulling the lace to the side before coating himself in you. Pressing against your hole, wanting you to do the rest. You gasped as you glided down onto him, the lips parting and taking him in entirely. He was so thick and hard, you had to wiggle your hips side to side to fit him inside. ‘Shit, you’re so fucking big Matthew. Can’t take it all.’ He was just past halfway and already you felt so full. Matthew’s eyes had hooded and glazed over watching your pretty pussy taking him in, he ran a hand over your exposed cheek and gripped it tightly, pulling you down further.

‘Yes you fucking can, you can and you will. I know you can do it baby. Make me feel good, that’s it.’ You cried softly as he had you bear down completely on him. He was fully inside you, pushing against your cervix. It felt so good even just sitting still on him, let alone the pleasure it brought when you pulled up and back down again. His hands pushed and pulled you back and forth slowly and gently onto him, hitting special parts of you with every thrust. ‘Matthew please, please I just-‘ ‘Please what baby? Fuck-‘ ‘I just want you to fuck me properly please.’

He purred out a deep moan and laid back against the couch, you laid flat upon his chest again. He spread his legs a little more to give him leeway to fuck up into you easier, the pace at an allegro. Rolling his eyes back and biting his lip, he couldn’t get over the entire position you were both in. This wasn’t discreet anymore; no one could see where the two of your bodies met, but he was fucking up into you so hard, one arm wrapped tightly around your stomach, your head against his shoulder with the other hand covering your mouth. It was obvious this man was fucking this woman in the middle of an exhibition, in a gallery in New York. ‘God you feel so fucking tight around me, I can’t hold on much longer. You close for me?’ He sputtered out into your ear, looking at your face to see you nodding and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. ‘Want you to rub that pretty clit for me, make yourself come on my cock. Use me, I’m all yours baby.’ he said through gritted teeth, growing closer and closer to just letting go. He wanted to feel those spasms around his cock before he did though. You held onto the hand over your mouth, and used your other hand to rub quick and hard circles on your clit, teetering on the edge. Tears began to line the brim of your eyes, everything becoming super overwhelming. Being fucked in front of your favourite painting, out in public, by the sexiest man you’d ever seen and felt, the strength of how he held onto you, pushed into you had you right there.

‘You’re right there baby, I can feel it. Let it fucking go for me, good girl, that’s it.’ The deep, raspy voice in your ear was all you needed to burst out in pleasure. You rubbed faster, matching his thrusts just as your body shuddered against his, your toes curling in the heels, your moans being muffled by his hand. ‘Fuck baby, that’s it, what a good fucking girl coming on my cock like this, you’re gonna make me fucking explode baby.’ Matthew grunted into your ear, bucking up harder but sloppily as he reached his peak. You pulled his hand away and turned to meet his eyes; his pupils dilated beyond belief, hair messy where you’d tugged on it before, lips swollen where he’d bitten them so hard trying to keep quiet. God he was so hot. ‘Come inside me Matthew, please. Come inside me, I’m yours to fill please, fuck I need to feel you like that please.’

Quiet but desperate moans and cries left his mouth once you begged him for his come, his hand gripping your face as he brought your lips to his, silencing himself as he spilled inside you. He hadn’t come this much in a while, but the way you told him you needed it brought it out of him. Your lips were pressed together so hard, more of a muzzle than a kiss. The feeling of him slightly spilling out of you made you involuntarily clench tighter, maybe a natural instinct to want to keep him where he belongs. Matthew slumped back, his head dropping onto the black leather. ‘Let’s hope this stays in hm?’ after a few minutes absorbing what you’d just done, you spoke quietly, slowly going to stand up off of him. Smiling lazily, he let out a hiss when his cock slid out of you, falling onto his stomach, still slick with the mixture of you both. Adjusting your underwear and smoothing out your dress, you watched as he tucked himself away, sitting himself up properly and running his hands through his hair. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to stand between his legs, eyes shining with love and admiration as he looked up at you. ‘You really are so beautiful, y/n. Nothing in this gallery compares to you.’ Matthew whispered, stroking his thumbs out across your hands. You blushed and lost eye contact for a second, gazing at the artwork sprawled across each wall.

‘Thank you. I think one thing could make me a lot more beautiful though.’ You smiled and glanced towards your bag. Matthew imitated your smirk and grabbed it, pulling out the two sets of rings inside. The two of you slotting them back where they belonged on each other’s hands, you kept a tight grip on Matthew’s hand as he stood up in front of you. Twiddling with the wedding rings on your finger, you looked up at him beaming. ‘Much better actually, Mrs Gubler. Let’s go grab something to eat?’ he held out his arm the same way he did walking you in, except this time it was mostly to aid you in walking because you were staggering a little.

As you passed the guard who’d let you both in, Matthew turned back towards him. ‘Thank you for helping us out tonight. Can officially say we crossed a few things off our date night list.’

Slapping his arm, you dragged him away blushing profusely. It left you thinking; What would the next date night entail?

[staranon95]

DinCobb Week Day 6: Water (SFW)

for @dincobbweek

so for this one i go a bit... world build-y lol. no other way to describe it than that. just go with it.

AO3 Link

that within you (i do so trust)

Din saw the crumpled form upon the dunes. He only noticed it because he saw a small grouping of massiffs sniffing around it like vultures, which meant Tuskens weren’t too far off. It wasn’t like Din had issues with Tuskens, but he felt a pang of sympathy for a settler who had caught the short end of the stick.

So he curved his speeder off towards the fallen figure to see if he could offer any aid, and as he approached, the massiffs wandered off, yapping at each other as they ran off across the dunes back to where they came from.

The figure was the body of a man, an older man with silver and white in his hair and beard. He wore no protective gear. It appeared he had no weapon. His clothes were simplistic in design if a bit thinly worn, and the only thing that Din took notice of his dress was the thick red scarf around his neck.

He stepped off his speeder and approached the man, bending to one knee to roll the man onto his back. From the state of his cracked and reddened lips, Din assumed it was dehydration that struck this man down.

He sighed and thought of what next to do. The man was still alive. Just unconscious. But he wasn’t about to leave this man here, though. That would be a cruel thing to do. So he unclasped his cloak from his pauldrons and set it around the man’s prone form so he could carry him to his speeder in comfort and look for a place with shade.

He came to a sharp rise of rock that offered some cover. He lifted the man, still unconscious and gently set him to the ground before reaching for his canteen and pouring some of the precious water into the man’s mouth. He swallowed reflexively and for a moment his eyelids fluttered. He must’ve been aware for a moment before his eyes rolled and he was nothing more than a deadweight in Din’s arms once more.

He laid the man out before setting out to gather bits of debris and wood and brush he could use to build a fire. He had a feeling he would be here a long time.

Sun sickness and heat sickness were serious conditions on Tatooine, and any unexperienced individual would find themselves in a world of trouble if they didn’t come prepared. Din quietly wondered what had befallen this poor soul to land him in this situation.

Regardless, Din had the water to spare, and he tended the man with small mouthfuls of what he had over several hours as the suns passed through the sky and slowly fell out of sight.

Din was resting against his pack, arms folded along his stomach as he looked up at the stars, then he heard the man stir from his spot across the fire.

“Mm.”

Din angled his head in the man’s direction and nearly jolted at the sight of a pair of bright eyes across the low fire.

“I s’pose I should thank you then,” the man said, his drawl denoting his Tatooine heritage.

Din slowly moved to sit up and saw that the man’s eyes were not in fact glowing. Possibly just a reflection of the light. He reached for his canteen and stretched out his hand to offer it to the man.

The man smiled and nodded his thanks before lifting it to his lips and taking a healthy swallow.

“Is there anywhere I can bring you?” Din asked.

The man lowered the canteen and hummed. “No need to worry about that, partner. I was just out for a walk. It’s good for the spirit, you know?”

“Not if it means you put yourself in harm’s way,” Din said gently.

The man grinned slightly, showing white teeth—not necessarily unsettling, but his teeth almost looked sharper than they should’ve been.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light once more.

“You from around here, partner?”

“No.”

“Mm.” The man took another drink from Din’s canteen. “Been a while since I’ve seen a Mandalorian.”

Din wondered if he should drop his hand for his blaster, but the man did nothing more than make that remark. Plus, he also had no weapons to Din’s knowledge.

“Have you encountered others then?” Din asked because he was curious. If there were more of his kind out there, he wanted to know.

“Just the one.” The man looked to the stars then, the moonlight reflecting in his hair. “Mean son of a gun, too. Not like you I bet.” The man then winked at Din with a very cheeky and knowing smile.

Din swallowed and felt himself flush underneath his helmet. He felt odd in a way. Like this was some sort of dream.

This man didn’t seem real, and he couldn’t pin down the reason as to why.

“But he met some unfortunate fate. Not sure if he considers himself Mandalorian these days, but that journey is up to him, not me. Not anymore.” He took another swallow. “Mm. You know what they say about water on Tatooine?”

“No.”

Din knew what the Tuskens said, but he wasn’t about to say all that.

“That this planet used to be covered in it. Hard to believe right? That this place was once teeming with life. Oceans vast and deep. That’s where the first dragons came from you know. Big sea serpents. They’re the ones that gifted the water to the people here. They kept it churning. They would bring the tides and the waves. They would spew the water into the air for rain. But the people, well, they got greedy. They started taking more than they needed. They started hoarding it for themselves, building monuments with it, and this angered the dragons, you see. Not because the dragons wanted the praise, but because their gift was being wasted. Not for the purposes of life but of wealth and greed. So the dragons. They left. They called down their brothers from the stars and burned Tatooine in their righteous anger, taking with them their precious gift of life and leaving only small pockets of it behind. Enough for the people to live but never to thrive, not in the way they used to. And the great sea dragons, well, they left. They burrowed themselves into the ground, into the core of the planet where they remain, deep in slumber for an act of penance willing to wake them. And some say that’s how the krayts emerged—twisted representations of those first great gods, the sand wyrms. But the dragons didn’t leave their people to suffer. Within each krayt, they left a pearl to bring wealth and security to their people, and some say one of those pearls might be the key to bringing back the dragons and bringing Tatooine back to its former glory.”

Din blinked and took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember if he had breathed the entire time the man was telling his story. It matched up to many of the myths Tuskens had told him over the years, but those were Tusken stories, things they seldom told outsiders unless trust had been established between them.

The man lifted Din’s canteen and admired it. “Water is the life source of this planet as it is many others I suspect. But for Tatooine, it’s just as much a curse as it is a blessing. Depends on if you see it as a gift or a prize.”

The man then stood, forsaking Din’s cloak and offering his canteen to him before extending his hand. Din reached up and shook it the man’s. The man griped his hand tightly, and Din felt something sting on his inner wrist.

“Now don’t be a stranger, you hear?” the man said. “I’ll be seeing you, Mandalorian.” Then he turned and began to walk off into the dark.

When he was finally out of sight, Din blinked and it felt like he had control of himself, like he was no longer entranced. Then he stood and toggled for the heat tracking settings on his helmet and followed the man’s footsteps for a moment until they disappeared completely. Like he’d never existed at all.

He tugged off his glove to reveal a faint mark of some sorts into the skin of his inner wrist. He rubbed his thumb over it and caught the shape of a krayt dragon.

In all his years tracking bounties on this planet and spending time with its people—settlers, slaves, and Tuskens—Din had never heard of such a story before. Of any spirits in the desert other than hallucinations brought on by mirages and dehydration.

He would sleep that night and wake to a canteen full of water and his wrist bare, and for a moment he thought the entire exchange a dream.

Years would go by. He would return to Tatooine on a handful of occasions to hunt bounties, and he thought little of that strange night he had spent with a stranger. That was until he came to Tatooine with the Child he’d been entrusted to care for and the quest of locating other Mandalorians.

He came to a small town by the name of Mos Pelgo. It was a mining town, but the weary looks sent his way by the townspeople showed they didn’t seem to trust outsiders all that much.

He entered the cantina there in the town and spoke to the Weequay barkeep. “I have heard of a Mandalorian in these parts,” he said.

“You’ll want to talk to the Marshal.”

“The Marshal.”

The barkeep nodded towards the door, and Din turned and looked and saw the Marshal there, dressed in Mandalorian battle armour, but it looked ill fitting, far too worn and it looked uncared for.

Then the Marshal removed his helmet and there he was—the man Din had saved years ago, the man he shared his water with.

“Well, if it ain’t my Mandalorian.” The Marshal grinned. “Weequay,” he said, motioning to the barkeep. “Two snorts of spotchka. Have a drink with me, Mandalorian. Seems we got a lot to talk about.”

He followed the Marshal to the table and looked between the helmet and the man across from him. The Marshal slid him a glass full of spotchka before serving himself.

“Been wondering when you’d find yourself my way,” the Marshal said.

Din felt his inner wrist begin to tingle. He saw movement on the ground and saw the Child toddle up to the Marshal and looked up at him with an intensity he didn’t often see in the Child.

“Who are you?” Din asked.

“Just a man who’s trying to do what’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t matter if you do. It’s the truth.” The Marshal sipped his spotchka. “Regardless, seems the Force has brought us back together, and for the better. I want to know if I made the right choice in choosing you.”

“Choosing me?”

“As my champion of course.” The Marshal grinned. “There’s a krayt dragon in the area. It might be the one, and I can’t do much in this body of mine. Figured we could trade.”

“Trade what?”

“The krayt for the armour. For questions. I’m sure you’re full of them.”

Din sighed. He looked at the armour the Marshal was wearing and wondered how it had gotten here. He wondered why the Marshal had chosen him and what that would mean after the destruction of a krayt dragon.

And when the Marshal bent to pick up the Child and look at him with gleaming eyes, he wondered if the Marshal knew more about the Force for the sake of the Child.

He wondered a lot of things and if this was the right path to walk.

“Din.”

“Hm?”

“My name.”

The Marshal smiled. “Good to know you, Din. People call me Cobb, and I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part 33

Hallelujah

33 Days Left Until Extermination...

Gabriel stood in shock as he dropped his sword. His whole body was trembling as he looked down at his hands.

"What have I done?" he whispered in horror. He looked over the edge to where Michael had fallen, down towards the city below. He was he going to cover this up? How was he going to explain this to everyone, including father? No, it had to be done. Michael would have been an liability. Gabriel nodded his head. He had done the right thing. Michael was just like that traitor, Lucifer. He had to do it! As Gabriel was in deep thought, he didn't see that someone else was approaching towards him.

"Hey, Gabriel!" he heard them call out to him, making him jumped, startled. Gabriel quickly turned his head, panicking, to see another angel as they walked over to him.

"Ariel," Gabriel answered, trying to remain calm. The angel before him was a female with a rounded face, short brown hair, shady dark blue eyes, wearing dark purple eye shadow.

"Why so jumpy?" Ariel smirked. Gabriel narrowed his eyes, frowning at her.

"Why aren't you at your post?" he questioned.

"I decided to take a little break and wanted to see my two favorite brothers," Ariel replied. She looked around. "Where's Michael?" Gabriel grew tense, trying to think of something then he answered her.

"He attacked me!"

Ariel stared at Gabriel in shock and disbelief before laughing. "Gabriel, Michael couldn't even harm a fly even if he wanted to!"

"I'm serious!" Gabriel shouted. "He headbutted me and was about to attack me with his holy weapon!" Ariel looked at Gabriel, who looked like he had been in a fight. She was that a bruise was beginning to form on his forehead, with a little bit of swelling on his left eye. His face had a few scratches as well. His uniform had some rips and gun shot holes.

"I just find this hard to believe that Michael would do this," she murmured still unsure.

"Please, believe me sister. I wouldn't lie to you," Gabriel pleaded. "And there's more that you should know."

"What?" Ariel asked.

"I've learned some troubling news while I was out scouting," Gabriel explained. "Our former brother, Lucifer is creating an army. They are taking residence in a hotel down there. They are planning to over throw father again."

"What should we do?" Ariel asked, worried.

"Give me some time to recover and then we'll take care of this ourselves together with my army." Gabriel told her.

"Okay, I believe you," Ariel agreed as she nodded. "Just let me know when you are ready."

"I knew that I can rely on you, Ariel," Gabriel smiled.

Back down in the city, Charlie helped Vaggie up, while Alastor was tending to Angel and Husk with their injuries. As Alastor was finishing with Husk's wing, stopping the bleeding, he turned his attention to Angel, seeing the nasty wound on the spider demon. Alastor tried to heal it but he was almost as his limit as well. The wound was only finished halfway healed.

"It's fine, Smiles," Angel replied. "You've done enough. My body will do the rest on it's own."

"I'm just glad that it's over," Anna replied. "That was way too close. I ever thought that angels could be this strong."

"Well, you've never been through an extermination to see it happen," Charlie said. "This is why I want to save my people so they won't have to suffer anymore."

"Can we go back now? I've had enough excitement for one day," Baxter asked.

"Me too," Niffty agreed.

Suddenly, just as everyone was about to leave, Anna looked up to see something falling. It was a person. It was head straight towards them, fast.

"Uh, guys, I think that we should get out of the way," she called out.

"What?" Charlie asked.

"Move!" she shouted as she pushed everyone out of the way just as the person crashed, slamming into the ground, hard. Anna screamed it nearly hit her but Alastor pulled her out of the way just in time.

As everyone stood up to see what it was, they saw a large crater in the center of the street from where they were standing. Anna walked over to the edge of the crater and looked down to see that it was another angel. Everyone else walked over as well, seeing him.

"Oh great, another one." Vaggie groaned.

"Wait, he's hurt." Charlie said as she noticed that he was hurt, seeing a huge gaping wound on the angel chest. His left wing was torn and damaged as well. She jumped down and picked him up and jumped out of the crater and laid him down on the ground as everyone gathered around.

"We need to help him. Alastor can you heal him?" Anna asked.

"Are you insane?" Angel asked in disbelief.

"What?" Anna said.

"If we help him, then what's to stop him from waking up and attacking us?" Vaggie asked.

"I don't want to get my ass kicked again, one of them was bad enough." Angel added.

"It's probably a trick," Niffty added as well.

"Then why would this angel just fall out of the sky and land right in front of us, hurt, right after Gabriel left?" Anna questioned. "I doesn't make any sense." Everyone thought for a moment in silence as she continued. "Plus, maybe we could use him to help us with the hotel."

"That's actually, not a bad idea," Charlie agreed.

"Well, as long as he's tied up and confined, so he can't hurt anyone, and find out what his motives are, he can stay." Vaggie replied. "But, he's your responsibility." Anna nodded. She turned to Alastor.

"Heal him," Alastor groaned.

"Cher, I've almost used up all of my strength. I'm not sure that I'll able able to heal him completely."

"Just do what you can." Anna said, softly.

Alastor turned to the fallen hurt angel then knelt down and started to heal him. The gaping wound on the angel's chest slowly began to mend, closing up, until it was completely healed. However, his wing was unable to be healed as Alastor felt the last of his magic beginning to slip through his fingers. Anna quickly caught him as Alastor almost fell backwards from exhaustion.

"There, it's done," Alastor said, tiredly.

"You've done wonderfully," Anna smiled. "How about when we get back to the hotel, I'll fix up some jambalaya?"

"You've read my mind." Alastor agreed, feeling hungry. He could use some meat right about now.

"I'm starving!" Angel exclaimed.

"You can have some too Angel, as well as everyone else," Anna snickered. But, she stopped when she noticed that there was something strange happening to Alastor. Everyone one else noticed as well.

"Alastor, your hair!" Charlie exclaimed.

"What are you talking about?" Alastor asked, smiling confused. "And why are you all staring at me like that?"

Anna picked up a shard of glass, carefully, holding it up in front of Alastor. Alastor couldn't believe it himself as he stared back into his own reflection, like a deer in headlights. His hair was now brown, instead of blood red, but also tufts still sticking out like a deer's on the top of his head.

It was late in the middle of the night, everyone had gone to sleep, resting from the battle. Ever so often, they would take turns watching over their unexpected guest, who was now tied up and being confined in a locked room, waiting for the angel to wake up.

In Angel's room, Angel was lying in his bed while Fat Nuggets was sleeping at the end of it. He smiled as he rolled over on his side, expecting to feel warm fuzzy fur next to him. "Hmm," Angel groaned, sleepily. "Morning, Husky." But, he only felt strange leathery velvet skin.

He slowly opened his eyes only to be met with the color white. Angel immediately sat up with a shocked look on his face. He tried to pinch himself to check to see if he was still dreaming. Nope, he was wake. Sleeping, in front of the spider demon was an unfamiliar middle aged man with slicked black hair with a few grey streaks, while at the top of his head were two black cat ears. Angel nearly drooled at the sight of the man's well toned naked less furry body. He even had a black tail that was slowly swaying side to side as he slept. He had been redeemed.

"Husk?" Angel asked.

"What?" the former cat demon grumbled, sleepily.

"I don't want you to freak out but, your wing's grown back.-"

"And what else is new?" Husk asked.

"It's white and you're a lot less hairy than I remembered from last night-" Angel smirked, but still in shock, and continued. Husk immediately woke up as he sat up on the bed. "Your other wing's that same as well."

Husk folded his wings closer to him then stretched them out. Just like Angel had said, his wings were now pure white with feathers. Husk looked down to see his other wing lying on the floor. He looked back at Angel only to be met with different colored human-like eyes, one light blue and the other light pink.

"Kid, I'm not the only one changes," Husk murmured. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

Angel looked at him confused then stood up and walked over to the mirror across the his room. He saw that his other eye had changed as well, both now completely different colors.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"I know, it's unbelievable," Husk replied in shock. Angel looked back into the mirror, however, he noticed that something was off.

His wound hadn't healed.

It was still the same as it was before.

Fear began to build in Angel as he began to grow nervous and uneasy by the more he looked at it. He tried to stop himself from panicking, in front of Husk. It was fine. He was fine. It'll go away eventually.

It will...It'll just take a little more time that's all!

"Hey, what's wrong?" Husk asked, sensing that something was bothering him. Angel laughed, turning around to face him.

"Nothings wrong! I'm just so fucking happy right now!" he exclaimed, jumping onto the bed, landing right on top of Husk, body slamming into him, while waking Fat Nugget's up as well.

It'll heal up eventually, right?

[owlespresso]

Nhaza’a/Clandestine Comfort

With the Scions gone and the Garlean empire at your heels, you retreat to the temporary safety of the Thanalan wilds, only to find the comfort you’ve been seeking by chance. If you like what I do, consider supporting me via ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso

The pale moonlight touched the river's surface gently, its reflection full and hearty. You gazed down at it blankly, silently, legs gathered to your chest as your thoughts ran over recent events. Again, and again, and again. The sudden comas that sprouted up around you and afflicted your closest allies seemed to be a curse. What Garlean witch had cast such a terrible blight upon you? Had they finally figured out how to make use of the world's aether for the sole purpose of hurting you? It seemed as likely an explanation as any.

Thanalan's dry air was tinted with a gentle chill at night. The dried grass shuddered against the gentle breeze. The desert stretched out for miles around you. The only aetheryte in the region was a few minutes away, gleaming brilliantly in the distance though half obscured thanks to its subterranean position. 

You listened to the sounds of the wildlife around you, to whatever Hydaelyn had to offer to distract you from the awful matter at hand. 

However, it seemed she had a much different plan in mind for you tonight. The sound of boots against the hard soil made your eyes go wide and your body grow stiff. You whirled around, nerves alight with all the paranoia that's plagued them as of late.

"I don't remember you being this jumpy," Nhaza'a said, his artificial eye glowing faint in the soft darkness. The moon cast his hair in a silvery glow, lit his skin up a few shades. He looked perfectly at home in front of you, despite the way he dipped in and out of your life with no predictable pattern. Perhaps it was only right that he showed up now, when you were at your weakest. The universe had a tendency to stab you in the back like that.

"Well, you get like that when all your friends start dropping like flies for no damn reason." You deigned to not mention how you had actually been looking for him mere hours prior, desperate for the company of someone you could trust. How ironic. Nhaaz'a was far from what most people would consider "trustworthy", but he had yet to put a knife in your back and he actually seemed to enjoy your company. 

"So I've heard," he admitted, resting a hand on his cocked out hip. His posture was at ease, the typical, languid stance you had come to expect and associate him with. "My condolences for your loss... losses." He corrected himself, words blatant and tactless, but you found you didn’t care. What mattered was that he was here now. What mattered was that you needed him.

Bracing your hands atop the grassy patch you were sat upon, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs cried out in palpable relief, having been bunched up and bent for the better part of an hour. The joints popped, bones cracked in that strangely satisfying way as you lifted your arms above your head, stretching with a wide open yawn. You attempted to force some ease into your posture, chasing away the tension that had plagued you for the past few days. 

"How brazen," Nhaza'a murmured, voice suddenly much closer. One of your hands was promptly snatched as you lowered it, tugged roughly, suddenly. 

“Wha—!” you gasped. Your voice died in your throat as his plush lips brushed over the back of your hand.

“To this day I am still unsure what impresses me more. Your incredible, god-slaying power or your obliviousness to your own charm,” he commented dryly, thumb rolling a circle over your palm before he released it. Your hand dropped back to your side, sheepishness warming your cheeks as you struggled to regain your cogent thought. Just his closeness was enough to rattle you after everything that had happened. “But I believe you sought me out for more than mere flattery or condolences.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask?” you frowned and tilted your head, attempting to shake off your nerves. Nhaza’a had never been the most… compassionate of people, but you had desperately hoped he would be willing to keep you company. Anything to get your mind off your current troubles.

“Are you afraid I’ll disappear on you next?” he inquired, taking a small step closer. His paralyzed you with the sudden, surprising gentility of his gaze. It left you wide open for the strong arm that wrapped around your back and tugged you to his chest, his warmth reaching you even through the barrier of your garments. “You should know that won’t happen. You’re in too deep to get rid of me now.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple, before he nuzzled his cheek affectionately over the spot.

Despite his reassurances, the very suggestion was enough to send a jolt of pure terror down your spine. There was no way either of you could know for sure if he was safe. Only the Scions had been affected thus far, but who knew? Maybe this mysterious illness would latch onto anyone who you spent too much time with. Maybe all of your allies lapsing into sudden comas was your fault. The thought made your stomach turn, your world growing fuzzy and dark at its edges as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Because you can’t lose him, too. Not after Thancred, after Urianger, and Y’shtola, and they’re all leaving you one by one, dragged into the dark by an unseen, faceless force that you can’t find or fight or do anything about—

The soft sound of your name on his lips breached the chaotic wall of thought and grounded you. His hands slid to the sides of your midsection and gently squeezed, jolting you back into the here and the now, away from those horrendous thoughts.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” he said, and you provided no objections. “Do you feel up to returning to Ul’dah?” There was undoubtedly a building with a spare room close to the aetheryte, but you would much rather live in comfort wherever you find the chance to, so you nodded. The trip back to the grand city was made easier by your ability to finely tap into the lifestream and teleport. 

Before you knew it, you were standing before the grand, blue crystal as it hovers three fulms above the ground. It was a struggle to not get lost in its grand expanse, in the sea of blue that so deeply aligns with whatever strange gift Hyaedyln had bestowed upon you what feels like ages ago.

“Come back to me,” Nhaza’a beseeched, and you tore your gaze away from the looming crystal to look at him. You hadn’t even realized it, but he held one of your hands, grip firm and reassuring. His thumb rolled soothing little circles onto the back of it. “Your current state is much worse than I thought it would be,” he admitted with a small sigh. He wasn’t agitated, you realized after a moment of frantically inspecting him. Rather, his eyebrows seemed pinched together out of sheer concern. His expression was too soft to be frustrated. 

One of his hands reached up, fingers tenderly brushing against the apple of your cheek.

“ I will be damned if I let you rot away in your grief. Follow me.”

The trip from the aetheryte to an inn room was a blur for you. Ul’dah’s massive pillars and archways were an afterthought. You heeded the crowds no mind, simply followed your partner wherever he led you with newfound pliance.

When you entered the inn, you paid no mind to its inhabitants. You were well-known around these parts and as a result, folks were likely to stare, if they did they received no reply, no glare in return. Your gaze remained flat on the floor, despondent. You faintly remembered the journey up the lift, the twist of the key inside the door’s lock. Before you even realized it, you were standing in the middle of a luxurious room. The massive bed rested in the corner, nestled against two of the walls. 

“Well, let’s make ourselves at home,” Nhaza’a said, and a part of you was grateful that he’s giving you instructions. Like this, exhausted and away from your allies, you feel aimless, floating in an abyss without any given purpose. For what does winning the war matter when all of your closest friends have been whisked away from you by some malignant force? 

He said your name. Softly, prodding into the dry air of the room to reach you. It jolted you into motion, your limbs feeling heavy as you walked over to the door and removed your shoes, neatly placing them next to his. 

...He was already beginning to disrobe. Nimble fingers neatly undid his outerwear until he was left in a simple pair of trousers. You paused to roll your gaze up the stretch of his body, admiring the planes and slopes of his lean muscle. 

“You like what you see?” he inquired smugly, like he already knew your answer. Warmth touched your cheeks as you looked away, following his lead and discarding your light jacket, the sash around your waist. Your wallet and any other trinkets inside your pockets were tossed atop the nearby dresser, a slow and methodological process that kept your hands moving and your head focused. 

Only when you were finished did he speak again.

“Come here.” He lounged atop the mattress, back nestled against a pile of many pillows. He looked like he belonged there, looked like an emperor basking in the lap of luxury whilst waiting to be hand fed grapes by one of his many servants. The blankets had been pulled back to rest against the wall, allowing him to rest upon the sheets. His exposed eye gleamed expectantly. His sly smile drew you in. 

Wordlessly, you padded barefoot across the room and climbed atop the bed. As soon as you entered his radius, he grasped one of your wrists and gently tugged you forward. You followed his directing, climbed to rest your entire body atop of him. His warmth near cocooned you, one of his arms settling across your back whilst the other curled the blankets around your bodies. 

“There,” he said, sounding quite satisfied with himself. “Nice and cozy. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really,” you replied. You turned your head to the side to press a single, fluffy ear over his chest. The constant thrum of his heartbeat serves to soothe you, tense muscles relaxing until you’re at last lim laptop of him. “...A little bit.” He’s alive. He’s alive and his beating heart lets you know that you’re not deluding yourself, not trying to cling onto your last bit of sanity by dreaming up this scenario. 

He started to rub your back in smooth circles, and the slight pressure there is welcome.

“You’re terrified,” he remarked, and you could not help but think back to when you were enemies. When he delighted in working you up and crossing blades. Was he longing for that version of you, again? Did he want the you who could get up no matter the severity of your injuries and keep fighting? Did he want the adrenaline rush of combat? Did he want your defenses to be impenetrable no matter the hardships that wracked you?

“Are you disappointed?” you asked, despite your fear of his answer.

“No. I’m concerned,” he clarified. You sighed against his chest. “The pattern of those afflicted thus far is clear. It only affects your fellow Scions. And I… could not be further from a Scion.” When you glanced up at him, his lips curled into a wry smirk. He was all too aware of how your comrades viewed him.

“But they’re also my friends,” you pointed out. “They’re not just coworkers, Nhaza’a.”

“And you fear that it could spread to me, since we are also… closer than coworkers,” Nhaza’a’s amused tone of voice dipped into something softer, something more serious. He gave a low, thoughtful hum, as though sifting through potential reasons why you shouldn’t worry. “Even if there is no telling who will vanish next, I am likely safe from harm due to not being a Scion. Believe me.” Long fingers combed through your hair, silencing you as you opened your mouth to argue. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he inquired, and you almost wanted to scold him for changing the subject. You stayed quiet instead, because he had a point. The pattern given to you thus far left no room for non-Scions to be affected by the mysterious ailment. For now, at the very least, he was most likely safe.

You decided to believe it, if only for your own sanity.

“Uhh,” you swallowed as you struggled to find an adequate answer.

“If it takes you that long to find the answer, then the answer is ‘too long ago’,” he stated. “Get some rest, my dear.”

“I don’t want to,” you groused back, feeling like a scolded child. Your pride lightly stung, the stubborn side of you insisting that Warrior of Light did not have a bedtime. 

“And why ever not? You will need your rest if you are to win the war for these paltry city states. You don’t want to let them down, right?” His voice carried with it a light taunt, his dislike for the states that employed your services all too prominent.

“...I’ll sleep if you promise to be here when I wake up.” you stared defiantly up at him, perhaps the most firm you have been all night. If you awaken to an empty bed, you’ll likely lose your mind, afraid that he too has been taken. 

“You think I would leave you? Perish the thought.” Nhaza’a scoffed, as though he hadn’t been gone the next morning after several of your midnight trysts. It had taken you three months to get him to stay with you, certainly a rocky phase in your relationship as you struggled to adjust to each other. “I will be here when you awaken, my lovely. You have my word.”

It didn’t soothe you completely, nothing could at this point. But his presence alongside the steady thrum of his heart helped soothe your cacophony of fearful and negative thoughts. You didn’t know what you would do if you lost him as well, but there truly was no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet… or something that likely might not happen at all. 

You shut your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days leech at your limbs. Your mind swam briefly in the void between slumber and wakefulness, desperate to stay conscious of his body, desperate to know he was at your side until you lapsed completely into sleep. The slow, warm caress of his hand atop your back was all you needed to lull you into soft unconsciousness. Dreams of his velvety voice replaced the horrible nightmares.

[pilot-boi]

Fifth Wheel

In my version of what happens post-Atlas, Jaune and Marrow have a talk about things that should be simple, but actually aren’t. Boats and sunsets and feelings galore, and maybe Marrow learning that it’s okay to belong to something.

AO3 LINK

It’s been about a week. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but after Marrow’s whole world managed to fall down in a couple of hours, a week was a long time.

A week since Ironwood was arrested. A week since Atlas fell. A week since Marrow gave up on pretending that siding with Atlas was anything short of horrible.

He’d given up on following the orders of people who didn’t care about the people they were supposed to be protecting. He’d given up on the people who thought that a “shoot to kill” order against a bunch of kids was an okay order to follow.

A bunch of kids, ha. What a joke. He wasn’t much older than these so-called kids. And Marrow didn’t doubt for a second that if he’d been on the wrong side of that order, his former comrades wouldn’t have hesitated to fire on him, too.

They’d allowed those three to storm that whale. By themselves. How could he possibly claim that they were on the right side of history after Arc had to beg to be allowed to march straight into enemy territory? All to rescue a friend that the General had written off as “an acceptable loss.”

So he’d left. Without much fanfare, what with the whole world falling down around everyone’s ears in more ways than one. Marrow had helped them in the end, and they’d welcomed him with mostly open arms. Some animosity was expected, and he didn’t begrudge them of it for a second.

Team RWBY, as they’d been known at Beacon, were mostly amicable but still distant. He hadn’t really been friends with them before martial law was declared, at least not past casual coworkers. So they were kind and friendly, but mostly left him alone.

However Team ALPN, as they’d dubbed themselves, added him to their little family faster than he could blink. The supposedly professionally-clinical friendship that he’d had with Arc before wasn’t nearly as professionally-clinical as he’d thought. Jaune smoothed the transition by simply accepting him without a second glance, and Marrow couldn’t be more grateful.

He did wish he could stop feeling guilty though.

Every time Oscar winced when he moved wrong and one of his still healing injuries twinged, Marrow had to fight to stop his traitorous tail from drooping. Every time he caught sight of Nora’s scars he had to hide a flinch. Every time he was in a room with Ren, Marrow froze, certain that the kid was somehow going to find out more of the things he was trying to keep hidden.

And every time Jaune so much as glanced his way, Marrow had to avert his eyes to avoid eye contact and the damn feeling that the kid was x-raying him. His black-haired teammate was supposed to be the one who could read feelings, why was Jaune the one who he couldn’t keep eye contact with without feeling like he was reading him like an open book?

And always it ended with a look of sort of understanding, sort of pity, and more and more of the concerned glances. With how many of them Jaune kept giving him, he probably wasn’t hiding any of it as well as he’d hoped. That kid was too much of a worrier for his own good.

A message over the faulty CCT. Some of the kid’s friends were in trouble in Vacuo. With another Relic in tow, they’d set out at once, and Marrow had been allowed to tag along. That was a week ago.

A week of traveling, of worry for the future and fear of the past, and of trying to figure out where he fit in his new “team”. A week of slowly building up the courage to just talk to these kids like the friends they clearly saw him as.

After the events of a few days ago, everyone had been needing their space. Marrow could understand that, so he’d made himself scarce in the central gathering areas. He might not have been at the Fall of Beacon, but he’d seen enough of the footage and read enough of the reports to know that this had to have opened some old wounds for the kids.

Wandering the deck of their ship had become a pastime of his. He’d never really seen much of the world outside of Atlas, and seeing the water look more green and warm than steely and cold was more odd than he could put into words.

It was like his hair had decided to become liquid, which was the weirdest thought he’d had in years. Although judging by the sort of passing comments he’d heard from Nora and Ruby, it appeared that thinking irrationally came with the territory of associating (read: being almost friends) with these kids.

Currently, he was sitting perched on the railing of the ship, uniform jacket lying abandoned beside him. Double insulated, top of the line, silver buttons, expertly tailored. The mark of an Ace-Op.

A former Ace-Op. He’d defected and so no longer legally had the right to wear the uniform, but he had no other clothes. On a different note, he felt more than a little awkward wearing the uniform of the military that had knowingly abandoned the majority of its civilian population, and had instigated a retreat plan that involved leaving said civilian population to the proverbial dogs.

Plus it was just too freaking hot to wear right now. The ocean from Solitas to Sanus was no tundra, that was for sure.

“Mind if I join you?” came a voice to his left, shocking Marrow out of his thoughts. Only years of training kept him from pitching over the side of the ship into the frothy water below.

It was just Jaune, out of his armor for once, and looking like his smile had only just now been wiped away by Marrow probably looking like he was having a heart attack. They stared at each other for a few seconds, time ticking irrevocably onwards, Marrow’s brain simply refusing to process whatever the hell Jaune had just said.

A few more seconds passed, mostly consisting of Jaune just staring at him like he expected some kind of response. “Did you need something?” Marrow eventually asked, wincing at the edge that he hadn’t meant to put into his voice.

“Can I join you.”

“Oh. Oh yeah! Yeah sure, whatever,” Marrow replied quickly, “I mean if you want.”

“Thanks.” Jaune leant his forearms on the railing, wrists crossed, one ankle hooked around the other. He would’ve seemed perfectly casual if Marrow couldn’t see the tension in his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes as clear as day. Kid wasn’t taking this any better than the rest of them.

The wind over the ocean ruffled his blonde hair and caught the red sash at his waist. Eyes that seemed to reflect both the sky above and the sea below stared out over the waves. Freckles that could never have been caused by the harsh cold sun of Solitas dusted their way across his cheeks and down his arms and-

-And Marrow abruptly realized he was staring and returned to gazing determinedly out over the waves.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply existing in each other’s presence. Jaune didn’t attempt to start a conversation, for which Marrow was supremely grateful. He honestly didn’t know what he would say in response even if a conversation started.

It was an awkward comfortable kind of silence. Teetering on the edge of concerning and companionable. But eventually Marrow found himself relaxing and settling back into the semi-slumped over posture he’d been in before Jaune walked up. His tail started to sway with the rhythm of the boat, but he put a stop to that as soon as it began moving.

“Ya know,” Jaune suddenly spoke, and Marrow froze. Still not taking his eyes off the ocean, he said “You don’t hafta do that.”

“Do what?” he couldn’t help asking, looking over at him in confusion.

“Your tail, you don’t have to stop it from… doing whatever it does or whatever,” Jaune explained vaguely, glancing away from the ocean to meet his gaze. Eyes too wide and too discerning, Marrow could only maintain eye contact for a second before returning his gaze to the waves.

“Yeah well, maybe I want to,” he replied, a little defensively. No, wait he wasn't getting defensive. Why would he be getting defensive? “Why do you care anyway? It’s not like it affects you.”

“That’s true,” Jaune conceded, shifting so his weight was resting on his other foot. “It just seems like it might get irritating after a while, to have to think about it all the time.”

Marrow resolutely kept his eyes on the ocean, not acknowledging what Jaune had said. “It’s fine.” He sighed, slumping a little. “I’ve gotten used to it.” This time he couldn’t keep the tinge of dejection out of his voice.

“Hey,” Jaune said sharply all of a sudden, voice more hard than it had been before. “Just because you’ve gotten used to it doesn’t mean you should’ve had to.”

Marrow hesitated at that, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?” he asked, turning to face the other. “What the heck does that mean?”

Jaune’s determined expression faltered slightly and he grinned sheepishly for a moment. “Yeah, wasn’t my best line I have to admit,” he shrugged, returning his gaze to the ocean and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Marrow didn’t turn away.

“So?” he prompted after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“What did you mean?”

“Oh! I guess…” Jaune paused to collect his thoughts, something that Marrow had already seen do several times. Even after only a couple weeks of knowing each other, Marrow could already tell that sometimes Jaune’s mouth went faster than his brain could keep up with.

“I guess what I meant was…” He kept his eyes trained on the waves, brow furrowed in some emotion that Marrow couldn’t identify. “...Was that Atlas freaking sucks for making you feel like you had to suppress a signal of how you’re feeling, just to fit in.”

Oh.

That was anger.

That expression was anger, anger on Marrow’s behalf.

Like the righteous anger Jaune had shown on the tundra when they’d refused to help the citizens of Mantle escape the river of Grimm. Like the desperate anger Jaune had expressed after nearly being denied permission to rescue Oscar. Like the raging anger Jaune had screamed at Ironwood after finding out that his friends had been injured and hunted on the General’s orders.

All in defense of someone or something the blonde cared about. Jaune wore his emotions on his sleeve, as far as Marrow could tell. He’d never seen someone’s face be so expressive, without even a hint that Jaune was trying to hide anything he felt.

But now that anger was targeted at someone else, and Marrow was the one who was being defended. With that same fire in his eyes.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping!” Jaune started backpedaling after Marrow didn’t respond. “Jeez, I probably just shouldn't have said anything, right?”

“No!” Marrow interjected. “No. It’s fine.” He unhooked his ankles around the railing beneath him and slumped slightly. “You’re right,” Marrow admitted reluctantly, kicking his feet and staring at the water below.

“I am?” Jaune asked, sounding astounded, and even without looking, Marrow could tell that Jaune had looked away from the waves.

Yeah, he was right, and that was a whole different thing he needed to unpack at a later date. But for now… for now he needed to ask…

“Why do you even care?” Marrow refused to look away from the water now, certain that Jaune was giving him one of those wide-eyed looks that he didn’t know what to do with. “It’s my tail after all, not yours.” My feelings, not yours. My institutionalized suppression, not yours.

“I guess I don’t really care,” Jaune admitted, and Marrow had to admit that hurt. He didn’t really know why it hurt, but it was definitely going on the pile of things not to unpack later. If he slumped any further, he was going to fall off the damn boat, and honestly he didn’t know if that was a bad outcome. “It is your tail, so it’s by all rights your business.”

“I guess partially I relate a little bit, but...” he admitted and hesitated again. A little astonished that they could possibly share common ground on something like this, Marrow risked a glance at him. That same damned look of sort of understanding, sort of pity.

“But man it’s not your tail I care about,” Jaune clarified, smiling softly at him, and Marrow didn’t know what exactly he’d done to earn that smile, “I couldn’t care less about that, I care about you.”

Gods above what the sweet hell was Marrow supposed to do with that?!

“Why?” Marrow heard himself ask from wherever the shock had sent his brain.

Jaune looked honestly taken aback by that, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, eyebrows raised high enough that they were threatening to escape into his hairline. In any other situation Marrow might have laughed.

While Jaune pondered his question, Marrow’s brain struggled to process Jaune’s frankly ridiculous claim.

They were on the same team, fine. He’d been pleased to find that they didn’t insist on keeping the kind of distant professionalism that the Ace-Ops had always enforced. But Marrow clearly didn’t fit into the dynamic the four of them had set up.

He was the odd one out, the Atlesian defective, adopted into team ALPN because he had nowhere else to go. Academy teams were made up of four people: five was right out. It was just logical that with them already having bonds forged from fighting for their freaking lives, that Marrow be the odd one out.

On top of all that, they’d barely known each other for a month. A month during which Marrow had actively aided the former leader of the Atlesian military stage a coup and hunt down any and all of Jaune’s friends for treason.

And now Jaune was claiming to care about him? All with that damned smile on his face.

“Why wouldn’t I care about you?” Jaune eventually asked, not even bothering to hide the confusion in his voice.

“Answering with a question,” Marrow noted, a ghost of a smile on his lips for the first time in this conversation that had gone nowhere near where he thought it was going.

“Yeah shut up.” Jaune rolled his eyes. “Asking why I care is like…” he fumbled for the words for a moment. “...is like asking why the sun comes up in the morning, or why water is wet, or why the moon is shattered.”

“But you know why the moon is shattered.”

“Yes! Still shut up!” Jaune waved away his comments, the look of worried confusion finally being replaced by the sort of sad smile again. “I care because I do, okay? It’s just who I am.”

But that wasn’t the answer Marrow wanted to hear, because he needed concrete reasons and evidence. Wishy-washy “Because” wasn’t going to do, he needed to know the reasons why.

“But if it helps,” Jaune amended, and Marrow perked up unconsciously. “I care because you’re a great guy, and because quite honestly I think you need someone to just care about you without strings attached.”

That… maybe Marrow could work with that. No strings attached sounded nice.

“And I also care because you’re part of my team, and ‘round here that means something,” Jaune said, the ‘not like in Atlas’ going unspoken. “So you’re just gonna have to deal with it, because it’s not going away any time soon!”

His eyes were shining again. That same fire from when he’d been angry on Marrow’s behalf, angry at people who weren’t even here to see his expression. His eyes were shining, his shoulders were set defiantly, and even still leaning on the railing he looked like he was prepared to keep arguing the point until Marrow conceded. Fighting until he understood.

But he didn’t understand it. And he also didn’t understand why Jaune looked so upset. The silence stretched on. Marrow had no words, and it seemed like Jaune had nothing more to say. What was he supposed to say to all of that? What kind of response was an appropriate freaking follow up?

Marrow dropped Jaune’s gaze and went back to staring out over the waves. The sun was starting to set. Had they really been out here for that long?

“Thank you,” Marrow eventually said, voice quiet enough that he half hoped that Jaune wouldn’t hear. He may not understand it, but he could accept that for whatever reason, Jaune Arc had chosen to care about him.

Even though that was not how it was supposed to work. And even though that was not how it was supposed to work, somehow all of Marrow’s carefully built defenses had been chipped away. X-rayed away by eyes that reflected the sky and the sea.

Out of the corner of his eye Marrow could see Jaune un-tense. “No problem,” the blonde responded, matching Marrow’s volume. Relief was coloring his words, and Marrow had to wonder why. It was like Jaune had half-expected Marrow to fight him at the end of his heartfelt speech or something.

The sun sank lower to the horizon, and the two of them lapsed back into the companionable silence that they’d started the conversation with. But now the awkwardness was gone, and Marrow frankly had no idea why. It was like some invisible wall had come down.

“I meant it ya know,” Jaune murmured, some unknown amount of time later. “What I said before, I wasn’t just saying it. I meant it.”

Marrow glanced over at him. The wind ruffled his hair and caught his sash. Freckles danced their way across his cheeks and speckled the arms he was resting his chin on. His eyes were on the horizon, watching the sun sink into the ocean, blue eyes alight with the fire from the distant star.

He looked worried. Brows pushed together, eyes intent on the sinking sun. The bags were still under his eyes and the tension still hadn’t left his friend’s posture. Marrow realized with a start that he was one of Jaune’s worries.

The realization didn’t send him spiraling into confusion like it might have done earlier in the day.

“I know you meant it.” And although Marrow didn’t know what the little bundle of emotions he felt in the pit of his stomach meant, he knew with every fiber of his being that Jaune Arc meant it when he said that he cared.

And if a soft smile crossed his lips and if his tail swayed a little faster than the rhythm of the boat, who was to say?

[renee-writer]

At the Beach

A/N For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 112 Sunny Delight. But maybe not staying delightful for long. TW for gun violence, murder and suicide by the police.

It was a typical summer’s day. The sun is shining. The waves are rolling in. The sand is hot under the feet of those lucky enough to be on it. Yes, a typical sunny summer’s day.

 

It wasn’t the dark and stormy night setting that usually starts such tales. That is why they weren’t ready. Why no one was prepared. Not even the life guards. Because stuff like this doesn’t happen on sunny summer days.

 

He also seemed like a typical beach visitor. His nose has a streak of sun screen. His bathing suit hangs to his thighs. He is walking along the edge, where the sand is cooled by the incoming surf. The life guards pass over him without another look. We can’t blame them though. Everybody did. He was a normal guy on a normal day. So everyone thought.

 

Children ran in and out of the coming waves. Their mom’s reminding them to be careful. Father’s carry them farther out then the mom’s are comfortable with. Teens play with beach balls on the sand and in the water. Boyfriend’s hold their girlfriends on their shoulders.  Older folks sit in the shade and watch the young families and teens with the longing of earlier years.

 

We can walk all the way across the beach and see nothing that would make us look twice. Nothing that would cause concern. A typical day on a typical beach in the apex of summer. The man that no one is paying attention to, walks back up and into the bathroom.  He passes several men exiting. You would shrug saying, so what. At this point in our tale, you would be right to take no notice.

 

A young couple sit on the edge of the shore, letting their baby feel the waves come in. A pregnant lady watches with a smile, telling her husband that will be them next year. The infant laughs as the waves wash over her legs.

 

A bit farther in the water, a couple are kissing. They are newly engaged. On the beach, an older couple, celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, watch with a smile. The husband whispers something naughty in her ear. She turns red and playfully smacks him.

 

The man emerges from the facilities. No one can see what he has hidden in his swimsuit shorts. He walks back onto the beach. His eyes scan the crowd. The life guards are looking out towards the water for trouble. They don’t know it is right behind them.

 

He recalls her. How her laugh made the storm clouds part, or so it seemed. How her eyes would sparkle so beautiful in the sun. The way her hair smelled on the pillows. He hadn’t washed the pillow cases sense the incident. He is waiting until he can’t smell her on them anymore. She would love today. The sun reflecting off the ocean. All the people. He would take her out. Kiss her. They would playfully splash water on each other. She would glide underwater like she was part of the ocean.

 

That is what made it so hard to understand. How could she have drowned? She was an excellent swimmer.

 

With a sigh, he gazes about the beach. It will be the last time he sees it. If they don’t take him out, he will himself. He must rejoin her. Maybe the hereafter will be a beach.

 

He pulls the gun out, he had hidden in his swimsuit. No one reacts until he aims and fires at the head of the first lifeguard. Lifeguard, his ass! They didn’t save her. Those who can’t see him assume it is a firecracker or backfire. It couldn’t be anything else. Not on this sunny beach.  Those who can tuck and run towards shelter, grabbing their children, wives, parents. All else they leave behind.

 

The lifeguard falls, as in slow motion, off his stand. The couple with the baby sees him fall. The husband runs to help and sees the bullet wound. His scream is the second warning that something is drastically wrong.

 

The next shot and dead lifeguard wakes everyone else up. Screams almost drown out the third shot. He doesn’t die immediately. The man walks up and shots him again.

 

By this time chaos reigns. Children are scoped up as parents try to run as fast as they can through the sand. He wants to tell them that he wasn’t after the children. No one but the lifeguards that didn’t save her. He waits for the police. Standing with his gun by his side by his last victim.

 

They come, sirens piercing the silence that had fell over the crowd gathered at the wooden building that holds the concession stand, the bathrooms, the showers and lockers. They hurry past then to the man standing on the now empty beach with the three dead lifeguards.

 

He was asked to place the gun down and lay down, his hands behind his back.  Instead he lifts the gun, aiming at the closest officer. When he cocks it, the open fire. Now there is four bodies on the beach.

 

“The suspect has been taken out. He drew on my officers and they responded. It seems he targeted the lifeguards only. Motive? Yes ma’am, seems he recently lost his girlfriend. She left him. Moved out of the state but he told anyone who would listen that she drowned. Seems he started to believe his own fantasy and blamed the lifeguards. Sad all around. Yes sir. We have checked. She is fine. A bit shaken up by what her ex did but..”

 

The End

[monaownsmyass]

Her

If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!

Book: My Two First Loves

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G, none

Word count: 3,903

A/N: Ava and MC start dating exclusively and MC has to break the news to Noah and Mason. I love writing for this pairing, they're just so cute ugh! Hope y'all enjoy!

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics.)

I walked up to the entrance of the school building and stopped right outside the doors. I looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Well, time to bite the bullet. I had to tell them. I couldn't put this off any longer.

I walked into the hallway and immediately spotted Ava by her locker. My mood instantly brighten when I saw her and I felt myself trying but failing to fight back a smile. Her back was facing me so she couldn't see me.

Using that to my advantage, I sneakily creept up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist after looking around to make sure Mason or Noah weren't close by. I felt her jump slightly at the sudden contact but quickly became relaxed when she heard my voice.

"Morning, beautiful," I spoke softly into her ear before placing a kiss on her cheek.

"Emma! You scared me," she laughed and leaned back into me. She turned around to face me then returned my hug. She gave me a soft peck on the lip and said, "Good morning, sweetheart."

My heart swelled at the term of endearment.

"I hate to keep bringing it up," Ava spoke again, "but have you told Mason and Noah yet?"

I sighed and let go of her, leaning against the lockers while avoiding her gaze. "I haven't, but I swear I'll do it by the end of the day."

I glanced at Ava to see her cross her arms and look at me, skeptical of my promise. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! C'mon, what can I do to make you believe me?"

"Hmm," she pretended to think, looking sly. "Well, maybe you can seal the deal with a kiss, I think that'll convince me."

I giggled and pulled her into me. "Of course that would."

Our lips met in a sweet kiss as I grabbed onto her shirt. She leaned into me, pushing me against the lockers. It wasn't long before the bell rang, making us pull away.

"Never thought I'd be one of those people that made out against the lockers in the hallway," Ava whispered against my lips and I laughed.

"A first time for everything."

She grabbed her books and gave me a kiss on my temple.

"I'll see you later, Em!" she waved as she walked to her class.

"Can't wait," I blew her a kiss and headed towards mine, wondering how on earth I was gonna tell the boys I finally figured out the right one for me and that it wasn't either of them.

~•~•~

"Noah!" I called out to the tall figure that was standing by his bike. He must have gone out during lunch break.

After eating with Ava, I told her I had to leave to find Noah and I've been searching for him for the past 10 mins. With only a few minutes left before class started again, I was relieved that I found him in time.

"Oh, hey, Em. What's up?"

"Okay, listen, I have to talk to you, can we?"

"Uh, sure," he said as I dragged him to a more secluded area in the car park.

"I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

I bit my lip. Crap, how was I suppose to break it to him? I've thought about a few ways to ease him into it but none seemed right in that moment.

I sighed and I looked at him. "Noah, you know I care about you right?"

His eyes soften and I felt a pang of guilt. Ah, dammit!

"I care about you too."

"I know, but I have to admit, I... well, I'm sorry, I don't know how to say this but, I... ugh, I have to call things off between us," I said the last part in a rush, not being able to meet his eyes.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him stiffen.

"Are... are you sure?" he breathe in deeply. "Is this what you want?"

Keeping Ava's gorgeous face in mind, I didn't have to think twice. "Yes, it is."

Finally, gathering the courage to look at him, I dragged my gaze up to see his eyebrows furrowed and a conflicted look on his handsome face. He ran his hand through his hair.

"Well, I saw it coming. You've been distant the past month but I can't say I'm not disappointed," he gave me a melancholy smile and I felt my heart clench. God, I felt so bad.

"Noah, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lead you on or fall for someone else. But I did, and I can't apologise enough, I'm sorry."

"It's Mason, isn't it?" he asked even though his tone made it clear that he didn't want to know the answer.

I opened my mouth to speak but closed it, thinking for a second. "Um, actually, it's not-"

I was cut off when I heard the school bell go off again. Ugh, stupid bell.

"Noah, I'll explain later, meet me at the diner after school, I'll tell you everything then. I have to go now!" I spoke quickly, already rushing to my next lesson. I've never been late for classes and I wasn't gonna start now.

"Hold on, Emma!" he shouted after me but I was already running into the building.

"Later, Noah!"

~•~•~

I walked into class right on time. It was the class I had with Mason. I saw him sitting at his usual spot and took my seat beside him like I normally would.

"Hi, Em," he said to me with a charming smile.

"Hey," I greeted him back. Before I could say another word, the teacher stood up and began the lesson.

I had no intention of telling him during class but I couldn't stop thinking about it. After over half an hour, I couldn't bear it anymore so I whispered to him, "I have to tell you something."

He leaned over to me and spoke under his breath, "What is it?"

I caught the teacher glaring at us and decided that it probably wasn't the smartest idea to talk unless I was begging to get in trouble.

I pulled my phone out from my bag and began texting him a message from under the table.

'Idk how to say it,' I admitted.

I heard his phone vibrate in his pocket and saw him pull it out. Just like I did, he shot me a reply from under the desk.

'Just give it to me straight.'

I contemplated for a moment before responding, looking at the whiteboard to pretend I was paying attention. 'Primize ne yu womt reavt too stringlu, I font wanr us getinh our phinses congregated.’

I heard my phone buzz again.

'?????'

I scrolled up to see my previous message. Damn, texting in class was hard. I looked down a little to correct myself, making sure I wasn't typing gibberish.

'I meant, promise me you won't react too strongly, I don't want us getting our phones confiscated.'

'Yeah, okay, I swear.'

I looked over at him as he looked back at me. He gave me a small nod, letting me know that he promised.

I averted my eyes to the front of the class then back down to my phone. 'I'm really sorry Mason, I don't know if there's a better way to tell you but I can't see you anymore.'

I turned my head to his direction, trying to gauge his reaction. I saw him squint and his chiseled jaw clenched in confusion. His eyes dancing across his phone, reading it over and over again as if he refused to believe the words on it, wishing it didn't say what it said.

'Wdym you can't see me?'

Oh boy, he was making this harder then it already was.

'As in romantically...'

I saw his face trying it's hardest to maintain a neutral expression but I've known him for years. I knew when he was sad even if he was trying to hide it and right now, he was absolutely crestfallen.

I gulped and once again, I felt guilt washing over me.

I got a text back saying, 'Oh... I see...'

'Mason, I didn't mean to hurt you and I'm so sorry I did. But I can't help that I've fallen for someone else.'

I heard him sigh from beside me.

'You don't have to explain. I respect your decision, I can't force you to do anything you don't want to. I should've known this would happen, we barely spend time together anymore.'

'Mason...'

'It's okay. And you're talking about Noah, right? I saw you with him at the car park during lunch.'

I was about to correct him when the damn bell stopped me yet again. What the hell was it with this stupid bell interrupting me today? What sort of vendetta did it have against me?

I gathered my things and told him, "Go to the diner after school, I'll meet you there. There's more I need to tell you."

He didn't ask any further questions. I think he was still trying to make sense of what happened. He simply nodded and said, "okay".

I squeezed his hand in comfort and headed out the classroom.

~•~•~

After school, I met Ava at her car. She was on her phone but once she heard my footsteps approaching, she looked up. She lets out the most heart-stopping grin and I instantly melted.

Her smile was not only insanely attractive, it was extremely infectious too. Unable to help it, I smiled back and ran towards her to crush her in a hug.

"Oof!"

The impact of my body slamming against her's made her stumble a little but she caught her footing and held me tight.

"Hi, baby," she cooed as she giggled.

"Hi!" I giggled along with her.

She pulled back a little and took my face in her hands to guide my gaze to her's, stroking my cheeks with her thumb. I became breathless as I peered into her piercing brown eyes. The sunlight reflected off of them, making them sparkle and shine.

She leaned in as she brought my face closer to her's, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. I hummed in satisfaction but I wanted more.

"That's not enough," I whispered and moved my hand to her neck to crash our lips once again.

She moved an arm to encircle my waist as I felt her smile into the kiss. She moved her head back, breaking off our lips and making me groan.

"Don't we have somewhere to be?"

"Unfortunately."

I explained to her that I already told Mason and Noah I'm calling it quits with them but I had yet to give them a proper explanation.

"Alright," she said as we got into her sedan. She started the engine and exited the school premise. "To the diner then."

When we arrived, we walked up to the entrance but Ava stopped me before entering.

"You go on ahead, I have to get something first, I'll meet you later."

"You have to get something now?" I questioned but was too nervous to ask any further questions. "Don't be gone too long."

She gave me a peck on the lips and responded, "Don't worry, I'd miss you too much to be gone for too long."

I walked into the diner and sat at an unoccupied booth. I didn't have to wait long before I saw Noah coming in. His eyes searched around before seeing me. He walked towards the booth and sat across from me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi."

"So, what's this about? I already know you're with Mason. What more did you want to tell me?"

Before I could reply, I saw Mason entering the diner. When he saw me, he made his way towards us and when he realised Noah was with me, he paused.

"Oh, I didn't realise you were with him," Mason spoke uncertainly.

"Mason, please, sit." I gestured to the spot beside Noah and he obliged.

Both of them shifted in their seats, obviously uncomfortable with being so close to each other. If I wasn't so nervous about this whole situation, I would've laughed at how silly they looked.

"Uh, why are we both here?" Noah asked.

"Yeah, I already know you chose him, you didn't have to bring him too, I already knew," Mason said.

Noah turned to him, looking confused. "What?"

Mason sighed, "Yeah I know about the two of you, she told me earlier, don't worry I'm not looking to pick a fight or whatever."

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?" Noah looked so perplexed. "She told me during lunch break that she was cutting things off with me."

Now Mason looked confused. I raised my eyebrows in amusement. Who knew this would be so entertaining to watch.

"Wait, what? I thought she was with you!" Mason remarked.

"And I thought she was with you!" Noah exclaimed.

They went from looking at each other to staring at me.

"So Mason isn't the person you fell for?"

"And Noah isn't either?"

I just shook my head.

"Then, who?" they both questioned in unison.

Right on cue, Ava stepped into the diner. I took my eyes off of the both of them to stare at Ava instead. I smiled. It didn't matter that I've seen her a million times before, I was in awe of her. I was in awe of everything she did.

She walked as if she owned the place. Every step was exuding confidence. Her presence was a force to be reckoned with and I couldn't help but wonder how I was fortunate enough to be with this gorgeous girl.

"Her," I uttered softly, gentle and loving.

Both boys turned their heads around to follow my gaze.

Their eyes widen in surprised and Mason's jaw was hanging open too. I couldn't help but chuckle at their reactions.

Their stares followed Ava as she walked to us and sat beside me. I noticed her put a shallow box on the table as she took her seat.

"Hey, babe," she said to me and planted a kiss on my cheek. She snaked an arm around my torso to pull me into her and I could feel my cheeks become warm from blushing.

"Hey," I replied and placed my arm around her to squeeze her back. "What's in the box?"

"A surprise for later," she spoke softly and nuzzled my neck, leaving a kiss there. I couldn't help but giggle.

She looked up to finally address the boys. "Hey Noah. Mason." She gave a small wave.

"Hi."

"Hey."

They both said, still in shock at the reveal.

Ava turned to me. "I'm going to grab a milkshake to share, okay?"

"Sounds perfect," I smiled and watch her get up to go to the counter.

I wasn't the only one staring. The boys watched her leave as well before turning their attention back to me.

"Wait," Noah blurted and held a hand as Mason stuttered, "This... is a prank, right?"

"No, Mason, I actually really like Ava. And I'm seeing her. Exclusively."

Noah's eyes widen again. "Oh."

Mason was silent, still trying to process the information. I don't blame him. Imagine if both girls you were seeing started dating each other. I covered my mouth with my hand to suppress my laugh.

Ava returned to her seat and placed a hand on my thigh, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze before speaking to the boys. "So, Emma and I are dating."

"So I see," Mason muttered. "You're dating your best friend."

"Yes, I am."

Noah interrupted, "Sorry, not to sound rude or anything but, are you... bi, then?"

"Yeah, I'm bi, Ava's gay. I figured it out a few months ago and I knew you guys would be okay with it but I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry, I should have done it earlier."

"No, it's alright." That was Mason. "You don't have to apologise. I get it. And for what it's worth, I'm happy you found each other. And yourselves."

"I finally agree with him on something," Noah nodded. "You both look happy. I'm glad you found someone that makes you smile."

I could tell they were genuine. Tears threatened to spill over. "You guys..."

Ava butted in, joking, "You both are just relieved that she isn't with the other, aren't you?"

They glanced at each other then mumbled.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Maybe a little."

I laughed at them and moved out of the booth to hug the both of them. "I still care about you guys, but Ava is the one for me." I looked over my shoulder to peer at her. She smiled at me. "It just took me some time to figure it out. And myself out."

"Don't sweat it, and you guys are cute together." Noah gave me a pat on the arm. "I think I should leave you guys to it, don't wanna be interrupting."

"Yeah, I'm gonna head out too," Mason said. "I hope you both are in a better relationship than when I was with Ava," he teased playfully.

"No offence, but that relationship was doomed to fail. Plus it's different when you actually care about that person."

He looked like he was about to retort but instead just smiled and rolled his eyes. "You got me there. I hope she treats you good."

"Way better than she did you," I called out and watched him shake his head, laughing. They both walked out of the diner and I went back to Ava. The milkshake was already on the table.

"That looked like it went better than expected," she stated.

"They're both great guys, I knew they'd be understanding."

"Do you regret it?"

I looked at Ava like she was crazy. "Of course not! Sure I feel bad for them but I'm here now with you and there's no where else I'd rather be. You're my first choice, Ava, and you always will be."

Ava rested her head against my shoulder and wrapped her arms around one of mine. She sighed happily.

"You're amazing, you know that?" she told me.

"Not as much as you."

She laughed and sat up straight again. I was disappointed but that feeling instantly vanished at her next words. "So now that that's out of the way, I have a surprise for you." She moved the box in front of me.

"Yes! What is it?" I was really curious at what she had gotten.

"Before I show you, I have to say something." She twisted her body to face mine and I did the same. She took my hands in hers and began speaking. "Em, everyday since you've picked me I can't help but wake up each day wondering what the hell I did to deserve you."

She looked into my eyes. "You're smart, talented, caring, understanding and not to mention downright beautiful. Inside and out. You've helped me so much and I can only try to return the favour. I want you to be happy and I'll try my best to make sure you'll always have a smile on your face."

My heart started racing at her declaration. She didn't even have to try. She makes me happy just by looking at me and with her speaking like this, it was almost overwhelming.

"I feel the same way about you," I removed one of my hands from her to cup her cheek.

"Good, 'cuz every time I look at you, I can't believe you're here and the fact that you're with me? It's insane to think about. My heart beats like crazy when I'm with you and you still make me nervous but I wouldn't have it any other way."

I giggled but felt myself blushing furiously. She knew exactly what to say to make me  a flustered mess. "You're not the only one." The hand that was on her cheek moved to cup the nape of her neck. My fingers played with her baby hair. "Not that I'm complaining, but why the sudden confession?"

She too a deep breath. "Because, I want to ask..."

She lifted open the lid of the box and I peered inside. My heart leapt and I could feel butterflies in my tummy.

It was a box of chocolates. There were letters on each piece and the words it spelt made me want to cry for joy.

'WILL YOU BE MY GIRL?'

I launched myself at her despite already being so close, wrapping my arms around her neck and sobbing into it.

"Yes! Of course I will, idiot!"

She laughed blissfully, hugging me back. "I get to call you my girlfriend!"

I giggled with her. "And I get to call you my girlfriend!"

She kissed me on the lips and I sighed into it. I could taste the tears that were trickling down my face and I knew she could too but we didn't care. Too consumed in the thrill of it all, we kissed as if our life depended on it, refusing to let the other go. Chills ran through my body and up and down my spine, causing me to shiver. Only Ava could make me feel like this.

Eventually, we pulled away but rested our forehead against each other.

"God, I can't believe you're mine," Ava smiled breathlessly.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" I asked, beaming. "I can't believe this is real."

She kissed my forehead and placed my head on her shoulder this time. She moved my hand to put it on her chest. "Is this real enough for you?" I could feel her heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst.

"Ava, you're gonna make me cry again!"

She just laughed. I'll never get tired of her laugh. Or her smile. Or her voice. Or just her in general. "Sorry, gorgeous."

"Have you been planning this?"

"I ordered the chocolates a week ago from the shop down the street. It was just a coincidence that you decided to meet up with them here today."

I smiled at her, feeling my face soften. She was so thoughtful.

She moved the milkshake closer to us. "Drink up, I got your favourite."

We shared the milkshake and the chocolates, giggling and talking for hours, hugging and not wanting to release each other the entire time.

At one point I just paused and stared at her. I've seen that same face since freshman year but her beauty still struck me to the core like lightning every single time. The arch of her brows, the way her eyes twinkled, her soft lips, everything about her was absolutely magnificent. The best part was her personality to match. Playful, charming, gentle, persistent. I swear she wasn't of this world and even if she was, how was one person so perfect?

And how was I lucky enough to call that person mine?

I looked up at Ava and she looked down at me, grinning adorably. She was a dream. And she was my girlfriend. The thought was enough to send a wave of euphoria through me. I settled my head back against her shoulder and smiled.

Noah and Mason may have a special place in my heart but Ava Lawrence was my person and if I could pick her a million times over, I would. I'd always choose her.

(More fics!)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Green

My first attempt at a modern au! Based off a fantastic idea by @minky-for-short where Stephen and Lucien's relationship starts off as a sugar daddy arrangement!

Please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3

-----------

If anyone had asked- God forbid, he’d rather die- Stephen would have rushed to his own defence. He’d probably have done it while turning bright red and spluttering but he’d have insisted it was just a matter of timing.

It wasn’t a lie. He’d have to work right up until he went to meet Lucien if he wanted to get the reports on his last few cases submitted in time. Lucien had meetings early in the morning, Stephen didn’t want to ask him to push their date back any further than he already had and the thought of cancelling...well that wasn’t an option. Not because of Lucien, who was extremely flexible and understanding as far as people in this kind of arrangement went. He just couldn’t and he wasn’t going to give it any more thought than that.

But it was just because of the timing. Stephen wasn’t getting off on this or anything. There just wasn’t going to be time to change into it between the end of his overly long day at the justiciary and the start of his date so wearing it all under his work clothes was the only option. He’d have insisted that until he ran out of air, if anyone had asked, probably before jumping out of the nearest window.

But this, Stephen did have to admit to himself, was entirely indefensible. This was just because he was a hopeless degenerate.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he announced in what he hoped was a casual tone, dropping his pen down with a thunk on the blanket of newspapers spread out on his desk, ones he’d been scouring for signs of magical miscreancy. More than half of their cases came from just noticing something odd in those tiny stories crushed up into the margins of local papers.

From the desk that joined onto his, though much neater and better organised and with less coffee cup rings etched permanently onto it, Esther looked up with a frown.

“I’m not your teacher, Steph. But okay, good for you,” she muttered before turning back to her computer. She’d lost their game of rock paper scissors that morning so it was her turn to deal with all of the emails that were inevitably sent to the justiciary every day, majority of which were complete nonsense and all of which were painful to read.

Stephen winced, snatching up his phone and making a quick exit before he could make it any more obvious that he was hiding something. Getting to the bathroom was harder that it really should have been, given how close the desks were shoved together, how many stacks of papers sat precariously on desk edges, how many odd trinkets and artefacts humming with magic were left to scatter across the faded carpet. But Stephen had worked there amongst the justiciary’s chaos for long enough that he made it to the other side of the cramped office without causing a disaster, only needing to nudge a few things back into place with his power as he went. Thankfully at this hour there was no one else still here to express their irritation.

The bathrooms in the Council Building were a microcosm of the rest of the place- too small, poorly maintained, outdated and a decent place to cry when overstressed, overworked and overwhelming. But for once, Stephen was rather grateful for that fact because it meant the bathroom was only built for one person at a time, meaning he could lock the door and be confident that no one was going to walk in on him doing what he was about to do.

Stephen pushed back his hair and gave a long, steady exhale. Since he’d entered into this arrangement with Lucien Vaudrey he’d been doing a lot of thinking with cock rather than his brain and, honestly, he’d had no reason to regret it yet. Save a few mornings where walking wasn’t as easy as it might have been.

So his brain didn’t get a look in, he put his back to the door and quickly yanked open the first few buttons of his shirt, just enough that he could pull his collar aside and show a little of what was underneath. Not too much, just the start of the lacy paneling that made up the band that circled his upper chest, the edge of one of the black straps that zig zagged across his body in an array that had taken longer to work out than he was willing to admit.

Stephen ran his thumb along the black lace, shivering a little. He’d been so wrapped up in his work since walking into the office that he’d mostly forgotten it was there but every so often he’d shift in his chair or he’d stand too quickly and he’d feel the feathery touch of all that silk slip between his skin and his clothes like a caress. He’d had to shove the awareness away very quickly before it could send any more than a quick jolt to his groin and was just thankful that today had been one spent entirely at his desk.

But he was only wearing it because of the timing. He was on a tight schedule. Of course.

Now, as he flicked his phone camera open with a thumb and held it at a slightly raised angle like he’d seen people do when they knew far more about taking selfies than he did, he couldn’t help but be aware of it all. The way it snaked around his body and held him tight, branching out like roots hidden in the ground, putting the barest pressure on his hips and chest and the curve of his arse like the ghost of Lucien’s hands. Invisible under his deliberate choice of a dark blue shirt and his usual shabby suit, except for the barest glimpse he was allowing. Only known to him.

And now to Lucien.

Stephen took a quick photo of himself, holding his shirt open with one hand, using a little of his power to brighten his eyes. Of course he didn’t find the picture particularly impressive, all he saw when he looked it back over were the hollowness of his cheeks, the jut of his overly large nose and the immense bags under his eyes. How his hair needed brushing and the out of place tooth that showed in the slight part of his lips. But he’d learned to trust Lucien’s opinion on these things, his blindness to all the flaws that jumped out to his own eyes, and his lover’s response to this picture was too good to pass up for the sake of insecurity.

So he opened up the many texts he’d been exchanging lately with the contact in his phone that was nothing but an emoji of a feather. He typed out a quick message before attaching the photo and sending it on it’s way.

Got your present this morning. What do you think?

Stephen gathered himself together quickly, buttoning his shirt again and checking swiftly in the mirror that nothing was showing through. He wasn’t sure what someone looked like when they were wearing lingerie under their clothes but he tried to make his whatever the opposite of that was. With a thought, he set off the old, roaring hand dryer so it would sound like he’d been doing something people were supposed to do in bathrooms. When dealing with Esther, there was no such thing as overcovering his tracks.

He navigated his way back through the obstacle course of office equipment and magical paraphernalia to where Esther was scowling at her computer screen and stabbing the keys as she typed.

“I swear, if we get one more sodding email about UFOs I’m going to throw this thing out of the window,” she declared, viciously deleting like each one had offended her personally.

“Y’know there are days I wish practitioners actually were secretly working for a cabal of interdimensional aliens,” Stephen hummed, sliding back into his chair, “We’d probably have more funding if we were.”

Esther gave a mirthless snort of laughter, the text on her screen reflecting in her glasses, not even glancing from it as she took a swig of coffee. A mug had appeared on his desk too, freshly steaming.

Stephen was about to thank her when his phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump. He scrambled to check it, feeling his heart thud when he saw it was from Lucien. Two messages, short and sharp and impossible not to read in his cool tones.

Beautiful witch

You are in so much trouble

The handful of hours between those messages and half past ten had felt like an eternity. Enough that Stephen couldn’t hide his haste as he nearly sprinted from the Council Building to the Underground. He spent the long ride from the shabby borough the justiciary called home to Knightsbridge staring at his phone, rereading that message over and over again, his mind running away with all that so much trouble implied. He knew fine well he was going to arrive flushed, already half hard and salivating, ready to do whatever Lucien asked of him.

He wove his way through the evening crowds, stumbling into the bar they always came into. It was a sleek, expensive looking place, the kind of bar he’d never set foot in if he hadn’t been beckoned by Lucien. He felt every penny in his meagre paycheck when he walked through the door but he did like the warmth, the rich leather, the fact that nearly all of the other couples there were pairs of men too. He liked how Lucien would put his arm around him as they sat in their usual booth and he’d feel that flicker of belonging, in spite of everything else.

Stephen’s eyes, betraying his excitement more than anything else by being a sparking gold, tracked over the room until he spotted him. Lucien, having far more control over his working hours, often arrived well before Stephen and sat with his laptop or a book or a newspaper, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. But today the table before him was clear of distractions, he simply sat with his fingers steepled at his lips, his fine features set into an expression of patience. The kind of face a hunting cat would wear, knowing their prey would be along in due course.

And when his clear, grey eyes locked on Stephen, he simply smiled.

Swallowing hard, the younger man leapt to attention, clearing the bar and sliding into the booth with his lover.

“Evening,” he tried, casually, though his heart was hammering and his cock was aching.

“Just what did you think you were playing at, sweet boy?”

Lucien dispensed with the pleasantries, his voice already dropped into the low, rolling tones he used when Stephen was about to lose his clothes. He spoke softly so their conversation didn’t carry past the oak panelled confines of their booth but not enough that Stephen missed the heat in his tone. He tried to get a grip on himself, he had a feeling he’d need to walk across the room before too long.

“I thought you’d want to see,” he shivered as his tone slipped almost unconsciously into something playful, something teasing and faux innocent, an affectation that would have made a past version of himself gape in disbelief, “It looked so pretty and the note said you wanted me to wear it tonight…”

Lucien’s eyes flashed, “Did the note say to be a little prick tease and send filthy pictures to me while I was infuriatingly far away and couldn’t get my hands on you?”

Under the table, Stephen felt Lucien’s far longer, wiry muscled legs slide over his own. After waiting all day even that bare contact, through two layers of clothing, had him swallowing back a whimper.

"No...” Stephen dropped his chin, seeming to bow under the intensity until he let his eyes flicker up and catch Lucien’s, “My lord.”

He watched as the hard line of his lover’s jaw tightened. They’d been in this arrangement for a couple of months now and one thing Stephen had learned, amongst a host of new desires he’d never suspected he owned, was those words. Those words, referencing the titles that Lucien actually did own but denied in his everyday life, were essentially a crooked finger. They were Stephen essentially pinning a badge to himself that read ‘complete and unapologetic brat’, carte blanche for Lucien to master him however he saw fit. To break him, if required.

“Then you deserve everything you’re getting, don’t you?” Lucien shifted into something not unlike a lion winding back to pounce, “Because if you’re going to act like a slut, that’s exactly how I’m going to treat you.”

Stephen felt those words grip him by the nerve endings and he knew fine well he was fidgeting but didn’t know how to stop. He just looked at Lucien with mute, pleading surrender.

“I am going to get up and go into the men’s bathroom,’ Lucien gave the low command, “In five minutes, when you’ve got some kind of control over yourself, you’re going to join me. And I am going to show you what happens when you think you can make me wait. Colour?”

That last word was ever so slightly softer, offered rather than dictated. Lucien never failed to check in with Stephen whenever they were playing. It was in their agreement, of course, but Stephen had the strong sense this was just how the man would be with all his partners, for all his domineering tendencies.

Stephen swallowed and glanced around. There weren’t many people in at this late hour, this bar was more of a sophisticated runway for a night out and most of the crowds had moved to somewhere louder and more raucous. Just a few couples, like them, more wrapped up in each other than anyone else, not quite ready to let their dates end. He did some nervous mathematics on how likely they were to get caught, balancing the number of other customers with his ability to double lock the door with magic, dividing in the failsafe that he could always use a little bit of fluence in a real emergency…

Hopeless degenerate, Day, his brain sighed.

“Green,” he murmured and he couldn’t help the grin that flickered to life on his face, just for a moment.

Lucien clearly forgave the break in character, answering with one of his own before composing himself and smoothly rising, looking effortlessly in control as he loped casually towards the gent’s. Stephen stared at his arse the entire time without much remorse. He’d already made his bed, after all.

He timed the five minutes on his phone, drinking the remainder of Lucien’s whiskey in the meantime, giving the heady, smoky taste of it every scrap of his attention in an attempt to redirect some blood flow. It took the full time before he judged himself ready to walk across the room, before he could scramble up and follow like a dog at his master’s call.

Twice in one day, Stephen found himself endlessly thankful for single-person bathrooms, as he was yanked into one by the front of his shirt and the door slammed behind him with the very reassuring click of a lock. He double secured it with a little magic, all the same, as Lucien kissed him fiercely.

“There you are,” Lucien purred once he was done bruising their lips, not letting go of Stephen’s lapels and keeping him awkwardly standing on his tiptoes, “Surprised you managed to wait the full five.”

“You told me too,” Stephen gasped, aware that Lucien’s eyes were looking into his shirt, hungrily tracing the lines of lace that were now visible.

Lucien chuckled, “Too late to try and be a good boy now, darling. Shirt open. Trousers down.”

Stephen willed the ether into work, knowing it always impressed Lucien just a little to see the buttons and zips and buckles falling away with apparently no effort at all. It was quicker too, only a few moments before he was as instructed, all of the lingerie now visible to Lucien’s searching gaze. He seemed to drink in the sight, his gaze ravenous as those grey eyes slid up and down the length of him.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’d look divine?” Lucien groaned appreciatively, running a finger under the lace trim below his chest, raising goosebumps as he went.

“Uh huh,” Stephen gasped, unable to be more articulate than that, his need drowning everything else, “My lord…”

“Against the sink, sweet boy,” those strong, slightly calloused hands took his shoulders and guided him until he was bracing himself on the edges of the sink, Lucien’s chest pressed against his back, “I want you to see yourself.”

So Stephen watched this other version of himself in the mirror, bathed in harsh light from overhead. He watched as his pupils blew wide, as his slightly swollen lips parted in a gasp when he felt Lucien shift to pull a bottle of something out of his jacket pocket. He watched this ethereal, high contrast version of himself flush as one large hand caressed the curve of his ass through the lace before hooking it to one side. He watched his eyelids flutter and his head tilt back when a slick finger teased him open, and saw his lace wreathed chest heave when it breached him. Stephen watched this man who was somehow him be opened and readied with care and attention, felt every moan reverberate in his own chest, felt his own nerves pulse and thrum with pleasure. And he found himself thinking, as much as he’d been unable to say it before, Lucien had been right.

He’d told him he’d look divine and he did. He’d told him he was beautiful and he was. Maybe he always had been.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, grazing his earlobe with his teeth, “Give me a colour, sweet boy.”

“Green,” Stephen gasped, voice raw and ready to snap, “So green, my lord, please…”

He felt Lucien’s laugh echo through him, his arms coming around to press them close, “You need to be quieter, darling, or we’ll need to find a new date night place.”

“Well get on with fucking me then,” Stephen grumbled, forgetting himself in his desperation.

“Ah ah ah,” Lucien let his voice grow dangerous again, one hand snaking down to squeeze his aching cock through the lace panties, none too gently, “What kind of tone is that, sweet boy?”

Stephen whined, biting his lip and shuddering, “Sorry, my lord.”

“Better,” Lucien pulled his hand back, using it to unzip himself, “Don’t I always give you what you need?”

He proved his point as he moved the panties aside again, pressing into Stephen, now giving him everything he needed with no hesitation, right up to the hilt. Stephen had to fight to stay quiet, gripping the sink with white knuckles, planting his feet as far apart as he could to try and make room. Lucien paused, kissing the crown of his head, before finding a steady, natural rhythm with his hips, aware they didn’t exactly have a lot of time.

Stephen melted into it, gasps and grunts as soft as he could make them wrenching from his chest, shuddering as Lucien’s hands began roving again. Between the hand working him through the fabric and the cock pounding into him, the tension climbed punishingly fast, until he was scrabbling for balance, heart pounding, breath coming in desperate pants.

“I...fuck, Lucien, I’m there, I...oh god,” he gasped incoherently, arching back against his lover.

“I’ve got you,” Lucien groaned, shifting to work at a deeper angle, “Come for me, sweet boy.”

Stephen did, with a strangled moan, all of the waiting and teasing and tension unravelling in one blissful moment that turned his vision white. A heartbeat later he felt Lucien empty into him, heat pooling low in his stomach which then ignited into the familiar rush of power their lovemaking always gave him. He went rigid, feeling that rush that was so, so close to too much, but he knew it would ebb and leave him boneless and trembling in Lucien’s arms.

“We...may not have thought this through,” Lucien panted, steadying him gently.

“Because I’ve ruined the lovely underwear you got me?” Stephen murmured, closing his eyes a moment, “Because we’ve somehow got to clean ourselves up and walk out of here with some dignity? Because you might have to carry me because I’m not sure I can actually walk?”

Lucien chuckled, “All of that. But also…”

He held out his arms, showing the patches of tan skin where the magpies should be. They were off again, animated by Stephen’s magic, a few already exploring under the lace, pecking curiously.

“I really should have worn long sleeves,” Lucien admitted.

Stephen couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, both hands flying to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. Lucien dissolved too, burying his face in Stephen’s curls as he shook with wracking laughter.

Stephen knew, with his trousers around his ankles and shirt slipping over one shoulder, standing in a public bathroom freshly fucked and wearing lace lingerie, he should be feeling like a hopeless degenerate. And he did, pleasantly so. But that wasn’t the only thing.

If anyone had asked him he would have denied it. But in that moment, Stephen felt loved.

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Six (Zuko x Reader)

Part Five

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: Wow it’s been a clusterfuck this week. I’ve been exhausted and unable to concentrate for the past few days, and then today when I tried to release this chapter for patrons it turned out that all of Cloudflare was down, so something like 12 million sites worldwide were just completely unreachable. I plan to force myself into going to bed early tonight so I can actually get myself back on track and be productive over the weekend (I have two requests I want to publish so they don’t get pushed back into all my ideas for next month, and I also want to look into other ad providers outside of Adsense so I can start saving up money for my eventual move out of the country). I promise that next week will be less of a bummer chapter. Here’s hoping sometime we’ll actually catch a fookin break, m8. 

~ Muerta

You stand in the portrait hall, awaiting its newest addition with Rina; she grips your arm, clapping giddily as the towering scroll unfurls to reveal the painted image of you and Zuko beside one another. 

In it, you're seated to his left side, mirroring the generations of other wedding portraits that line the massive hall; what's different is not only the color and style of your robes, but the fact that Zuko’s hand rests on your shoulder, yours clasped firmly within it. When he did so, the royal historian who was present instructed that the Firelord and lady were never depicted touching one another - you'd placed your hand over his in a unified stance of defiance. You'd also been asked to remove your betrothal necklace for the portrait, and had told the historian in a few choice words exactly why it would be staying on; you still feel the rush in your veins of hearing Zuko mumble “that's my girl” under his breath.

“Oh, it's gorgeous!” Rina exclaims, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “The Firelord looks so handsome in a Water Tribe silhouette; I'm so glad you did this!”

You laugh, hugging her by the arm that's hooked with your own and unable to deny the fact that the Southern style tunic you had the seamstress make for him does provide a nice view of his body, highlighting more of his broad shoulders and sturdy midriff than the billow of traditional Fire Nation robes. It also pairs well with his chest plate, making him look every part the skilled warrior he is instead of some aristocratic monarch ruling only by privilege. Beside him, his fingers locked between yours, your gaze steely and knowing behind layers of ink, you look like a weapon instead of just a wife; you start to think there might be much more reason Hakoda arranged your alliance with Zuko than just forming a concrete tie between your nations. 

“My lady,” one of the palace messengers addresses you, bowing respectfully as he approaches. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Advisors Sung and Qiang request an audience with you in their offices.” 

You and Rina look between each other, Rina’s eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“Just me?” you ask. “Should I also send for the Firelord?” 

“No, your majesty,” the messenger says. “The councilmen asked that only you be sent for.” 

You nod, bowing to the messenger in thanks before taking Rina’s arm once more, walking in pace with her to the administrative wing of the palace. 

“They’re sure to send me out of the room,” Rina tells you, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I’m unsure about Advisor Sung, but Qiang has never trusted servants with any kind of information; he used to work information security under Firelord Ozai until he defected after Prince Zuko’s banishment.” 

“If he won’t allow you in the room, you’ll wait at the door,” you state. “Whether he likes it or not, I still have more power than he does.” 

When you arrive at the international affairs office, Qiang and Sung are seated around a small table, primed in wait for you. You make a point of not bowing in return when they do so upon your announcement, instead choosing to simply nod in greeting. Sung smiles at you in his polite, pleasant way as you sit, while Qiang eyes you with a cold, almost uncertain stare. 

“My lady,” Sung welcomes you, “I apologize for bringing you here on such short notice, but there are urgent matters that must be discussed. As you know, Advisor Qiang has taken the liberty of guiding me as I adjust to my new position as the head of international affairs, and we’ve been mulling over the matter of your wedding portrait for the past few days.” 

“More specifically,” Qiang interjects, “we’ve been discussing the stunt you pulled in deciding your wardrobe. Many people across the Fire Nation are not pleased to see their Firelord in Water Tribe garments.” 

“It was simply a tunic,” you calmly defend yourself. “The only other change was to the color. Has anyone taken issue with the fact that I wore a Water Tribe dress under a Fire Nation robe?” 

You glance between the two men, expecting the question to be entirely rhetorical - you know the answer already, but as you guessed, they’re either too cowardly or too correct to say it aloud. 

“We understand your intentions,” Sung replies after a beat, “but we’re uncertain the execution of your ideas is as tactful as it should be; I know I needn’t remind you that we’re still living in very unstable times as of the end of the war.” 

“I understand your concern, but I don’t think the nature of our mixed heritage is the most pressing issue at hand,” you say. “The world experienced a century of cruelty under Fire Nation imperialism - it’s important that we reform our militant image in every way we can. Dressing me like a traditional Firelady when I very clearly am not one would have upset far more people than just our citizens.”

“The Fire Nation is still very powerful,” Advisor Qiang argues, “even with the abolition of many of the Earth Kingdom colonies. Upsetting our people could have consequences that reach beyond the mainland’s borders.” 

His words are spat at you almost like a threat. You tilt your chin a little higher, meeting his gaze without faltering. 

“What do you suggest, then?” you ask. 

“We want to keep watch on you,” Qiang tells you. “Our aids will accompany you as you gain more freedom from the Firelord and guide you to ensure that your actions reflect the image the nation wants to see from their leader.” 

“This sounds like something Advisor Yong should oversee,” you evenly contest. “I'm certain my husband would like to have his say, as well.” 

“We simply wanted to present the idea to you,” Advisor Sung cuts in. “We thought it might give you more peace of mind to have someone beside you; teach you how to properly present yourself to the people of the Fire Nation.” 

“You can send your aids to keep tabs on me,” you reply, “but I am still your superior. Firelord Zuko has been more than an adequate mentor. I don't need another one.” 

“Do you suggest we have you answer to the Firelord on our behalf, then?” Advisor Qiang asks, sounding skeptical. 

“I'm stating that I don't answer to anyone,” you respond. “Zuko is my equal. You're the one born and raised in the Fire Nation - you should understand that better than anyone.” 

Qiang fixes you with the chilled, empty glare you noticed your first day in the council’s meeting chambers. You keep your own expression blank, refusing to avert your eyes from their lock on his. 

“My lady,” Advisor Sung addresses you, “I promise you, we mean no offense. We truly have your best intentions at heart; we understand that the culture of the Fire Nation is very different from that of the Southern Water Tribe, and only want to keep you safe in the wake of Advisor Fen’s passing. We believe taking extra care in how you interact with our people is the only way to move forward.” 

“Alright,” you say, standing abruptly. “I'd like some hands-on training, then. I need fabric to build my wardrobe with, and want to explore my new home. Gather your aids - I’m taking them to the market.” 

To say that people are shocked to see the Firelady out amongst common folk is an understatement. 

You travel in a rather large group, flanked not only by Rina, Iroh, and Toph, but three of Qiang and Sung’s aids and a small army of royal guards. People flee when you approach, some of them going as far as to fall to their knees before you, bowing out of fear; each time, you offer your hand and help them back to their feet, explaining that you're only out to do some shopping. Once more onlookers notice your kind, gentle handling of those who cross your path, panic turns to interest, many people staring at you as you pass or calling out to you, saying hello; a little girl manages to get past the guards, scurrying out of her father’s flower shop and through their legs, stopping in front of you with an adorably clumsy bow to present you with a dandelion she picked from between the cracks in the cobblestone street. 

“Why, thank you!” you exclaim, daintily taking the flower from her chubby little hand and bowing in return. “It's very beautiful, just like you.”

You twist the dandelion into your hair before walking the girl back to her father, who apologizes and thanks you profusely; you assure him it's no trouble. 

“How very touching,” Iroh says to you once you continue on your way. “I wonder what the aids will tell their superiors.” 

You huff, smirking at him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Probably that I don't inspire enough fear,” you mock. “I thought the dictatorship ended when my dear father-in-law was thrown in prison.” 

“The memories of his reign are still very fresh,” Iroh explains. “A brute hand is all much of the Fire Nation knows in a leader; it is hard to bring change.” 

“I still don't like our little entourage,” Toph remarks, loud enough that the men trailing you can certainly hear. “Aang never travels with guards, and he's got a way bigger target on his head than you do.” 

“Yeah, but he can also bend everything,” you remind her. “I've never even held a spear.” 

“I'm blind and I still kick hella ass,” Toph replies. “You don't have an excuse.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as you shove her sideways so she stumbles; she laughs, coming back at you with a hard punch to the boob and blowing a raspberry into your face. You can't help but cackle, taking her into a headlock and scruffing up her hair. 

“My lady,” one of the aids pipes up, her nose wrinkled in disdain, “this isn't proper etiquette for a Fire Nation queen.” 

“Oh, spirits forbid anybody be human,” Toph groans. “The war is over and this is a leisure trip. People have to get used to the Firelady acting like a person instead of a government puppet.” 

Rina takes hold of your arm, leaning in close to your ear. 

“I like her,” she whispers. “Can we ask her to stay?” 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“I wish,” you mumble back, “but Toph sort of just does what she wants.” 

You choose a small, cozy-looking shop to buy fabrics from, everyone in the group (save for the aids and guards, who have no choice but to wait outside) making easy, pleasant conversation with the owners; they're a relatively young couple from Omashu, who came to the Fire Nation after the war to trade fabrics that weren't widely available in either country, wanting to bring more options to each place. Their shop is filled with soft cottons and delicately embroidered patterns, many laced with shimmering metals and gems only found in the Earth Kingdom; you purchase a few yards of almost everything, leaving them a contact to the palace so that they can come and discuss expanding their trade routes. Everyone is pleased except for the aids, who look on with disapproving glares.  

When you return to the palace, you find not only Zuko awaiting you, but Qiang and Sung as well; you hardly acknowledge the two councilmen, instead going straight to Zuko’s side. 

“Rina sent me a message about your meeting this morning,” he murmurs. “I told Advisor Yong, too. They should have come to both of us.” 

You nod, taking him by the arm and leading him away from the larger group, out into an open corridor surrounding a courtyard that sits off the entrance hall of the palace’s administrative wing. 

“There has to be something we can do, right?” you wonder. “We’re above them. We have the final say in everything.” 

Zuko sighs, taking your hands within his and holding you close to him, chests pressed together. 

“We’re supposed to,” he says. “But my grandfather taught my father and sister how to manipulate their way into power. Lots of other government officials learned it, too, and it hasn’t completely gone away.” 

Advisor Qiang passes through on the other side of the courtyard, eyeing you with his signature frigid gaze as Advisor Sung and the aids trail behind him. You look away from him, focusing only on Zuko. 

“We have to keep the people on our side,” you murmur. “The government may be able to manipulate itself into submission, but they're no match for everyone else. The world beat them once - we can beat them again.” 

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[starlightsearches]

Could you write a modern au, Armitage Hux x Reader oneshot in which Hux is a well respected CEO in the center of Manhattan and the reader is just a barista at a local coffee shop that’s right across from Hux’s building. On an off day Hux is forced to take the bus. He recognizes the reader because he’s gotten coffee from her shop before and decides to start a conversation. He ends up taking the bus more often just to see the reader and she ends up questioning him why. Sorry if that’s so specific.

Sunshine

This is definitely not too specific, and I’m OBSESSED with this concept! Thank you for this request. I have this for you, hope you like it!

This was partially inspired by @amadwomanrambles wonderful CEO! Hux headcanons that you can find here.  I also posted my own hcs earlier today about him (here), and I’m such a slut for this au I’ll probably post more!

Requests are closed  ✨

CEO! Hux x Barista! Reader Modern AU

Warnings: Pretty much just language! Enjoy 😊

When the interviewer from Forbes Magazine asked Armitage Hux—CEO of First Order Enterprises and one of the youngest millionaires currently residing in New York City—what the secret to his success was, he had a ready response: strict adherence to an optimized routine. Unlike most of the nonsense he was required to prattle on about in those interviews, this was something that he actually believed.

He started each day the same way: wake to an alarm at 5 AM, exercise, shower, breakfast and the news. After that he’d dress for work, check his email, and then wait for his driver to pick him up from his apartment and take him to the office building in Midtown. He’d arrive at work at 6:15 sharp, and he’d stay there until the sun set each evening. It was a good routine. A safe routine. And he wasn’t about to break it for just anything.

Today he didn’t have a choice. His driver called him at 5:30. She was sick. She could call someone else, but they’d be late. Hux told her not to bother; he’d find another way to work. He didn’t mention the queasiness that piqued in his stomach at the mention of another driver. They’d probably try to talk to him, and he’d have to think of something to say. Hux could handle a boardroom, he could handle a press-conference, he could even handle a fundraiser with sufficient preparation. But one-on-one interaction? With a stranger? He avoided it as often as he could.

But then how to get to work? He wouldn’t take a cab, for the same reasons he didn’t want another driver, in addition to the fact that most were terribly dirty. He never took the subway if he could help it. Hux stares down at the streets below, watches as New York City begins to wake. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a bus stop, only a short distance from the front door of his building. It’s better than walking.

Hux finishes the rest of his morning routine, but there’s little pleasure in it now that he’s been forced to alter it, and his displeasure only deepens after he checks the bus schedule; he’s missed the first one, which means he’ll be late. At least he knows that his coffee won’t be waiting for him, since it’s a Wednesday.

Heat rises in his cheeks whenever Hux thinks about his favorite part of his morning routine. Every day but Wednesday, he gets to spend the last minutes before he walks into work at Pleasant Distraction Coffee, a little shop across the street from the FOE building, and every day but Wednesday, he starts his mornings with you—your smile, the brush of your fingers as you hand him his drink. You always have it ready for him when he walks in the door, and he thinks that you, too, have an appreciation for routine, for order. Not that he can say, for sure. He’s never really talked to you, after all, but he believes that the gesture speaks volumes. 

The air is cool and brisk outside his apartment, and he arrives at the bus stop with five minutes to spare. The sun is just starting to rise, the rays of light reflecting off of the windows of his building, and he thinks that New York City looks better when it’s bathed in the golden glow of the morning. It’s almost pleasant enough to make him forget his earlier frustrations, and he’s starting to feel invigorated instead of annoyed, like the day is full of unexplored possibilities. Like maybe he should take the bus more often. He immediately regrets that thought when the bus actually pulls up, coughing a thick cloud of exhaust fumes in his face before it stops. He boards and pays, and then freezes in the middle of the aisle. It’s you.

“Find a seat,” the bus driver calls back loudly, and a few people glare at him as he sits down, but you don’t notice the commotion, mouthing along to the music playing in your headphones, oblivious to the world. You look different out of your uniform, but Hux thinks he’d know you anywhere and he falls into a seat, watching to make sure he’s right. 

No, it’s definitely you. Your expression betrays an intense level of focus as you lean in closer to the book you’re reading before you scribble in the margins and then flip to the next page. He never gets to see you like this: looking so awake, so alive. It’s always been hard for him to take his eyes off of you, but now . . .

He should talk to you. He should talk to you because if he doesn’t, and you see him, you would think that he had chosen to ignore you, and he didn’t want that. That is, if you recognized him at all. Would you recognize him? You saw him every morning, but it was always while you were working, and it wasn’t like your interactions with him were particularly unique. You probably handed hundreds of people their coffee everyday. But you did remember his order; that had to count for something. And he’d really like a chance to say more to you than just “good morning.”

The bus stops again, and Hux gathers the courage to move to the closest empty seat. Your eyes stay on your book, your pen resting on your bottom lip. Hux takes in a deep breath before tapping you on the shoulder, and to his horror, you jump, ripping your headphones from your ears and turning to face him.

“Holy shit, you scared me—wait a second, I know you!” Your expression transforms from anger and surprise to one of recognition, and your face lights up when you give him a smile. It’s a genuine smile—not a customer-service smile, like he normally gets. A sunshine smile. Hux has to remind himself to breathe.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says when he finally regains the ability to speak, “but I thought I recognized you and I wanted to say hello.” He trails off awkwardly; this was a terrible idea. He had nothing to say to you, but he had to admit that he liked being this close, liked being able to see the way your lashes brush against your cheeks when you look down, pausing the tinny music he can hear coming from your headphones.

“Well, hello,” you say, smiling again. Hux turns his gaze to the ceiling, begging his brain to come up with something to say. Luckily, you carry on the conversation for him, “I’ve never seen you on the bus before. Car trouble?”

“Something like that,” it’s not technically a lie, and he isn’t exactly eager to get into the details of his morning. What would you think of him if you knew he had a personal chauffeur while you were forced to take the bus?

“Hmmm, that sucks. If you need a mechanic, I know a guy.” You pull a slip of paper out of the back cover of your book and nestle it between the pages, closing it and resting it in your lap. Hux takes this as a good sign—you want to keep talking to him.

“It’s being taken care of,” he says, and then, hoping to change the subject, “what’s your stop?” 

“Oh, I’m headed to NYU,” you say, nudging your backpack on the floor with the toe of your shoe.

“You’re a student?” He should have guessed, but the information surprises him. You seemed older than most of the students he sometimes saw running around campus when he went to give guest lectures in the business school every semester. 

“No, I just like going to the library on my days off,” you say in explanation, like you already knew what he was thinking, “It’s quiet there and my roommates are loud, so . . . ” The bus jolts to a stop again, and you’re almost thrown into him, until you brace yourself against his shoulder. Your hand lingers just for a moment before you move it back your lap once again, mumbling a quick apology. Hux changes his mind again, he should definitely take the bus more often.

“This is an early start for a day off,” he says, and you laugh.

“Yeah, it is. I guess all the time I spend serving coffee has kind of ruined my ability to sleep in,” you say, and then with some hesitation, “you work for First Order Enterprises, right?” 

“How did you know that?” God, he hopes you don’t read the tabloids. He’s only minor fodder for the parasites who write them—there are many bigger names in New York than his—but the articles aren’t exactly flattering, and he’d hate for you to have a negative opinion of him before he even had a chance to get to know you.

“Well, I do see you walk into the building every day,” you say in explanation, and he relaxes, safe for now. Maybe it’s a trick of the light as it floods through the greying bus window, but he thinks you might be blushing, and it’s thrilling. Talking to you is surprisingly easy, even when he’s so often distracted by the quirk of your lips, the way your tongue sometimes peaks out of the corner of your mouth when you’re trying to think of something to say. Hux takes a chance to look out the window and, to his dismay, he can see the FOE building in the distance. His time with you is almost up.

“I think my stop is next,” he says, and your mouth folds into a small frown. He moves to stand, getting ready to disembark, but you stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” you say, and he hesitates, although he can tell by the streets passing by that the bus will be stopping any moment now, “I don’t know your name.” Hux winces. Of course he should tell you his name, he knows yours after all; you wear a name tag when you’re working and he had made a point to read it. You don’t release him, expectant.

“I go by Hux,” he says, finally giving in, and you squint your eyes at him in confusion.

“There’s no way that’s your name,” you say, your fingers dancing over the sleeve of his suit jacket sending sparks up through his arm. It wakes him up better than caffeine ever has; he feels like he could run a marathon if you just kept touching him. 

“I go by my last name, actually,” he explains, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for more, “my first name is . . . unique.”

“Well, now I have to know.” Your eyes light up and you smirk, tightening your grip as he feels the bus roll to a stop. He looks to the doors, waiting for them to open, but you tug on the hem of his sleeve to bring his attention back to you, “It’ll drive me crazy if you don’t tell me.” God, you’re pretty when you want something. Hux has a feeling that you don’t hear the word no often, and you certainly won’t hear it from him. 

“It’s Armitage,” he finally concedes, and you throw your hands to your mouth, but they can’t keep the squeal from escaping. He gives you a pained look and you lower them, adopting an air of mock solemnity.

“That is unique,” you say, clearing your throat to cover up your giggle, “what does it mean?”

“Mean?” The bus finally stops, and he stands, waiting for the bus driver to open the doors.

“Come on, a name like that has to mean something.” Your finger runs over the skin of his wrist, and he has to lean close to hear you over the sound of the passengers getting on, a few of them shuffling irately past him to find seats. He should leave now, before the bus driver starts up again again, but not without giving you what you asked.

“It means,” he says quietly, “that my father was an asshole.”

You pause only for a moment, and then the sound of your laughter fills the whole bus, a hearty, full laugh that’s like gold in his veins. A few people glare at the two of you, but Hux doesn’t mind the attention. God, that’s a lovely sound. He’d like to wake up to a sound like that. Your hand falls from his arm, and he straightens, heading to the door, but he looks back before disembarking.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Armitage.” You leave him with one last smile as he steps down onto the street. He stays on the curb for a moment, watching as the bus turns the corner, disappearing from view. For the first time in a long time, Hux thinks he has a reason to break his routine.

It doesn’t take long for you to figure him out; certainly not as long as he’d like. It’s the third morning that he sees you waiting for him, a morning that’s overcast and cloudy, but you smile at him when he walks through the doors and it makes everything seem brighter. You move your bag from the seat next to you and put away your book as he joins you—a new routine in its own right. It’s nice to see you in the mornings when he gets his coffee, but he’s been looking forward to Wednesday mornings the most, likes that he can just be with you for a little while.

“So I met a friend of yours yesterday,” you say in greeting as he sits, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Hux doesn’t have many friends, and he had plenty of enemies who might try something devious. “Your driver—I think she said her name was Phasma? She came in for coffee after parking your car.” You’ve got a great poker face, but Hux thinks he can see the hint of a smile at the corners of your lips as you wait for an explanation. His face falls; he had hoped for a little more time to get to know you, and now he has to tell you the truth, even if it might drive you away.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he turns away from you, trying to hide his disappointment. Getting coffee in the morning would be much too awkward if this conversation did not go well.

“When were you going to tell me?” You speak seriously, but everything about you is tinged with an infectious sort of humor, and it gives him a fragile sort of hope.

“I was actually hoping that I wouldn’t have to,” he responds, and you sit, waiting, staring him down with impenetrable eyes, “I just . . . wanted to get to know you.” You do smile then, a small, incredulous smile that makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Well, since we’re being honest, I have something that I should tell you,” you don’t look at him as you speak, instead you rummage around in your backpack, pulling out your book again and flipping through the pages. He braces himself, waiting for the worst. Were you about to tell him that you had a boyfriend? Or that you weren’t interested? He looks out the window; his stop is close, but not close enough if he has to deal with the mortification of your rejection.

 “I wasn’t planning on going to the library today,” you begin, pulling a slip of paper out of the back cover of your book, “I just came because I knew you’d be here.” You finally meet his eyes, your expression shy, embarrassed. Hux can scarcely believe it.

“Are you saying . . .” he doesn’t dare finish his sentence, but waits as you reach over, tucking the slip of paper into his waiting hands. 

“Here,” you say, folding his fingers around it, and the slip crinkles against his fingers before he looks at it, raising it to eye level so he can better read the numbers you’ve written.

“What’s this?” He knows what it is, obviously, but he has to make sure that you’re on the same page. He’d like to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“It’s my phone number. Call me sometime.” He can’t think of a single thing to say, not when it feels like rays of pure light are bursting out of his chest, but he tucks the little paper into his jacket pocket, staring at you like an idiot. You smile back, openly. Even as you’re smiling, he can’t wait for the next one; he’s never seen happiness so at home on someone’s face before.

The bus rolls to a stop, and he’s pulled out of his reverie, standing so that he can disembark. He pats his pocket to make sure that the little paper is tucked securely away before turning to face you, “I’ll call you, tonight if that’s alright?” and you nod in response, looking almost as eager as he feels. He’ll call you tonight, and he’ll see you tomorrow morning, and hopefully every day after that, because he never wants to go another day without seeing you smile.