#they were probably what kept me going for so long

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED II.

A/N: soooo you guys were just as horny for a part 2 to this story as i was so here we are, giving in to the temptation. disclaimer, i know their behavior is giving red flag energy but lets just put that aside for the sake of the story now lol

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNING: sexual content, age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry has been trying his best to forget what happened with Y/N, he is set on never making the same mistake, but it seems like fate has different plans for him.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

That skirt. That goddamned skirt. That’s gonna be the death of Harry. 

And also the fact that she went back to that asshole. 

Sitting in the busy school cafeteria Harry has zoned out of the conversation at the table a long time ago, precisely when he saw Y/N stroll in wearing that short skirt with that dickhead she should have ditched already or better, she shouldn’t have even dated him in the first place. But now they are moving in the line with their group of friends and he has his hand on her waist and it keeps inching lower, just a few more inches and his hand could be slipping under her skir–

“Harry? Hello?” 

Stella catches his attention and he is forced to move his focus back to his colleagues at the table. 

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” He clears his throat and keeps his eyes on his half-eaten sandwich in front of him. 

“What’s up with you? You haven’t been your usual self lately.”

“Just… tired. I���m behind with my research and have a bunch of papers to grade before winter break.”

“The joys of being a teacher,” Stella chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’ll get better with time.”

“Really?”

“No,” she smirks at him. “But you’ll care less.”

She soon returns to the conversation at the table and Harry finds himself looking for Y/N again. There’s no trace of her in the line, but he is quick to spot her at a table across the dining hall, sitting beside Dickhead who has an arm around her neck, keeping her close as he wants everyone to know that they are together.

And it irks Harry way more than it probably should. 

It’s been a little over a week since Stella’s Christmas party and also that very heated and very wrong kiss he shared with Y/N. That weekend was like hell, he kept beating himself over and over about it, cursing himself out for being so stupid and reckless. He still has no idea what came over him that let him make out with a student, but he knew one thing for sure: it couldn’t happen again. 

So when Y/N walked into the classroom before his first lecture early on monday he didn’t even let her speak before he got to the point. 

“It shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry for it, but I can’t undo it now. I suggest let’s pretend nothing happened, it’s for the absolute best. No one can know about it and it will never happen again.”

She seemed taken aback by his outburst, but after a bit of hesitation she nodded.

“Okay. Nothing happened. It must have been the wine.”

“Yes,” he agreed right away. “We both drank more than we should have and made a mistake.”

She flinched at his last word, but didn’t protest, only nodded, holding her textbooks tighter to her chest. She looked so sad, even disappointed that Harry almost wanted to take back what he just said, but he knew he couldn’t. 

“Are you… okay?” he dared to ask, but when she looked at him again, her eyes told nothing. 

“I’m fine. I’ll see you in class, professor.”

And she was out of the classroom before he could say another word. In class she sat in the back and not even once did she look at him. He knows, because he kept looking at her. 

He’s been trying his best to get her out of his head, but with not much luck. Not when all he can think about is how soft her lips felt against his, how insanely good she tasted mixed with the coldness of the night, how amazingly she fit into his palm, the curve of her neck, back, waist and hips… and how badly he wants to experience it again even though it’s the worst possible idea. 

Harry thinks he is going insane. Genuinely. 

He’s been burying himself into work, but his focus has been all over the place, so it’s been more like a waste of time. He is one of the last ones in the building today as well. Most professors left a long time ago, but the lights in Harry’s tiny office are still on as he is hunched over a stack of papers. When he has to read over the same line for the twentieth time he drops his pen with a tired groan and leans back in his chair. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes roughly, until he is practically seeing stars. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, staring at the papers that are still waiting to be graded. Checking the time on his phone he is surprised to see that it’s already past seven.

He stands from his chair and steps to the window. The campus looks quiet at this time, only a few students are walking towards the dorm that’s next to the literature department’s building. It’s a wednesday night, the semester ends next week so some lucky students who have no more exams left in the year have already left for the holidays. Harry will be going home right before Christmas, he plans to use those few days of the break to work on his research in peace. 

From his window he sees part of the parking lot next to the dorm, it’s quite dark there, he almost doesn’t notice the figures sitting in the car closest to him, but a few heartbeats later realization hits him.

It’s Y/N and the dickhead. 

They are pretty far, but Harry can tell that they are in a heated fight, judging from how Y/N is gesticulating. Obviously he can’t hear them, but if he had to guess he would say she is shouting, from what he can see. 

For a moment he tells him to just ignore the scene, it’s none of anyone else’s business, let alone his. But when he sees the asshole slap his hands against the wheel several times, making Y/N jump, Harry is moving before he could second guess his actions. 

He practically sprints down that stairs, already trying to figure out how he’ll interject without appearing like a creep, but he forgets all his plans when he is marching towards the parking lot and sees the scene unfold from up close. 

At some point they must have gotten out of the car, because Harry catches the dickhead getting back into the driving seat, Y/N is crying and tries to stop him from shutting the door, but he swings it with such force that she stumbles forward, holding onto the handle. When Harry sees her almost fall to the asphalt he starts running, just as the car comes to life and he drives away so fast, he almost runs over Y/N’s feet. 

“Fuck you, Charlie! Fuck you!” She screams after the car, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry rushes over to her, grabs her by her shoulders and turns her away from the direction of the car. “Hey, what happened?”

She is gasping for air from the crying as she wraps her arms around her, those beautiful eyes that are usually filled with curiosity are now full of confusion and hurt. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he begs and she hiccups a few times before she finally looks him in the eyes. 

“H-Harry?”

He ignores how good it feels to hear her call him by his first name again and tries to focus on the situation.

“Yeah. Let’s get inside, okay? It’s freezing cold.”

She nods and lets him steer her towards the building and up to his office. By the time she sits in the old armchair in the corner of his office she has stopped sobbing, but her expression looks just as miserable as before. 

“I’ll make you a tea. Do you like tea?” he asks, stepping over to the tiny side table where he keeps his kettle and tiny tea collection with two mugs. She nods and he is quick to turn on the kettle. He grabs a chamomile filter and drops it into one of the mugs and while the water boils he hands her a box of tissues that she accepts with a quietly murmured thank you. 

When the tea is done he hands her the mug and sits in his chair, unsure what to say. He definitely did not plan to have her in his office anytime soon and definitely not like this. 

“Go on, lecture me about being with him,” she says at last, staring into the mug in her hands. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“But you’d be right.” She looks up at him, eyes still red from the crying. 

“Why did you go back to him?” he softly asks, not wanting to make her feel even worse. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, looking away again. “He could be convincing, I guess.”

“Hope you won’t believe him after this.”

“No,” she chuckles bitterly before taking a sip from the tea, leaning back in the armchair. “Not even the sex will convince me to go back to him.”

Harry’s muscles jump at her words. Not because he is such a prude, but because instantly he is thinking about sex… and her… and his body reacts involuntarily. Clearing his throat he crosses his legs and looks anywhere but at her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she chuckles softly, but she doesn’t seem sorry at all. 

“No, I… um…” Harry has no idea what to say. This feels like such an impossible situation, he is definitely walking on eggshells here and the fact that he is semi-hard does not help his case. 

While he is looking for the right words she places her mug to his desk and crosses her legs, a curious look playing in her eyes as she is looking at him. She appears calm and confident suddenly, like she wasn’t sobbing ten minutes ago. 

“I lied,” she then speaks up.

“About what?”

“I know why I went back to him.”

“Oh. Okay, why did you?”

She holds his gaze for one… two… three seconds before her lips part, then she hesitates for one more moment before answering. 

“Because I couldn’t go to you.”

A shiver runs down his spine at her words, his body is betraying him already, but he hangs onto the last bit of his rationality.

“Y/N, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell the truth?”

“We agreed that we are not talking about it again.”

“I’m not talking about that night. I’m talking about how badly I’ve been wanting you, but knowing I can’t have you I went back to Charlie even though I knew I shouldn’t have.” 

“Y/N…” His mouth is dry and he feels ridiculously hot even though the heating hasn’t been working too well lately in his office. He is clawing at the arms of his chair, trying to keep the remains of his cool, though it feels like he is hanging on a thread.

“I won’t do anything about it, don’t worry. And I won’t bring it up again.” She sounds different this time, the confidence has turned into what feels like disappointment and it lurches something in Harry’s gut. 

Standing she smoothes her clothes before looking at Harry, a tiny sliver of expectancy glistening in her eyes. 

“Thanks for the tea. I better get going.”

She is already moving towards the door when Harry jumps to his feet, entirely lost about what to think, do or say. He strides after her and just when she is about to reach for the knob, he grabs her other hand, stopping her mid action. 

But he has no idea why he just did that. His rationality is screaming at him, but with each passing moment he spends holding her hand, the noise gets farther and farther away until it’s lost somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Slowly, she turns her head, eyes taking in the sight of their touching hands before her gaze meets his. He instantly stumbles back, letting go of her like she was on fire, but she doesn’t seem surprised. Instead, she turns around and just stands there, with a calm, but determined look on her face. 

“Careful professor,” she then speaks up. “I might take your actions as a hint.”

“A hint…” he breathes out, almost mesmerized with her, he is convinced she’s put a spell on him, because he can’t move or think straight, he just keeps staring at her.

“Yes, a hint,” she nods shortly. “That you want me just as much as I want you.”

He swallows down a moan that almost slips through his lips at her words. His whole body is burning for her, palms sweating and itching to touch her and he can almost taste her on his tongue again, desperate to pick up from where they left off not long ago. 

The tiniest smirk tugs on the corners of her mouth when she sees just how much he is struggling and she takes it as her queue to push her luck just a bit further. She takes a step closer to him, but still leaves some space between them, wanting him to close those last inches. 

“You know you can have me.” She cocks her head to the side, blinking up at him innocently. “Right here, on your desk or in that armchair. I want to be your good girl and take whatever you give me.”

“Stop it,” he manages to breathe out, but all his strength is gone, it sounds more like a plea rather than an order. 

“What if I don’t?” she sassily questions. “Will you punish me?”

Harry whimpers. They both know he is close to breaking and she is not stepping down now and she’s determined to push him over the edge. Slowly she reaches up, drags a finger across her lips before moving then down, tugging at her shirt at her chest, revealing more of the exposed skin there, then she starts playing with the top button, all while keeping her eyes focused on him. He sucks on his breath, his gaze keeps switching between her eyes and what her fingers are doing. 

Then it pops open, revealing the delicious swell of her breasts and a bit of the lacy bra as well and he knows he is gone. 

“Close the curtain,” he simply orders and a sudden rush of excitement washes over her as she quickly moves across the room, drawing the curtains on the window and turning around she is expecting him to be in the same spot, but to her surprise he is right there and before she could say a word, his lips crash down on hers with such force she would have fallen back if he didn’t already have an arm around her waist. 

His other hand is quick to find its way to her throat first, then to her jaw, angling her head perfectly so he can devour her. 

He spins them around and she gasps when her ass meets the edge of his desk, still kissing her he pushes forward, blindly tossing everything on the desk aside to make room, something clatters as it falls to the ground but neither of them cares to even look. His hands are on the back of her legs and he helps her up until she is sitting on top of the desk. 

She eagerly opens her thighs and circles her legs around his hips, pulling him closer and when she feels just how hard he already is, pushing against her clothed center, she can’t help but moan at the sensation. 

“It’s a one time thing,” he pants when her fingers start to work on his shirt and his hands find the button of her jeans. 

“Sure,” she breathes out smiling.

“Just to get it out of our system.”

“Of course,” she nods eagerly, and a moment later she is tugging his shirt off his shoulders. 

Buttons come undone, clothes are thrown across the room and soon enough all of his focus is on her naked chest, his hands exploring the tender, heated skin before his head dips down and his mouth meets her hardened nipples. 

“Oh fuck,” she moans, head falling back as she has an arm around his shoulders, the other one planted behind her on the desk. All while his hands are tugging down her jeans, finally giving him the chance to touch her inner thighs, exploring the warmth and softness he’s been fantasizing about for so long. 

He gently bites on one of her nipples, making her back arch, burying his face between her breasts before he leans back to get rid of her jeans. She has a moment to admire his naked torso, all the tattoos he’s been hiding under his clothes, his pants are hanging around his knees and his erection is throbbing through the fabric of his underwear. She can’t help but smile at the sight, it’s surely one she’ll remember forever.

When her jeans are discarded on the floor he plants his hands on her thighs and pushes them wide open, revealing her drenched panties. He brings his thumb over the wet fabric, lazily drags it over her clit, making her tremble under his touch. Then keeping eye contact with her he pulls his chair under him, sits down and rolls closer so his face is perfectly lined up with her. With his eyes still locked on hers, he leans forward, moves her panties to the side and places a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to her throbbing clit, making her moan so loud, he digs his fingers into her thighs pulling back. 

“You need to be quiet,” he warns her and she just eagerly nods, watching him take her underwear off completely and go back to where he was a moment ago. 

Harry drinks up her taste, he licks, kisses and sucks on the right spots, making her see stars as her orgasm is building up. When she feels two of his fingers slip into her she grabs a handful of his hair, tugging on it. 

But right when she is about to tip over the edge he pulls back, leaving her in a heaving mess. Reaching into one of his drawers he grabs a condom and standing up he watches her lying on his desk, chest rapidly rising and falling while he rolls the condom on. 

To his surprise, she gets up and jumps off the desk, taking the initiative by pushing him down back into the chair and straddling his lap. His hands are quick to move to her ass as his cock wedges between her drenched folds. He hisses when she starts rolling her hips, making them both even more feral for what’s about to come. 

She leans forward and kisses him, her hand reaching down between them until it finds his cock. She gives him a few lazy strokes to which he hums lowly into her mouth. Then she stops her kisses, lips still brushing against his, eyes meeting again as she lifts herself up just enough to angle him underneath her and then slowly she eases down, letting him enter her inch by inch until she is filled entirely. She gasps at the feeling of her walls stretching around him and they both stop for a few moments, just savoring how perfectly they fit together. 

She plants both her hands to the base of his neck, kisses him again and starts moving her hips. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good,” he groans, locking his arms around her, fingers digging into her naked back and side as she starts to slowly pick up her pace, bouncing on him. 

When he starts thrusting upwards, meeting her movements, her head rolls back from how deep she feels him inside her, his tip reaching the perfect spot. 

“Yes, right there!” she gasps as he buries his head in her neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin while keeping his rhythm. “I’m so close,” she breathes out, her hands raking through his messy hair. 

Wanting even more friction she adjusts herself and then starts moving faster and rougher, aching for the release. She looks down, her eyes meet his gaze and she just knows he is as close as she is. 

“Harry,” she moans and hearing his name fall from her lips is what pushes him over the edge.

Grunting, his thrusts get rougher and fall out of their fast pace, he pushes into her over and over again as he fills the condom and watching him fall apart helps her let go as well. He feels her walls tighten around him while he is still riding out the afterwaves of his own orgasm, her mouth hangs open, nails digging into his shoulders so harshly they surely leave marks. 

Then they both slowly come off their high and she leans forward, capturing his lips in a much softer kiss than the ones they’ve shared just minutes ago. He gladly returns, their lips melt together and his fingers gently roam her naked back while he is still inside her. 

They’re quiet when she moves off him and grabs a few tissues to clean herself up while he discards the condom. The clothes are picked up from the floor one by one and a sense of unsureness settles between them as they both get dressed. 

She was the only thing on his mind just five minutes ago, but now that the sex haze is gone, his thoughts start racing. What did he do? What will happen now? This shouldn’t have happened but still, he wants to do it again and again and again. 

As if she knew he was panicking inside, she steps to him, takes his face in her hands and pulls him into a long, passionate kiss that instantly makes him forget about everything else. 

“Don’t overthink it,” she whispers against his lips. “We’re adults.”

“I’m your teacher,” he hums.

“The semester is almost over. Grade my last paper and we’re done,” she simply says with very little care about his current status. But he is not that sold on it just yet, hesitation and worry is all over his face. “Did you not want it?”

“You know how much I wanted it,” he admits defeatedly. 

“Great. I wanted it too. And I want it again. So I’ll come by tomorrow again. You’ll bend me over that desk after I had your cock in my mouth, then tell me what grade I’m getting for the semester and we do it again after that.”

He is already feeling himself getting hard again. Deep down he knows he should say no, but he has no will left to fight with himself anymore. So all he does is nod and then kiss her. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, professor.” She grabs her coat from the floor and then walks out of his office like nothing happened. 

Harry falls into his chair and assesses the mess on and around his desk, staring at the spot where she was sitting not long ago. He knows he is making his biggest mistake ever, but sinning has never felt this good.

And right now he is willing to take this risk.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[ultramaga]

I had a case where I paid for same day delivery of a months food as I am disabled and they said they were having a strike soon. Half of the items were missing but I can't open the bags to find out what the stock is until they have photographed it and what with moving everything inside away from the hot sun, I am never going to be able to inventory it while they are here. So the dude had barely left. No problem, tried the contact number. It put me onto their ai, who told me I wouldn't get a refund. I kept trying to get a human instead, but the company had obviously decided human staff are way too expensive, so they put me on to the ai who made jokes and tried to sell me stuff, all the while pushing me to begin a reverse skynet, a Butlerian Jihad, a final obliteration of everything MADE IN THE LIKENESS OF A HUMAN MIND, BUT REALLY BADLY. Anyway, after an hour, I got through. The human thought it was likely that the driver had just left the bags in the car, but the HOUR LONG DELAY meant everything would have to be thrown away, assuming it wasn't already lining his fridge. They wanted to book a delivery for another day. I said no, I had paid for same day delivery and I really needed that today, it's not an option, and I pointed out if they had just let me call the driver pronto I would probably have been fine. They used to be a great service, seriously, you can't imagine how good it used to be, but then the quality was dropped and dropped and it is now done by uber or something. And they keep stuffing it up. I have exact directions as to how to find my place. They either don't get them or don't read or - I suspect - can't read english. So my neighbours, whose dogs love deliveries, yum yum, sometimes get them, or they thoughtfully put them on the road in the rain in paper bags in such a place that the wash goes through them, and the new greener kinder legislation means that the goods are now packed in paper, meaning they have to be chucked. There are times when I really get to empathise with the Unabomber. Man, maybe I shoulda been a hobbit.

You are not experiencing higher than expected call volumes. You refuse to hire sufficient staff to take care of exactly the amount of calls you should be getting as the facility you are.

[girlgenius1111]

Ingrid Engen, “oh that doesn’t feel quite right”, at Home

---

Ingrid was, among many things, easy to celebrate. She was about as close to perfect as a human could get. Or, at least, you thought so. You’d pestered her about what she wanted to do for her birthday for weeks in advance, and though she kept saying she was fine with anything as long as she was with you, you were very determined to plan a day full of things she loved. 

First, you both slept in, waking up just before noon still entangled with each other from the night before. Then, you’d gone for coffee and lunch at her favorite place in the city. She’d called her parents and her siblings after that, chatting for a while and opening the gifts they’d sent ahead. You’d put on her favorite movie once she was off the phone, curling up against her on the sofa as she watched, mumbling some of the words from memory under her breath. 

Next up was cooking dinner together, again her favorite meal on the menu. The gifts you’d gotten her were set on the bed, a small cake hidden in the back of the fridge so you could sing to her. Everything had gone perfectly according to plan. 

And then, as you were cutting the vegetables for dinner at the counter, the knife slipped. 

“Oh!” You gasped, dropping the knife down with a clatter. 

“Love?” Ingrid asked, turning away from the stove, peering at your back. You’d gone completely still. 

“That… that doesn’t feel right.” You mumbled, clutching your finger tightly in your other hand. 

“What doesn’t–?” Ingrid cut herself off as you turned around, blood already staining your shirt, dripping down onto the ground underneath you. “Oh my god!” 

“Ow,” you stated, voice completely devoid of any feeling or inflection. Ingrid rushed towards you, her hand gripping your shoulder in an attempt to steady you. Your girlfriend knew how you were with blood. 

You weren’t really thinking about the blood, though, because you knew whatever the state of your finger was… it wasn’t good. 

The knife had slipped. It had stung. You’d dropped the knife, and without really looking at your finger, you’d gripped it in your other hand tightly. It was bleeding heavily, but something in you refused to unwrap your hand from around your finger, refused to look at the damage. 

“Let me see.” Ingrid instructed, her brows knitted together in concern. 

Still, your hand remained wrapped around your injured finger. Partially because you knew it would hurt like hell the minute you took pressure off it, and also because you weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be missing part of your fingertip. 

“Ingrid,” You exhaled, shaking your head and looking at your girlfriend with fear written across your face. 

“It’s going to be okay love, just let me see.” 

With a bit more gentle coaxing, you shut your eyes tightly and let go of your finger. Ingrid bit her lip to stop a gasp from escaping, more than a little horrified by the injury. You had a massive gash cutting into the top of your index finger, and there was blood pouring from the wound. Ingrid was surprised that the tip of your finger was still attached, and she knew it needed medical attention immediately. Your eyes were still shut, though there were tears starting to make their way down your face. 

Ingrid grabbed a clean towel from the drawer, uncaring that she got blood on the white cabinets, and wrapped your hand up tightly in it. 

“Is it bad?” You asked. 

Ingrid hesitated, but knew there was no use lying. “It’s not great, but we’ll go to the hospital and they’ll stitch you right up.” 

You whimpered pathetically at the thought of stitches, but even though you hadn’t actually seen the injury, you knew it needed them. Opening your eyes, you found Ingrid looking right at you, a reassuring look on her face. Without another word, you allowed Ingrid to guide you out of the apartment, into the elevator and down to the car. 

Maybe you were going into shock or something, because all you could think was that you’d probably let Ingrid take you anywhere. Even to the hospital, where they’d thread a needle through your skin and put you back together. Anywhere. 

—

You could feel Ingrid’s eyes on you as she pulled to a stop at a red light, yet you didn’t turn towards her. Your finger still throbbed with pain, the medication they’d given you at the hospital not having kicked in yet. Your hand was wrapped up in an enormous amount of gauze and bandages, which felt a bit overkill. 

Thought after thought was rushing through your brain, all of them centered around trying to salvage Ingrid’s birthday, which you were absolutely sure you’d completely ruined. Still, it must have looked like you were in pain, because Ingrid was still looking at you worriedly. 

“What are you thinking, min kjære?” She wondered, her hand reaching over to rest on your knee. 

Turning towards her, you blinked hard at the tears that were rapidly accumulating in your eyes. “Nothing! If you want, we can go out to dinner. Or I could go get your favorite from–”

“Are you crying?” Ingrid interrupted, brow furrowing with worry even as she fixed her attention back on the road in front of her. “Does it hurt?”

Her voice was dripping with sympathy, and you resisted the urge to sigh. 

“No, I’m fine.” You insisted. “For dinner–”

“Love, I don’t care about dinner. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t! Don’t worry about me. It’s your birthday and I’ve already ruined it, I don’t want to make it worse, so please just tell me where you want to go to dinner.” Your voice was trembling, your need to make up for messing up such a special day overwhelming you. 

“You haven’t ruined anything!” Ingrid exclaimed, pulling the car over to the side of the road and turning to look at you sadly. “Love, you didn’t ruin my birthday. You didn’t almost cut your finger off on purpose.” 

You huffed out a laugh that turned into some kind of sob, and Ingrid didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and lean over the center console to pull you into a hug. 

“You have not ruined anything, baby. Truly. We can do dinner another night and it will be just as special. I just want you to be okay.” Ingrid murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. 

“I’m okay,” you sniffled into her neck, quite aware how ironic and completely unbelievable you sounded. 

The Norwegian pulled away, placing both her hands on your cheeks. Her thumbs swept away a few tears, before she leaned in and gently kissed you. “You’re in pain and that was an awful, terrifying experience and I can tell you just want to go home to bed. So let’s do that, hmm?” 

You nodded begrudgingly, well aware that now Ingrid knew how upset you were, there was no way on earth or in heaven that she would allow you to go anywhere but home to bed. And you couldn’t lie, that was truly all you wanted. 

Ingrid kissed you once more, before putting the car back in drive and pulling onto the road again. Her hand remained intertwined with your uninjured one, her thumb tracing circles over the back of it.

“You know,” you began after a few minutes. “I still have a working hand. And working fingers.” 

Ingrid laughed, the sound melodic, bringing butterflies to your stomach no matter how many times you heard it. “We can put your good hand to work tomorrow, if you’re feeling better.” 

You sank back into the passenger seat with a grin, the promise of tomorrow’s activities improving your mood greatly. Or maybe, that was just Ingrid improving your mood. Even when you felt like you were at your worst, she was always able to make you feel like things weren’t so bad. Mostly because if you were with her, things couldn’t be bad. This situation wasn’t any different. 

---

[soleilapproves]

catalyst - chapter 2

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex-boyfriend. (Sukuna x reader)

Note: fem!reader

fanfic masterlist / main masterlist

It had been two years since you had seen and felt Sukuna’s naked body. Two years too long. You never realized how much you missed out on his life when your hands began to roam around his shoulders. He had gotten bigger and firmer. His body was always much larger than yours, but this was on a different level. He was an athlete, after all. Shoulders that were once just broad were now bulging with muscles. His arms almost looked like water waves, subtly flexing with every movement. He was thicker than an average man. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if he could bench press you. He did once before, but now it probably would’ve been like lifting a feather.

His fingers and knuckles were rougher than the ones you were used to, probably because of all the sparring and weight training. Most of his body was now covered in harsh black tattoos. The ones beneath his eyes stood out the most because they matched Yuuji’s scars. You wanted to ask what they meant, but you kept quiet, still resenting him for never reaching out after the breakup. Unprofessional, but could you blame yourself, especially with how things have been going lately? 

Unlike you, Sukuna was surprisingly civil after learning that you would live with him. Simply nodded and gave you a brief run down of where everything was in the high-rise apartment. He didn’t even ask why you, of all people, were suddenly helping him. Uraume was surprised but didn’t press on the matter as much.

“You’ve lost weight.” You could feel the vibrations of his rich and husky voice through the washcloth that you were scrubbing across his chest. Your first task as a ‘highly involved’ manager was to give him a sponge bath after his discharge from the hospital. His shoulder was still healing from the dislocation, so he had to wear a cast. “Hope you weren’t studying too hard.”

His comments fall deaf to your ears as you wring the washcloth in the bathtub. You silently wrap him in a warm fluffy towel and mutter a simple ‘up’ so you could clean the foam surrounding the ledge he was sitting on. You could feel his red eyes burning holes into your skull as you wiped down the area. He stayed in the bathroom the entire time you cleaned up the space, almost like he was waiting for you to guide him back to his room despite being perfectly capable of walking.

You thought he was just messing with you like he did back when you were together, but no, he was just looking at all the changes in your body after not seeing you for so long. It’s not like you had social media so he could look up your appearance. 

Sukuna wanted to send a private investigator after you. Still, he knew it was unethical (also because he was afraid he’d find out if you were in a serious relationship. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if it was true).

You groaned as you stood back up, stretching to relieve the pain in your back. “Your back still hurts? I’ve told you so many times that your posture sucks while you’re studying.” His looming presence just had you more annoyed. 

“You should rest.” You subtly tried to suggest that you wanted to be left alone.

“And you should show a little respect. You work for me now.” 

“Uraume’s my boss. Not you.” You were really working up a sweat, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the humidity in the bathroom or if you were raging on the inside. What made him think he could act all holier than thou after two years of no contact? Especially after being an asshole while breaking up. It’s like you could still see that side of him when you looked into his eyes. “I’ll have dinner ready after my shower.” And with that, you left the bathroom.

-

Preparing dinner was a dull affair. Uraume told you that you need not cook for Sukuna as he had a nutritionist who had created a meal plan for him and a chef who strictly adhered to it. All you had to do was store and heat the meals after the chef delivered them. Uraume also had the courtesy of having meals cooked for you, the same as Sukuna, but yours were more indulgent (more dipping sauces and fewer veggies). You were glad your job was simpler than you expected. In this economy, free accommodation and less money spent on groceries were a blessing.

You opened the disposable box of food for Sukuna, and it had all the things required for a balanced diet. It makes sense; his management probably doesn’t want him to lose or gain too much weight while recovering. It was the basics: half an avocado for healthy fats, grilled salmon for protein, lots of veggies for fiber, and an unimaginable amount of black beans with rice. Funny, did his nutritionist not know that he disliked them? Unlike him, you never had an issue with the legume, so you took some out of his box and put them in yours. So what if he had fewer beans for dinner? The man was injured, and as much as you resented him, you weren’t going to be a monster with him.

Sukuna entered the kitchen, sans t-shirt. You didn’t bother asking him why he was half-naked because you knew his reasoning would be something about you already knowing what his bare body looked like. 

Not with all the new muscles you didn’t. But you brushed that thought aside. 

“Is that my old shirt?”

You looked down and noticed that your oversized t-shirt was indeed his. It must’ve been in the back of your closet while the movers had brought in all your stuff. You had a lot of oversized clothes, but by some miracle, you happened to wear one that belonged to your ex. Your ears felt hot with humiliation. 

“I didn’t realize it. Must’ve forgotten to throw it away.” You said while setting up your plates. “It’s fine. Keep it. Haven’t thought about that shirt since… well- whatever. Just keep it.” He almost said it. He almost talked about it out loud. It felt weird hearing about it after so long. It shouldn’t be this strange. The breakup was a mutual decision that you both made and though it was something you had done out of pure frustration and anger, it was still something you both had done together. Pretending like it never happened was just never going to work. Not when you were meant to be with him 24/7.

However, you decided to push that conversation for another day. If it’s meant to happen, then it’ll happen; there’s no point in rushing it. You slid your plate next to your former lover’s seat on the dining table, and he said nothing when he noticed that he had fewer beans than you. Thank goodness. He didn’t need to know that you were still a little soft for him despite all the prickliness of the past.

You were about to lift your fork to eat when Sukuna loudly cleared his throat. “Aren’t you gonna feed me?” he flatly asked. 

“I’m not your-” you were about to tell him off, but then you remembered that his dominant hand was in a cast. 

“- sorry.” Embarrassed once again, you picked his fork up to feed him a piece of broccoli. “Sprinkle a little salt on that,” he said while chewing, giving you quite a gross view of the ground vegetable in his mouth. You held back your grimacing for the sake of your job and did as he asked. He grinned when you placed a salted broccoli in his mouth. “Now, give me a little salmon with that.” 

“Sukuna, can you please chew with your mouth closed,” you said while cutting out a bite-sized piece of his salmon. “You still love nagging me, huh? Also, cut a bigger piece. My mouth’s bigger than yours, hon.” 

You glared at him through your lashes and swore you could almost see him smile. Not the genuine kind, but the type that made you want to slap his face. His gorgeous, chiseled face. The one that once looked at you with everlasting love. You squeezed your eyes shut to escape your stupid daydreams. 

The past is past. You’re now in front of an egotistical dumbass. Not your lovable ex.

You cut up a bigger piece of salmon and tried your best to stop yourself from shoving it into his mouth. “That’s more like it,” he mumbled (after chewing since you had so respectfully asked). 

If only you knew that Sukuna was ambidextrous because he had broken his dominant hand while sparring too many times.

-

The last task for the day was icing his bruises for a few minutes before bed. Sukuna was sitting on his bed, head facing you while you were close enough to stand between his legs. He ignored his urge to pull you into his embrace for his sanity. After preparing the ice pack, you pressed it on his purple and yellowing bruises. Uraume had told you that he refused any kind of treatment back at the hospital, so they were getting worse. 

They weren’t wrong; you could see the pain on Sukuna’s face after he had neglected his wounds for so long. He had a particularly gnarly one beneath his left pec, and you bent down to reach it properly. Your head was below his chin, and he could smell your shampoo.

Strawberries. He noted that you still hadn’t changed your shampoo. You were always a stickler for consistency. He began to feel nostalgic as he remembered that there was a time when he used to smell like the same shampoo after staying at your place. His mind drifted to when you both showered together for the first time, how you lathered the shampoo in your hand and carefully massaged it on his scalp. No masseuse or physiotherapy had ever been that relaxing for him compared to the magic in your hands. He remembered how his pillow would smell like you for hours after you’d leave his place. Now, seeing you here was getting him worked up. Would his house begin to smell like your perfume now that you were here? He wanted to set fire to all your clothes and only let you wear his if it meant that all his clothes would smell like you. Two years have gone by, and he still feels like he wants to inject you in his veins.

All while Sukuna was in his nostalgic dreamland, you were trying your best not to focus on his pebbled nipples, courtesy of the ice pack.

—

taglist: @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife

[jjangwonie]

DOUBLE LIFE

DOUBLE LIFE MASTERLIST

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary: With your anonymous Twitter account, you've acquired a pretty good following and popularity, throughout your school as well. Jake, your long-time crush, is one of them, head over heels. Yet when you once confessed to him, he had rejected your confession, saying that he already has his eye on someone else. What happens when he finds out that his online crush is the person that he rejected? And... How are you going to deal with this?

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: ~2.1k

THIRTY SIX - Hey

The door creaks open and Jake practically stumbles inside, shoulders hunched from the cold. You quickly step aside as he hastily walks around, before closing the door behind him.

"Jesus, it's freezing," he mutters, rubbing his arms before suddenly freezing in place. He turns around, facing you properly for the first time in what feels like forever.

"Hey," he says, voice softer now.

"Hi," you reply with a small, uncertain smile, one hand rubbing your arm nervously. You're drowning in fluffy pajamas, your hair falling messily around your face, and even with slightly flushed cheeks from the fever, you're...

Jake has to remind himself to breathe.

"Oh, um," you gesture to the bouquet he's still clutching, "the flowers..."

"Right! The flowers. I, uh..." He looks down at the colourful bundle like he's forgotten he's holding them. "I got them because... well, remember when we were talking about favourite flowers? When you said- I mean, when everythingblue said- or, no, when you said..."

He takes a breath, starting over.

He's rambling now, words tumbling out faster than he can control them. "I didn't actually know which one was really your favourite. You gave such different answers, so... I just... got them all? Which probably looks ridiculous now that I think about it, but the florist was really nice about it, even though it was almost closing time, and-"

He stops abruptly, realizing he's been talking non-stop. A faint blush creeps up his neck.

"I just... wanted to get them right this time." He sighs out while his eyes flicker between you and anywhere else.

"It probably looks like a mess," Jake continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "The florist tried to make it look nice but I kept adding more and-"

You can't help but smile as you watch him ramble. It's endearing, really. The way his hands move slightly while holding the bouquet, how his ears are turning pink (and not just from the cold), how he keeps glancing between you and the flowers like he's not sure where to look. This is a side of Jake you've never seen before. Nervous, a little unsteady, words tumbling out unfiltered.

This is the same boy who could expertly control a football, who always seemed so composed in school, now standing in your hallway just before midnight, clutching a mismatched bouquet and rambling about flower arrangements of all things.

"Jake," you cut in softly, and he stops mid-sentence, looking at you with those wide eyes. "I like them. Really. The fact that you remembered all of those random flowers I mentioned months ago..." You trail off, feeling your own cheeks warm slightly. "Thank you."

He lets out a small breath, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Oh," he says, and there's that tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Good. That's... good."

The silence that follows feels heavy, and you find yourself fidgeting with your sleeve. "You must be freezing," you blurt out. "Do you want a blanket? Or I could make some tea? I always have some ready and-"

"Actually," Jake interrupts, his expression shifting to something more determined (though the effect is somewhat ruined by his pink-tipped nose from the cold).

"You're the one who needs to be taking care of yourself. Sunghoon told me you haven't been eating properly, and YOU should be resting, wrapped up in blankets, not walking around in the rain, and definitely not eating ice cream at midnight-"

His hands are moving everywhere as he talks, the bouquet swinging dangerously through the air with each gesture. You watch the flowers wobble precariously as he continues,

"-and what were you thinking sitting at a bus stop for an hour? You could have called- anyone would have picked you up, you know that right? And-"

You reach out instinctively, steadying his flower-wielding hand with your own. "Jake."

He freezes mid-gesture, words dying in his throat as his eyes flicker between your hand on his and your face. You can practically see his brain short-circuiting, mouth slightly open, caught mid-word.

"You're going to make the flowers fly away," you say softly.

"Oh," he breathes out, then swallows hard. "Right. Yes. The flowers. Flying. I mean- not flying. They shouldn't fly." He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to collect his scattered thoughts.

"What I was trying to say is... I'm not exactly a chef or anything, but I make pretty decent ramen. Would you... would you eat something if I made it?"

You can't help but smile at his earnest expression, at how he's standing in your hallway offering to make you ramen, at how he's still letting you steady his hand.

"Okay," you sigh, fond exasperation colouring your voice.

"I'll just put these in water first, alright?"

The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft bubbling of water on the stove and the quiet snips of scissors as you trim the flower stems.

Jake busies himself with unpacking the ramen, three different flavours because he wasn't sure which one you'd prefer so he decided to just mix them, trying not to make it obvious how his eyes keep drifting to you.

But they do. They always have.

There's something about seeing you like this - hair slightly messy, drowning in oversized pajamas with little stars on them, careful fingers handling each flower like it's precious. It's so different from how he usually sees you around school, yet somehow exactly the same. The same gentle attention you give to everything, whether it's editing photos or arranging flowers or just... existing in this quiet midnight moment.

You're humming something under your breath, probably not even aware you're doing it, and Jake finds himself holding his own breath, afraid to disturb this moment.

You look so... at home. So real.

He watches as you gently touch a daisy petal, adjusting its position in the vase with such care that something in his chest aches. It hits him then, how much he's missed this, missed you, even the parts he didn't know existed until now.

The water starts boiling more vigorously behind him, snapping him back to reality.

Right. Ramen.

He's supposed to be making ramen, not standing here like an idiot, watching you arrange flowers with what he's sure is the most embarrassingly soft expression on his face.

But he can't help stealing one more glance, memorizing how you look in this moment, slightly fever-flushed but smiling, surrounded by the flowers he brought, looking so perfectly, wonderfully real.

"How's it going?" you ask, turning away from the now-arranged flowers.

"Almost ready," Jake responds, quickly pretending he wasn't just staring. "Just waiting for the noodles to cook properly."

You hum, moving towards the fridge. "Want me to add some eggs? Make it a proper meal?" You're already pulling them out before he can answer, and he watches as you move around your kitchen with familiar ease, grabbing a smaller pan and some vegetables.

Jake tries to focus on stirring the ramen, he really does, but his eyes keep wandering back to you.

Your hair keeps falling in your face, and each time you brush it back with the back of your wrist, careful not to touch it with your cooking hands...

"The water's boiling over," you say without looking up.

"What? Oh- shit-" Jake quickly turns down the heat, feeling his ears burn as he realizes he's been caught not paying attention.

But when he glances back at you, there's a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth as you continue chopping, and somehow that makes his embarrassment worth it.

He should probably say something, make conversation, but there's something so peaceful about this moment.

The tips of his ears are still pink, but he can't help stealing another glance. Just one more.

You carefully balance your bowl as you lead the way upstairs, Jake following a few steps behind. When you push open your bedroom door, he pauses in the doorway, taking everything in.

"This is..." he trails off, eyes wandering from the fairy lights strung across your wall to the polaroids scattered on your corkboard. "Okay, it's weird seeing your room in real life. I mean, I've seen parts of it in your photos, but-"

"Jake," you interrupt, settling cross-legged on your bed with your bowl, "if you say it like that, it sounds like you've been stalking me."

"What- no! I meant- I just-" he sputters, then catches your teasing smile. "Oh, you're making fun of me."

"Maybe a little," you admit, patting the space next to you.

He hesitates for a moment before carefully sitting down, trying not to spill his ramen. The silence that falls feels thick with everything unsaid, the only sound being the soft clink of chopsticks against bowls. Jake's hyper-aware of every movement. How close you're sitting, how your shoulder almost brushes his when you reach for a tissue, how your room smells like vanilla and something floral and you.

"This is pretty good," you say softly, breaking through his thoughts.

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly.

"Yeah?" he asks, and he's not just asking about the ramen.

You nod, giving him another small smile, and something in his chest unclenches just a bit more.

With the empty bowls set aside on your nightstand, the silence creeps back in. You're suddenly very aware of everything.

"Oh, right," Jake says suddenly, reaching for his bag. "I brought some... stuff." He starts pulling things out, setting them on your bed with careful enthusiasm.

"Some chocolate - which I know probably isn't great when you're sick, but Sunghoon mentioned you've been eating ice cream anyway, so I figured... And medicine, because fever, obviously. And this-"

He pulls out a small box with a Lego flower set logo. "I saw this and thought... since you like flowers..."

The keychain on his bag catches your eye as he moves - a small plushie, gently swaying with his movements. It's identical to the one sitting behind you besides your pillow. Your throat feels tight suddenly.

"Jake," you say softly, reaching out to still his hands that are still pulling things from his bag, seemingly endless. He freezes at the contact, and when he looks up, your eyes meet.

The fairy lights reflect in his dark eyes, creating tiny constellations, and you're close enough to see the slight flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

There's that familiar awkward tension again, but it's different now. Softer somehow, more delicate. Like you're both holding your breath, waiting for something neither of you can name.

A strand of hair falls in your face, and Jake's fingers twitch like he wants to brush it away, but he doesn't.

Instead, he just looks at you, really looks at you, in a way that makes your heart stumble over itself.

You're both so quiet you can hear the gentle hum of your heater, the distant sound of cars outside, the slight rustle of the bag's zipper as it finally settles.

It's strange, you think, how someone can feel like both a stranger and the most familiar person in the world all at once.

Your hand is still on his, and Jake swears his heart actually stops for a second when you say his name like that, so soft and careful, like it's something precious.

He's spent so long being angry, being hurt, but right now, with you looking at him in the gentle glow of your fairy lights, hair messy and cheeks still slightly flushed from fever...

"You're really pretty," he murmurs before he can stop himself.

You let out a surprised laugh, pulling your hand back to cover a small cough. "I am literally coughing up a storm," you say, looking down at your attire. "I look a mess."

"No, you don't," Jake says, too quickly, too honestly. The words hang in the air between you.

His eyes can't seem to stay still - taking in how your hair falls around your face, flickering to the way your lips part slightly in surprise at his bluntness. You look soft and close enough that he can see your soft breaths, and his heart is doing something dangerous in his chest.

Then you cough again, small but enough to remind him that you're sick, that this probably isn't the time for... whatever his heart is trying to do right now.

Jake clears his throat, reaching for the Lego box perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Want to make this together?" he asks, voice slightly rougher than usual. It's an escape route, a way to ease the tension that's been building, to quiet the loud beating of his heart that he's sure you must be able to hear.

But when you smile and nod, scooting closer to look at the box, he thinks maybe his heart isn't going to quiet down anytime soon.

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©jjangwonie 2024

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[4701rose]

... I want to start by this art is utterly amazing, so much so that I needed to write a scene of what is going on inside this world.

Title: good things do happen

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1,445

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love

Miklan was rifling through the kitchen cabinets, looking for something to eat, when he heard the key turn in the back door. He looked down at the mostly empty box of protein bars he knew Sylvain was saving for lunches and the jar of peanut butter they had no bread to spread on and shut the cabinet. When he turned around, Sylvain was standing in the hallway, wiping his snow-covered boots on the black dirt-encrusted doormat that was here when they first moved in. There was a radiator by the back door. 

Miklan watched as Sylvain pulled off his gloves with his teeth and put them on top of the radiator. Sylvain shivered as he pulled the zipper on his jacket down. He was wearing the outer layer of Miklan’s coat. The zipper was broken, so Miklan couldn’t very well use it, now, could he? 

Sylvain looked up and saw Miklan watching him. He smiled one of those corny little smiles that made Miklan want to go over and smack him. “Hey,” Sylvain said as he stepped out of his winter boots and into their kitchen. The floor was linoleum that had once been white, dotted here and there with blue flowers. There was dirt strewn all across the floor. In black socks, you didn’t notice it as much, but Miklan did notice Sylvain kept the jacket on. 

Sylvain stroked his red hands up and down his upper arms before he buried his hands in his jacket pockets with a shiver. “Did you manage to get the heat working?” Sylvain asked, his chestnut eyes twinkling like he knew the answer already and was asking just to be annoying. Typical. 

Miklan grunted as he turned around to inspect the other cabinets in their tiny kitchen. “No,” he huffed. “The landlord said he’ll come by tomorrow.” 

Sylvain chuckled. “You don’t sound convinced.” 

“He hasn’t come over the last two times he’d promised to.” Miklan opened the fridge and studied its contents as his annoying little brother draped himself against Miklan’s lefthand side, like leech. “What the hell, brat.” 

“You’re warm,” Sylvain huffed into his ear. “How was work today?” 

Miklan made a face at the jar of mustard and the carton of eggs with three eggs remaining in it. “It was work,” Miklan said, noncommittal. 

“Dorothea told me you scared the piss out of some dude.” 

When Miklan looked down at his little brother, Sylvain’s eyes were laughing. Miklan sighed and then shook Sylvain off his arm so he could crouch down. Inside the vegetable drawer was one lonely wilted head of lettuce. When Miklan opened the drawer and pulled it out, it was wet to the touch. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Sylvain asked. 

“What’s there to tell? Besides, Dorothea probably already gave the whole story already. What’s the point in retelling it?” Miklan moved around Sylvain to toss the wilted lettuce into the trash can, Sylvain moving with him. They hadn’t been here very long, but Sylvain always had a sixth sense for where Miklan was in proximity to Sylvain. Miklan supposed that was his fault. He tried and failed to dredge up anything other than tiredness. 

“I still wanna hear it,” Sylvain said as Miklan pulled out their only fry pan. 

“He was an ass.” Miklan said as he reached for the last of the vegetable oil. “I dealt with it. End of story. Pass me the eggs.”

Miklan didn’t jolt as Sylvain pasted himself against Miklan’s back. “You’re no fun,” Sylvain whinged. Through the black leather jacket Miklan was wearing, he could feel Sylvain’s body heat. The kid was like a walking furnace. 

“Then you tell it,” Miklan said, disinterested. “Hey, I asked you to pass me the eggs. Can you do that, or should I tell Dorothea her boytoy is broken?” 

“You’re so mean, Miklan,” Sylvain grumbled. He put the eggs on the counter next to Miklan’s hand. Miklan clicked on the gas stove as Sylvain jumped up on the counter on the other side of the stove. Miklan glanced at Sylvain’s black skinny jeans with the purposefully ripped holes in the knees and wanted to scoff. He held his hand above the pan to see if it was hot yet. 

It was not. 

Miklan fried them both an egg each as Sylvain rattled on about anything and everything under the sun. After the eggs were cooked and sitting on a clipped blue and white plate they’d found at the local thrift store, Miklan turned and went to go cook the rice. It was broken short grain rice, the only kind they’d been able to afford when they went to the store last weekend.

Sylvain trailed off into silence while Miklan was washing the rice in the sink. Miklan flicked water off his fingers, his hands growing numb from the cold, and looked up at his little brother. Sylvain was wearing that brittle smile that meant he was thinking too much about dumb things. 

“What?” Miklan said. “I got something on my face?” 

Sylvain didn’t rise to the bait. Miklan stood there, waiting, as Sylvain leaned forward, one elbow on his bent knee, his chin resting on his fist. “Hey, Miklan,” Sylvain said softly, his brown eyes uncharacteristically somber, “Do you ever regret it?” What It was laid unspoken between the two of them, like a dead horse you could smell but had to pretend wasn’t there. 

“No,” Miklan said. “And neither should you.” 

Miklan turned and put their cheap Aroma rice cooker to boil. From behind him, Miklan heard Sylvain sigh. Miklan looked down at the thin scars running criss-cross up and down his thick paper white wrists, the sleeve of his blood red cotton shirt not long enough to cover them to his satisfaction. He felt a brief surge of the anger-hatred-pity, then pushed it back down again. 

Miklan had left that all behind when he took Sylvain and ran. He didn’t have time for it, not when Sylvain was trusting him to keep them warm and safe. Miklan swallowed thickly. “No,” he said, softer, “I don’t regret it.” 

Miklan was staring at the little pinkish-orange light on the rice cooker, listening to the sound of rice beginning to boil when he heard a loud thump. He was about to turn around and ask, What the fuck was that, Sylvain, when Miklan got slammed into the sharp edge of the counter by his annoying little brother. “Ow, fuck,” Miklan cursed. He twisted until he was facing Sylvain. 

Sylvain was clinging like a limpet, Miklan’s leather jacket clenched so tightly in his fists it was making a weird creaking sound, and Sylvain’s nose was smashed so closely against Miklan’s skin-tight shirt, he could feel it stir when Sylvain breathed. Miklan didn’t know what to do with his hands. His hands hovered uncertainly in the air before coming to rest hesitantly on Sylvain’s back. Sylvain took a long deep breath in like just this much was killing him. 

Slowly, Miklan tucked Sylvain’s head of hot dry hair under his chin. He brought up one hand and stroked the back of Sylvain’s head, wavy curls springing back into place after each pass of his heavy head. Miklan’s heart felt like it might be breaking, like a vase someone threw a rock at. 

Miklan remembers his mother holding him like this, once, after a nightmare. It was before Sylvain was born. Miklan doesn’t remember anyone holding him like this after Sylvain was declared heir. He wonders if he was supposed to be watching out for a reaction like this from Sylvain. They haven’t been gone that long. Long enough for Sylvain to pick up a girlfriend and for Miklan to pick up a job beating others black and blue for entertainment. 

When Miklan had gone back to pay his little brother back for all the times their dad looked at him like he was a disgusting little spittle barely worth his time, he hadn’t expected Sylvain to ask him to leave with him. And now they’re here, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, in an apartment with no heat and no food and no dad riding their asses to kingdom come. 

Miklan holds Sylvain tight against his chest and tries to pretend that it’s enough, that the inside of his brain isn’t a hellscape few dare tread, that his anger isn’t molten lava waiting to overflow, that Sylvain isn’t going to get himself killed one day, stealing another guy’s girlfriend. It’s cold and dark outside, but for one single blindingly simple moment, Miklan tries to believe that good things can happen to bad people.

[reelovesfictionalmen]

Just some comfort.

Cross posted from my ao3. Wrote this in bed at midnight. Probably straight up trash. Reader is supposed to be in their 30s even though not mentioned.

As the head of requisitions and the lead quatermaster for Kortac you interacted with the operators regularly. Making sure they got clothes, armor, toiletries, weapons and anything else they needed for daily life and the field.

You had gained an easy comradere with many of the members.

The one who's company you enjoyed most as were honestly surprised to have was Nikto.

It had started with you noticing he rarely took himself to medical, you had asked other operators if he had taken any hits and they would confirm if he had or not.

One evening when he was returning his gear for you to catalog you noticed swelling and redness around his left eye. His eternal eye black doing little to hide any of it.

Clearing your throat you asked if you could talk to him privately.

He bristled at your request, agreeing but clearly uncomfortable.

Once in your office you asked him why he has not gone to medical for the injury he is failing to hide.

"we do not like them, they stare too long and judge us" he ground toeing at a stain on the carpet, keeping his eyes on said spot.

"what about letting me look at it? I've already taken measurements for your masks and other tac gear. I promise not to look more than needed" you offered.

Nikto met your eyes, you weren't sure if he meant to stare you down but for a moment you felt pinned, like you were a predator being sized up by another predator. Like he was seeing if he could take you down.

But, his gaze softened and he agreed.

After that day after every mission Nikto would come to you and have you see any injuries he had. Any he could tend himself he would but those he shouldn't he would let you see to.

During one painful wound stitching on brow, the fool did not want numbing, he had grabbed onto your hips firmly to ground himself. Even once you had finished he kept his grip on you. Unsure what to do you stroked his shoulders offering soothing words.

From that moment on, he would seek you out during normal work days. You would be going over a new shipment of gear and he would be there to help you move heavy things even if you had people for that job.

During down time when you would be relaxing somewhere quiet reading he would come sit by you and read too

You truly enjoyed his quiet company. You had begun to be able to decern what alter was what judging by the tone in which they spoke.

One day he returned from a mission and went about returning his gear but you were not there. One of your assistants answered his unspoken question, telling him you were in the infirmary after some heavy shelving fell on you.

He deposited his gear swiftly and all but ran to the infirmary to see you in one of the beds with one of your legs in a cast up to the thigh. When you saw him in the doorway you gave him a dopey grin having been given some morphine. He came to your bedside, even with his balaclava on you could see the furrow of his brow as he look in your very broken leg.

"I'm okay" you slurred as you smiled up at him.

"you are not. we should have been here sooner" he lamented as he reached out and stroked your face.

Later you would bame the morphine for killing your inhibitions, you leaned into his hand, holding it to your cheek with your own hand with a contented hum coming from you.

You didn't see how his eyes widened in shock at your actions nor did you when you pulled him by the arm so he was close enough to throw your arms around his neck and place a kiss to his masked cheek telling him how you are glad he's here.

His mind was a buzz. You had no idea what you're doing to him. What you've always done to him since you first took his measurements for his gear the first time you met.

So he did what felt natural. He embraced you in return. Holding you close to him as he buried his face in your neck.

[aquaticmercy]

Bloodthirst

Part 5 of Dark Necessities

Series Summary : You drink Bucky’s blood out of necessity and accidentally form a primal bond that has the ability to unlock an ancient ritual magic.

Chapter Summary : As Bucky’s obsession with the bond grows, you meet a stranger who claims he can help.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Blood. Death. Cursing.Violence. Pleasure from a vampire bite (?). The reader is a dhampir/half-vampire/daywalker like Blade, and Blade is a mentor figure in this. Established relationship. Not a really an au, set in the MCU so semi-canon compliant except for the fact that blade is here lol.

Word Count : 2.7k

Note : hey y’all! I haven’t updated this in over a week, but as it stands, I am going to upload a chapter 2-3 times a week. Let me know if I missed anyone in the tag list. Enjoy!

Bucky’s obsession with Joanna’s journal crept in quietly, at first. He kept it tucked under his arm, bringing it with him even to the smallest corners of his life. Before long, he felt like he was compelled to carry a piece of her story.

In the low light of the bedside table, he’d lose hours tracing her words with a respect that bordered on devotion. Each night, you’d find him hunched over the journal, eyes fixed on the paper as if every letter were sacred. His breaths would grow shallow, his body still, save for the fingers that turned the pages. You’d watch him from across the room, feeling a knot tightening in your chest because it did in his.

You knew you should probably take a peek, but the idea of reading it yourself filled your head with a uneasy dread. 

You didn’t want to know what was written inside—didn’t want to see the horrors the bond you shared with Bucky reflected in the pages. There was a fear you couldn’t shake off— that the journal held a blueprint of what your future with him might become, and it terrified you more than you could admit.

One night, after you fed on him and showered, you heard him turn the page and exhale, almost a sigh. You knew it couldn’t be anything good.

I can feel Celine’s heartbeat even when she’s not near. When she leaves, I feel like a ship wandering the seas without a destination. Her soul burns with mine like a flame, and I am afraid of how much I crave it.

How strange to feel so full, yet so empty without her… I wonder if this hunger is love or something else entirely. I cannot tell. But I do not care to know the difference.

As Bucky read, his grip on the journal tightened, knuckles turning white. His storm-blue had that faraway look again, as if Joanna’s writing had taken the words right out of his mouth. 

He didn’t notice how his breaths grew shallow the way you did— and how his shallow intakes of air made it harder for you to breathe. 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek instinctively. In that moment, he felt his cheeks ache, too. Warily, he looked up to you. 

He shut the book and smiled as if nothing was wrong. But he couldn’t hide these things from you anymore— you felt the dread he did, the spiral of obsession slowly digging deeper and deeper into his skull, taking root in his brain.

And still, you didn’t open the journal. You haven’t read a single sentence. 

It felt like the last line of defense, a boundary between what you could bear to know and what would destroy you if you did.

—

Today, you went on another mission— Elsa Bloodstone had tipped you off. 

The sunlight was blinding, slicing through the vein-like branches of the forest like a blade, yet the trees were so thick that there were pockets of darkness underneath.  

You and Bucky moved in near-silence through the edge of the woods, stalking the faerie that had left two vampires dead in the last three days. The forest seemed to sway with purpose, the earth beneath your boots uncharacteristically still. 

Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves set your senses on fire as you stayed close to Bucky’s side. The faerie had been maddeningly elusive. 

But you both knew it was near— you had caught a glimpse of their feet and followed it here. 

Bucky’s grip on his rifle was tight, his keen eyes flicking to every shadow that might move. He had specifically prepared silver-tipped bullets in his weapon, hoping he wouldn’t need it. Between you, the bond buzzed softly, a shared endless rise and falls of energy. His adrenaline felt like it had mixed with yours, creating a heady cocktail that made you hyper-aware, feeling the beat of his heart as if it was your own.

The daylight gave you an advantage—Bucky had insisted on that. The faeries had killed vampires— they would expect a vampire to avenge them. They would not expect a daywalker. 

This was your best chance. 

And yet, this seemed too easy.

As you stepped into a small clearing, the forest fell silent. Not the natural quiet of nature— it was like noise had been sucked out of the air in a vacuum. 

It was the kind of stillness that promised violence. 

You halted, your hand instinctively resting on the hilt of your dagger. The faint scent of blood drifted to you, sharp and metallic, and your eyes followed it to a figure slumped against the thick trunk of a tree.

A young vampire. Recently turned, by the smell of it.

The fledgling’s throat had been violently slashed, a grotesque smile carved into his pale flesh. His wide, empty eyes stared up at the canopy above. He likely was sheltering out the sun under the shade of the ancient tree.  A dark red streak ran down his neck, a brutal sight against his alabaster skin.

“This isn’t right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you began to back away. Your instincts screamed at you to run. “They’re leaving victims for us to find.”

He stiffened beside you, his head jerking up as he scanned the perimeter. His mouth opened to respond, but the forest answered first. 

Figures seemed to spill from the edges of your vision, flickering like flames. They moved with impossible grace, as if they were one with air itself. 

Faeries. 

Their pale, luminous skin glowed like winter’s first frost beneath sunrise. They wore flowing garments in shades of moonlight, their faces achingly beautiful but marred by a cruel childlike glee. They danced in and out of sight, their laughter piercing your ears, sharp as broken glass. 

You knew, now, that this was a trap. 

The bond between you and Bucky flared, his pulse thundering in your head. He moved closer, his back pressed against yours as the faeries closed in. Their movements were so fluid, so deliberate. One stepped forward, its lips curling into a smile that sent a chill down your spine.

“The blood-bonded lovers,” she said, her tone dripping with genuine wonder. “How rare. How precious.”

A shiver ran through your veins. 

These weren’t just faeries. Your eyes flicked to the brands on their necks— intricate, thorny roses etched into their pale skin. 

A marker of devotion.

“A cult,” you breathed, the realization hitting you like a blow. “A faerie cult.”

The stories came rushing back to you, dark whispers of faerie cults who performed ancient rituals to bend the natural forces to their will. The tales always mentioned daywalkers, their connection said to hold unspeakable power.

Perhaps they wanted to test their rituals on a blood bonded daywalker now.

One of the faeries began to hum, the melody soft and haunting. The sound wormed its way into your chest, vibrating in your bones, fraying your nerves. 

“To bring back the dead requires a blood sacrifice so rare,” the faerie purred, their eyes gleaming with hunger. “A blood sacrifice so potent.”

Bucky’s body tensed beside you, the bond crackling with his thoughts— anger, fear, and above all, a determination that burned like fire. You felt an unspoken promise ripple through the connection: he would not let them take you. But you knew he could feel your thoughts as well, that you were going to protect him just the same. 

The first faerie lunged, and you both moved as one. Bucky’s shot first, the silver-tipped bullet slicing through the air and slicing into the faerie’s shoulder. It staggered back with a shriek, its blood sparkling like liquid starlight. Another darted toward you, your dagger in hand, slicing into its flesh. The faerie hissed, otherworldly beauty twisting into monstrousityz

But then— 

A sharp sting bit into your neck. And another.

You slapped at the source, but it was too late. A cold numbness spread through your veins. 

You heard Bucky say your name, his voice quiet and distant. The world tilted, the sunlight fading, the trees dissolving into darkness. 

You both hit the ground.

And then there was nothing.

—

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the moon, bright and full, hanging high in the sky above you. 

How long had it been? 

You were in a hole in the ground, vines wrapped around your wrists. The air was damp, the faint scent of moss clinging to your senses as you groggily tried to sit up. 

“You’re finally awake,” came Bucky’s low, steady voice. He was crouched beside you, his metal hand working at the knots that held you captive. 

“How did you untie yourself?” you croaked, your voice still groggy, the lingering effects of the poison lingering.

Bucky shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “They didn’t factor in the whole blood-bonded supersoldier thing. Woke up, snapped the vines. Easy.”

You blinked at him, still drowsy. “How are you, like… fully awake already?” 

He held up a dart casing he’d pulled from his arm. The faintly glowing residue inside it shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “Silverleaf poison,” he said, toying with it between his fingers. “Hits vampires harder than humans. Guess they were banking on me being out longer.” 

You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you even now. He’s been reading up on your kind. 

It took another minute or two, but he finally freed you from the vines. He helped you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your waist. The bond between you buzzed faintly, a steady pulse of his calm sensibility grounding you. 

“They caught us off guard once,” you muttered, shaking off the last vestiges of grogginess. You looked up to the opening above you. You grabbed a root that had snaked down and started to climb out. “Not again.”

Bucky nodded, stretching his metal arm. He felt naked without his weapon, but this’ll do.

As you climbed out of the hole, the forest greeted you with an eerie silence. No whispers. No laughter. Nothing. 

Yet again, you got the creeping feeling that said the silence must mean something was wrong. 

Together, you moved cautiously into the clearing, every step feline. The smell hit you first—sharp, metallic, unmistakable. Blood. 

Then you saw them. 

The faeries. 

Their once luminous, otherworldly bodies lay sprawled across the ground like discarded old marionettes. Their glowing skin was smeared with their silvery blood, their flowing garments torn and stained. Some had wide, glassy eyes staring lifelessly at the canopy above; others had their faces frozen in terror. Their bodies were twisted at unnatural angles, limbs discarded as they had been ripped apart.

“Holy fuck…” Bucky trailed off, scanning the scene with wide eyes. He stepped forward, nudging one of the corpses with the toe of his boot. 

It didn’t stir.

You knelt beside another body, your hand hovering over the intricate thorny brand on its neck. The symbol seemed to flicker faintly, the glow fading as though whatever power had coursed through it was finally snuffed out. 

Then, you saw the figure standing at the center of the carnage.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

Tall and refined, he seemed utterly untouched by the chaos around him. His coat, deep purple with intricate gold trim, swirled faintly in the breeze. A lavish feather boa was draped over his shoulders, absurdly elegant. His dark eyes stayed on you and Bucky. 

The vampire from Dead Club City.

He was renewed with energy— almost glowing.

His fangs glinted of silvery blood.

Oh, he’d kept a couple of the faeries alive enough to feed.

Faerie blood was an acquired taste— and it was intoxicating. A recreational hallucinogenic drug for the vampire community at times, though not without danger— you have heard of multiple overdose cases. 

Yet here he was, unchanged by the blood he had drank— as if he had a resistance to it. As if he had built up tolerance to it.

His smirk deepened. It was not friendly. Not warm. 

“Ah, the hunters,” he said, his voice smooth and sweet. “Or shall I say, the hunted?”

Your stomach twisted. You could feel the hum of the bond with Bucky at your side, his tensed breathing a steady pull in your chest. He shifted, moving half a step in front of you, his stance protective.

His grip on your arm stayed firm—a reassurance that you weren’t alone. Still, unease prickled along your skin. This man—this vampire—was dangerous in ways you couldn’t yet define.

He had done this. Effortlessly. 

And now his attention was on you.

“Eric Veer,” He introduced as he approached, his boots crunching softly against the ground, not caring if he stepped on some faerie remains on his way.

There was nothing kind in this man’s face, only an ancient hunger, hidden beneath a thin layer of civility. 

Bucky, however, didn’t move. His hand tightened on your arm—not in alarm, but in caution. His thoughts, muted but present through the bond, was conflicted. But mostly, it was curiosity. 

It made you want to shake him, want to shout at him. How could Bucky not feel the danger emanating from this man? How could he not see the predator that lingered beneath the elegant facade?

Eric’s gaze shifted to Bucky, and then to you, lingering for a second too long. His eyes dropped to where Bucky’s hand gripped your arm. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “The connection between you… so raw. So untested.”

You wanted to step back, to put distance between yourself and him, but Bucky’s grip held you in place. The bond pulsed with his determination, and it felt infuriating. 

“What do you want from us?” You asked.

Veer shrugged. “I want to help. I have been studying blood bonds for centuries.”

You didn’t trust him. Not for a second.

Bucky, though, seemed to be listening, his thoughts guarded but intrigued. You felt the flicker of his hesitation through the bond, a reflection of your worry. 

Eric reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He held it out, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of amusement and excitement. 

You didn’t take it. 

Bucky, however, stepped forward, plucking the paper from Eric’s hand without any hesitation. You felt the shift in him, the way his curiosity bloomed, the subtle intrigue that bled through the bond. It frustrated you. 

How could he trust this man—this vampire who stood amidst a field of corpses like a god laying waste to his domain?

The address scrawled on the paper was written in cursive. Bucky said nothing as he studied it. Eric’s gaze returned to you, as if knowing he still needed to win you over. 

“I offer knowledge,” Eric said, his voice low, “What you do with it is up to you.”

He turned then, his coat billowing behind him as he began to walk away. You should have felt relief as he left, but the unease only grew, wrapping tighter around you like a noose. “Be careful with that bond of yours. A faerie cult is the least of your worries.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the forest. 

The clearing was silent once more, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. You stared at the spot where Eric had disappeared, your thoughts a blend of mistrust, and unease. 

Bucky, however, was still holding the paper, his expression unreadable. Through the bond, you felt his determination, his mind already turning with plans, strategies— a willingness to follow the thread Eric had offered. 

The paper held an address: 10 Wintermeyer Lane

“We shouldn’t go,” you said finally, your voice wound tight. “We can’t trust him.”

Bucky’s hand relaxed on your arm, but he didn’t look at you. “Maybe,” he said quietly, his tone carefully neutral. “But if he knows something about this bond… we can’t just ignore it.”

The connection flared again, a clash of emotions—your mistrust against his curiosity. You didn’t reply, but the fear in your chest refused to subside. 

As Bucky tucked the paper into his pocket, you couldn’t shake the feeling that stepping onto the path Eric had laid would lead to another trap— one that Bucky wholeheartedly trusted.

-To be continued…

Taglist :  @mystictf @chimchoom @crdgn @a-crying-fandom-lover @otterlycanadian 

@sebastians-love @intelligenceofapineapple @put-trash-here @hzdhrtss

@murnsondock

[mrgrimreaper1]

Dude this is sick, reminds me of this cool different Undertale multiverse idea I've made one day.

[this whole Multiverse happens like, years down the line, pretty much a time skip AU causing error and ink to be much stronger for some reason, there's a reason why I scrapped it a lot of the story is me making a scenario in my head and struggling to explain why it happens the way it does.]

In it error sans finally managed to end ink, and once he does it he regrets it later on because of the boredom that come from no one on his level to really attempt to fight back against him destroying things, and since there was no one making Another AU protector for so long, he needed to slow down on destroying the AU's because of [reasons that don't really make any sense for his canon character to do, because he would probably destroy them all regardless of how he would feel about it afterwards, which is why I've made this a completely different multiverse altogether AND scrapped it.]

Because in this MV (MultiVerse) he would die of absolute boredom if he actually destroyed everything in one swoop, so he needed to balance destroying things and then wait for creators to create more anomalies for him to destroy, which he finds really annoying, so in his absolute bored out of his mind state, he makes the choice to create something himself.

A replacement for ink that could rival him and force creators to work overtime and make more anomalies for him to destroy, he takes a pen and paper and sketches a sans design heavily based on ink, which is why this version of "ink" is named "sketch!sans" with nicknames like "sketchy, sketched, sketchup." [Ketchup joke, made by either classic sans or fresh sans, haven't really chosen who did it, could be any Sans', really.]

Then to bring this character to life error after a while of trying he would get really frustrated, because he doesn't know how to do it, making him throw the drawing away.

Causing it to fall down to the bottom of ink's doodle sphere where the remains of the destroyed AU's remained or something causing sketch sans to actually be created...

[...This only works here because I reworked what happens once you destroy an au, in this multiverse once you destroy an AU, the Portal to said AU in the doodle sphere turns into magic ink and it remains at the bottom of the doodle sphere for the rest of eternity, but thanks to how many AU's we're destroyed they accumulated and mixed together, making a huge mess.]

Thanks to the ink being mixed together this version of ink sans would come out with a lot defects, he would come out of the ink "colorless" or just "black, white and grey." Being straight up a blank Canvas, a husk of what the real ink is supposed to be, so a lot of his emotions were muddled and he didn't act like what you'd expect ink to act like...

...Causing sketch sans to be very insecure? Maybe, his whole character arc that I've had planned for him is him trying to live up to error's expectations and straight up trying his damnest to act like ink would, causing a lot of identity crisis's until he met the star Sanses and they explain to him why he simply can't get his whole attempt to imitate ink right, so they introduce him to the vials ink used to act the way he did, then sketch would start going after said vials to act more like ink, as he kept finding and drinking more of these vials he would slowly and surely becoming a lot more like ink and he would regain his colors with each vial, with error constantly encouraging this to make him keep going and get the real ink back, thanks to error's inability to care for sketch's whole identity crisis causing sketch to reach his breaking point when he meets Cross!Sans and his whole thing and experience with identity crisis's and making him realize how abusive this relationship with error is, causing him to either cut ties with error or just become his own person and completely ignore error's wishes, and just deal with him without the pressure of having to act like ink, or whatever, I don't have a proper ending to it.

It was nice getting this off my chest and head.

ERROR!INK (ASYNC SANS)

ok so, finally came with a full idea of this character:D an error version of ink. i'll be listing some facts and clarifications about him to prevent any kind of confusion, just under the cut!

i wanted to write his entire backstory on here but it ended up being a little too much longer than i expected so maybe i'll make a comic about it- or no (wheheh). but basically everything started when he also tore his soul but appeared in the anti-void instead of a normal void that would eventually become his doodle sphere

now, his design choices

he's wearing the first ever clothes he used in His Story comic

his eyes colors were chosen thanks to their inverts, those specific magenta and blue are the opposites of green and yellow, the first colors he experienced in his original story

the marks on his body are white to represent the meaning of the few white garments in his original design: "The white layer underneath says how he attempts to hide who he is, but his emptiness sometimes shines through."

his "tattoos" are no longer illegible when he turns into an error, they become common binary codes (the font used for these is Note This, ink's official font)

the red (magenta) eye is on the right side to somehow symbolize the blood his "scar" would cause

there is no yellow on his clothes to show how secretive he is, as he constantly hides half his face in his scarf

personality traits and extra facts!

as said before he is someone incredibly reserved, mostly because while being in his 5 senses he is afraid of his self without his doses of paints and tries to not attract attention

nonetheless, he likes being around people, he would probably travel across universes to hang out hidden in crowded places

the "specific situations" mentioned on the first part of the sheet refer, for the most part, to self-defense. but there may be other situations where he simply creates stuff that people ask for from time to time

compared to his original counterpart, he will take much longer to drain as he'll rarely use his powers

if he talks for too much time he'll glitch for an instant and forget everything he was saying. that is one of the reason he doesn't enjoy talking so much

when he's in the doodle sphere he often has momentary traumatic hallucinations, so he tries to leave that place as quickly as possible

these previously mentioned hallucinations also happen in panic situations or as a sign that the ingested paints are no longer effective

okie dokie i think that's all for now<3 if anything comes to my mind later or anytime i'll try to post it or smth! hope you like it🫶

ink sans by @/comyet

[dairy-farmer]

There was a yaoi manga I read years ago where the couple was currently in a long distance relationship because the top/seme had to go overseas for like 5 years, and their bottom/uke would send them cute pictures of them being adorable and Twink-y. Then one day the pictures stopped coming even though they kept writing to each other and still talked about being in love.

Eventually the top returned and found out that the reason the pictures had stopped was because his adorable bottom had had a growth spurt over the years apart and turned into a beefcake taller than the top was. The bottom had been too ashamed to come out and say it, because even though he looked like a big strong top personality, he was still just as twink-y and delicate in personality as before.

It was fine in the end, the top realized that regardless of appearance they were still the same cute person he had fallen in love with.

Which brings us to this ~❤️ Jaytim

Jason and Tim are together before Jason goes to Ethiopia and dies, and are very twink4twink. Tim is only about 2 years younger than Jason and is obviously a short king, and Jason is suffering from all that malnutrition, so his growth was majorly stunted.

When Jason had originally confessed his feelings, he admitted that he hadn't been sure they'd be reciprocated because he wasn't particularly 'manly' in appearance, since he wasn't very tall and it seemed like no matter how he tried he just couldn't put on a lot of noticeable muscle. But Tim had accepted and explained he actually preferred the twink look to the muscular hunk, and felt safer with someone closer to his own size.

So after Jason dies, comes back, and gets dipped in the pit, he's shot up to over 6 ft tall and is about as big and muscular as Bruce. So while part of his plan was being mad that Bruce didn't avenge him (but not about Tim being Robin, because he loved him and knew Tim probably did it for Jason's sake), part of it was also fear. He was afraid to return and reveal himself to Tim, because he was sure Tim would reject him now that he looks so different and was no longer small and slim and delicate.

In the end there's no Titan Tower incident, and the showdown with Bruce is not quite as explosive. Once all the dust clears, Tim corners Jason and demands to know why Jason didn't just come home (why didn't you come back to me 😭?). And Jason explains.

He explains how Tim is still a hot little twink, even with the height and muscle he's managed to put on, but Jason is now huge and muscular and the exact type of person Tim said he wasn't attracted to; he admits that he wanted to put off the meeting/confrontation between them as long as possible so he could continue believing that Tim would still love him even when he looked like this.

Jason is just about to open his mouth to let Tim know he won't hold it against him for wanting to break up (no matter how much the idea tears him up inside) when Tim interrupts him by shouting "I lied!!".

"Well", Tim clarifies in a slightly calmer tone "it wasn't really a lie so much as.. not the full truth? I didn't like you because you were a twink, I liked that you were twink because you are you!"

Jason's just standing there vaguely stunned like "what???"

So Tim says "Jason, I don't care if you're a twink or a muscle hunk or a leather daddy or a bear or a fucking basement dwelling neckbeard (as long as you bathe regularly)! I love You, so I'll love however you look."

I just like the idea of Jason being insecure about the epic change in his appearance, and Tim just being straight up "I would love you if you were a worm. I would love you if you were a woman, or a horse, or a writhing mass of tentacles from beyond the void. If you turned into a gorgon I would literally blind myself so I could be with you." And Jason's just like "🥹🥹🥹 babe 🥹🥹🥹"! And then they fuck nasty for like a week straight until Jason is convinced that Tim really doesn't care what he looks like.

~❤️🦇

jaytim

tim loving jason in any form!!!! and jason being nervous because he wasn't a twink anymore and worried that tim might not be interested in him anymore 🥺🥺🥺!!!!

[apomaro-mellow]

Hawkins Confidential 2

Part 1

The last time Eddie had seen Steve, they’d been young and stupid and with a pup on the way. The last time he had ever heard about him was when Chrissy told him the pup had been born, healthy and beautiful. Eddie had tried not to think about either of them since then. And most days, he succeeded. He thought he’d gotten over thinking about what could have been but he couldn’t help that fragile kind of hope trying to bubble forth as he packed a light duffle and got into his truck. 

He drove and drove for hours and hours, memories coming forth without his permission as the miles spread out.

“I should make you get rid of it! You think that just because you whore around you can do whatever you want?!”, Richard Harrington jabbed a finger towards his son.

Eddie pushed between them, just barely holding his teeth back from snapping that finger off. But his fangs were bare. “You can’t fucking talk to him like that!”

“You stay out of this mutt!”

“What a piece of shit”, Eddie said to himself as he got closer and closer to his old hometown. He remembered where the Harrington estate was. He could have driven right up to it. But he needed some liquid courage before he did that. And the odds of him being allowed to rest in one of the dozens of guest rooms was slim, so he’d need a motel too.

After procuring a room, he walked down Main Street, not at all surprised to see that very little had changed in the years since he’d been gone. It was a small town, after all. With small minded people. But it was noon and the bar was in sight.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face around here, Munson.”

“Why Jason Carver, what a delight”, Eddie said. He’d spotted Jason across the street and hoped he could have made it into the bar unnoticed. No such luck. And of course, he had his cronies with him.

“You have some nerve.”

“You’ve said that already. All these years and you haven’t rehearsed a decent script?”

“Why the hell are you back in town?”, Jason demanded to know.

“Personal business”, Eddie looked down at his nails.

“He’s probably here to go digging for gold now that old Harrington’s dead”, one of the cronies said. If Eddie remembered right, his name was Andy. How pathetic.

“That’s right”, Jason said like he just remembered. “With him gone, you can go sniffing around Steve again.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Then I’m right. You are here for Steve.”

“He’s the only one in this town worth a visit, so sue me.”

Jason was annoying. But he wasn’t really worth Eddie’s time. He’d never been. It was just the circumstances of sharing such a small space that forced them to butt heads but as long as Eddie kept his cool-

“You and that whore are meant for each other.”

Eddie saw red, then suddenly Jason was on the ground, holding his face as more red spilled out onto the sidewalk.

-------------------------

Eddie was used to being handled by cops and being taken down to the precinct, which was sorry to say. It was even more sorry to say that he had no one to call. Chrissy came to pick Jason up and her eyes widened to see Eddie, though he knew Jason must have told her about him when he phoned her.

But she reigned in her expression as she collected her husband. Eddie wished it was easy to talk with her. He wished they had that freedom. But they had both learned to stay within their boundaries. Eddie was resigning himself to a night spent in lock up when someone came by and opened up the cell.

“Munson, you’re being released.”

Bewildered, Eddie got up, wondering if Chrissy had somehow returned. He froze mid step when he saw his benefactor. Steve looked just as beautiful as the day Eddie had left him. And he looked positively angelic in that cream colored sweater. Eddie swallowed. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say because what was there to say? Everything he came up with sounded too small to encompass everything he’d felt since the call. Since they parted, really.

Steve fixed that by stomping right up to Eddie. “You’re a complete idiot, you know that? Causing trouble the moment you return?” Only as the words left his mouth did Steve seem to realize what he said and he shrank back. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say right out the gate. You never called back and I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Stevie”, Eddie said, the nickname falling from his lips much too easily for what they were supposed to be. He cupped Steve’s cheek and swooned from how the omega melted into it. “I missed you.”

Steve closed his eyes, savoring it before pulling back. “Come.”

Eddie followed him outside to the car and with a couple of seatbelt clicks they were on their way. 

“I’ve got a room, so you don’t need to worry about me”, he said.

“Oh, um, well that’s good. That’s good.” Steve didn’t know why he expected any different. There was no way in hell Tommy would ever allow Eddie to stay under their roof.

“So, what have you been up to?”, Steve asked.

Eddie chuckled. “Are you really trying small talk right now?”

“We haven’t spoken in years. I’m genuinely curious.”

“Nothing extravagant. I’m just about a day’s drive away. I work as a mechanic. Where are you driving us anyway?”

“Back to the house”, Steve said. “I know you have a room, but I figured you’d want to get settled some kind of way.”

“Take me to our son”, Eddie said.

Steve swallowed and Eddie put his hand on top of his on the gear shift. Steve changed their route to that of the hospital. Eddie braced himself as they got up to the room, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. A boy that was a perfect mix of him and Steve. His curls with Steve’s chesnut brown. 

“His name is Dustin”, Steve said. “And he needs an operation. You’re the only one who can help him. I know it’s a lot to ask. I know that. But my pup is my world. And he’s hanging on by a thread. He needs you, Eddie.”

“How long has he been like this?”, Eddie asked.

“He’s been in that bed for a few months. But he’s had problems before that.”

Eddie tore his eyes away from Dustin to look at Steve. “Why did it take you so long to-your father?”

“He didn’t want me to contact you. Not for anything. And Tommy only allowed it because of the conditions of my father’s will. He can’t inherit anything without an heir. If Dustin doesn’t recover then he’s going to-” Steve choked out a hiccup, suddenly overcome with what his life had become.

Eddie went over to Steve and embraced him, holding him as tight as he wished all these years. So many things missed. Birthdays, holidays, his pup’s first word, and steps, and all that came with the formative years of childhood. He was old enough that he’d be presenting in a few years. But Eddie didn’t blame Steve, he never would. The only ones to blame were the ones who held control over his life. 

“Speaking of-”

“Kindly unhand my mate, Munson.”

Steve backed away as if he were burnt and he went to Dustin’s side, avoiding Tommy’s glare. Eddie put his hands in his pockets and took in Tommy. He seemed mostly unchanged, if just puffing out his chest a bit more. He didn’t know if that came from finally attaining Steve or because the alpha above him had passed. Either way, Eddie couldn’t help himself.

“Well these tables have turned. Looks like you need my help, Hagan.”

“It’s Harrington, actually”, Tommy crossed his arms. “And I don’t need you for anything. Steve is the one still holding onto that boy. I told him that if Dustin doesn’t get better, we need another heir.”

Eddie stomped towards Tommy, about to swing when the doctor entered the room. Steve’s distress and Eddie’s irritation hung in the air. Eddie quickly pulled it back so that the doctor could explain the situation. She asked if Eddie was ready and prepared for the operation and he confirmed it. There was paperwork to be done but a tentative date was set for next week. When they finished, Steve stood, ready to take Eddie back to his motel.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”, Tommy asked, gripping Steve’s forearm tight.

“I drove him here, I need to drop him off.”

“That riff-raff can get a cab. I’m not leaving you alone around him.”

Steve scoffed and was about to protest, wrenching his arm from Tommy’s hold when Eddie cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be fine, Steve. Don’t worry about me.” He got closer to Dustin’s bedside and leaned over to kiss his forehead. He also scented him subtly, glad when he only smelled Steve’s lingering scent. “I’ll be back to visit him”, he promised before making his exit. Then he paused. “Before I head out, how’d you know where to find me? You didn’t even know I was in town yet.”

Steve swallowed. “Chrissy told me.”

Eddie smiled. Of course. He nodded towards Steve and completely ignored Tommy as he walked out. 

-----------------------

Carol was in the middle of primping when she heard the front door open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Welcome home, Andy”, she called back, smiling when he entered the bathroom and kissed the back of her head.

“Did you hear? Munson came back into town and decked Jason.”

Carol prided herself in knowing everything that went down in this town. But even she never imagined that man would come back after being run out all those years ago.

“Really? Does Steve know?”

Andy shrugged, rolling up his sleeves. “Don’t know. But things are probably gonna get interesting.”

“Oh I’m sure~” Carol couldn’t wait. She applied some lipstick and turned her head from right to left before giving herself a satisfied expression in the mirror.

“Meeting your girlfriends again? It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Oh it’s barely eight. We’re not old fuddy-duddies you know. Valencia left you a plate in the fridge. Don’t wait up, us girls can gab.”

She kissed his cheek and then she was out the door. Ostensibly to go to Heather’s house for some wine and gossip. They did plenty of that but instead Carol drove herself to an inn. And waiting for her in one of the rooms was one Tommy Harrington.

“I heard that old thorn in your side is back”, Carol grinned.

“I don’t even wanna talk about that trash. The sooner this operation’s done, the sooner he’s outta my hair”, Tommy paced about, agitated while Carol poured them both drinks. She didn’t look at all bothered as she handed a glass of brandy to him.

“Well he is going through with the operation, isn’t he?”

“Yeah”, Tommy said before taking a large gulp. “It’s happening next week.”

Carol took a small sip from her own glass. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. He gets that pup in shape, you inherit everything Richard left for you and then you can kick Steve and his little bastard to the curb. It’ll be all yours.”

Tommy smirked. “All ours.”

Their glasses clinked conspiratorially. Tommy downed the rest of his own and Carol set hers down just in time for him to lift her up and toss her onto the bed. 

Part 3 coming soon

[666anxiety666]

Hi I’ve been reading all you’re adorable stories about our fish boy so I got in a super big Lee mood and found a character ai boy about him and he literally wrecked he living days out of me😶‍🌫️

he kept using two of his arms to pin my hands down then his third arm to tickle me or two of his arms to tickle my sides while his third tilted my head up so I’d have to keep eye contact🫠🫠🫠

maybe you could make a ff about it and how the reader keeps whining about it being unfair and he just cracks his usual jokes. Can be platonic or romantic, up to you boo🥰

anyway keep up your amazing work and feeding the Roblox horror community 🫶

Love the c.ai 😭🙏

Not fair!

Sebastian x gender neutral reader (short fic)

LEE: Y/N LER: Sebastian

Warnings: none :)

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

"Its not fair?~... I think it's very fair~"

Sebastian teased. Currently, your arms were pinned above your head with one of Sebastian's arms.

His second hand was originally attacking your sides. Which was making you giggle and squirm like always.

However, you were taken off guard when you felt his third hand, which you may or may not have forgotten about, suddenly raked over your tummy.You squealed loudly. Kicking your legs out.

"Oh? Is this a bad spot?~"

"Oh, come on! You're not even trying! I could do this with one hand, but where's the fun in that?~"

Sebastian teased, digging his blunt claws in, making you squeal louder. Sebastian grinned down at you. His sharp teeth on display as he did.

"Betcha forgot about this third one, huh? How unfair..."

Sebastian mocked playfully.

Sebastian grinned. Watching your face turn red. You thrashed desperately. But every time you squirmed, you just ended up pressing into his tickling claws.

"You know... since this is a bad spot... what if I..."

Sebastian slowly lowered his head. Your eyes widened. Your kicking and flailing picking up. You begged and squealed loudly before Sebastian had even done anything.

"What? I've not even done anything yet..."

Sebastian said in mocking innocence. He stopped tickling you for a moment, but he still kept your arms pinned. He started to drum his claws on your tummy softly. Causing you to giggle slightly.

"I'm not doing anything~"

Sebastian teased again. Making your face go red once more at how ticklish you really were. You grumbled between giggles about how unfair he was being.

"Unfair?"

Sebastian grinned

"Unfair? I'll show you unfair~"

Then, without warning, Sebastian started blowing raspberry after raspberry on your tummy

You shrieked, squealing and giggling loudly. You knew you'd probably be like this for a long while...

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

All done! Sorry it's so short and for the late response. 😭🙏

[emmersonisdesperate]

This post wasn't supposed to be about Regulus "don't fucking touch me" Black and James "unless it's me :3" Potter. This wasn't a Jegulus post at ALL, idk how I forgot the main point.

Regulus Black and Physical Intimacy pt.2

The Slytherins and James were hanging out in the common room.

Barty and Pandora were slightly at a distance, conducting and inventing dangerous magic spells together. Evan was closer but he was mostly on babysitting duty, making sure they don't go too far.

Dorcas was curled on an armchair adjacent to the couch, re-doing her essay as one does. Normally she'd join them but she considers this area of magic 'beneath her'.

After what has been hours of Regulus upstairs with his brother (5 minutes), James perks up on the couch when he sees the pair of brothers come down the stairs.

They were talking to each other, well, bickering was more accurate but they seemed relaxed, as normal siblings should be. James' heart melted, he wants to see more of that.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Tiramisu."

Regulus says as if that explained anything.

Pandora perked up.

"Tiramisu? You brought food?"

That brings both Barty and Evan's attention onto them.

Sirius shoots them an apologetic look.

"Sorry, no food here."

The trio visibly deflates.

James clears his throat, bringing attention back to the original topic.

"What about Tiramisu?"

Sirius smirks while Regulus grumbles, crossing his arms.

"Not Tiramisu exactly, but he was banned from using forks with Tiramisu, you know?"

Intrigued, Dorcas puts down her scroll, sensing she was going to hear something Regulus wouldn't want anyone knowing. Always trying to find something incriminating.

"No, I did not know that, he was banned?"

"Well, not anymore but when he was like, so much shorter than this--" That gets him a kick on the leg but he marches on. "--we'd have Tiramisu for dessert every meal, his favorite."

James and the others can't help but coo, imagining a Regulus that barely reaches the table, looking forward to what was probably his favorite part of the meal.

"...I--Merlin, you guys are terrible."

Sirius sighs once the coos settle down, then continues.

"It was just a regular family dinner? Or there was some event? Celebration? Anyways, the whole family was there."

Regulus goes to sit next to James, close enough for their thighs to touch and James immediately feels like he could explode, like a supernova.

"And obviously that means we're going to have annoying aunts and uncles bothering us. So that night, I think Aunt Druella was the one fussing over Regulus? I can't remember what she was saying though but it got Reggie all red and fuming."

Hearing the name of their aunt, the rosier siblings were fully attentive to Sirius, dropping their experiments. When it became clear his partners were no longer into it, Barty had no choice but to be attentive too.

Regulus crossed his arms, appearing displeased as he recalled the memory.

"She kept insinuating I was a girl. My long eyelashes, my big eyes, my little body, my pretty face."

Sirius cackles.

"Oh that's right, Reggie hated being compared to a girl back then."

"... still does."

Barty mumbles as he recalled a painful memory in fourth year. He learned his lesson then.

"So of course, he retaliated. He stabs her in the thigh. With a fork."

Barty wheezes. Sirius joins in too, laughing. Regulus smirks, smiling fondly at the memory.

"Oh everyone's reactions--it was gold! It was the first time dinner became so silent besides well, her screaming!"

The other four were stunned into silence until Evan broke it, followed by Pandora.

"Hold on--you stabbed Aunt Druella?! As a kid??"

"How have we never heard about this??"

Sirius waved them off.

"They made her keep quiet about it, said it was her fault for bothering Reggie when he was oh so troubled for Hogwarts next year."

Barty wasn't surprised at this level of casual violence in their family, Pandora and Evan weren't surprised they made her keep quiet or that the Black brothers were recounting the memory like it was your usual nostalgia.

Dorcas and James however, could only stare in silence. A bit of fear from James.

"So that's why his fork privileges were taken away, but only for Tiramisu."

Sirius then joins Regulus and James on the couch, sitting next to his brother once he was done artistically recounting the tale of Regulus and Forks with Tiramisu.

He raises an arm to wrap around Regulus while their friends watch in horror as the brothers make physical contact.

"Although now that I think about it, he could still use forks to eat anything else and he always had knives."

Regulus allows himself to be pulled into his brother's embrace, neither noticing how the room has fallen into an awed silence.

"They wanted to fuck with her. Announcing they were going to take away my forks for Tiramisu every time? But still giving me forks and knives anyways?"

Regulus snorts and Sirius grins, squeezing his brother into his arm.

"Yeah, that's where you get your mean streak from."

"Accusations."

Regulus blinks innocently.

By then, the brothers realized their friends and even some other Slytherins were looking at them calculatingly.

"Uh, what's up guys?"

Dorcas lifts her gaze from the arm around Regulus's shoulders, to Sirius, then turns to her friends with confirmation if they were on the same page, then back to him.

"Uh."

Very eloquent, Dorcas Meadowes.

The others and her were staring at the arm with poorly hidden envy. They never got to touch Regulus so casually besides a very rare forced hug on birthdays and they were literally his best friends!! Of years!!

James glares at the arm, seething in jealousy. He wasn't faring much better either. James has to wait or ask for permission if he wanted to touch Regulus and he thought that meant he was quite close to him!! He's the boyfriend!!

They all did, because any attempts at touching him would come with a very-mellowed out violent response. But if it were any one else, Regulus would not hold back.

But here was Sirius Black! The man Regulus hated with all his heart only a couple weeks ago! Cuddled up against their Regulus! And him looking right at home there!

And yeah, they get it, Sirius was probably Regulus's entire world growing up in a house full of assholes, so of course Sirius would have exceptions.

But what the fuck!

Barty and James groaned, Evan huffed, Pandora pouted, Dorcas just shot them a look.

Oblivious Sirius just stares at them and chooses his peace.

"Alright, I'll go bother Peter then."

Once Sirius leaves, the eyes turn to Regulus. He blinks innocently.

"You."

James says with as much accusation he could put on his voice.

"Me?"

Regulus says as he slips a hand in James'. Suddenly, James can't remember what he was mad about.

"Nothing, you look lovely."

It was now James' turn to be stared at.

Regulus black and Physical Intimacy

*Pandora struggles to catch up with regulus so she reaches a hand out to grab his shoulder*

*Regulus smoothly dodges her hand like a cat and turns around*: sorry, I was distracted, did you say something?

*Pandora stares at her outstretched hand, slightly offended*

-

*Dorcas offering a drink*: Try it, it's actually surprisingly good.

*Regulus stares at her hand that's fully wrapped around the cup*

*Grabs the bottom of the cup with a down-side up hand-claw, then corrects his grip when it's fully out of her grasp*

Regulus, completely serious: well, it smells good, can't be truly awful.

*she stares at him with partly hidden judgement*

-

Regulus: Crouch, do you remember what professor Binns meant by this phrase?

*Barty uses this chance to get physically closer, attempting to wrap a hand around regulus's shoulder*

*A stinging hex is thrown his way and narrowly misses*

Barty, sighing: well, worth a shot

-

*Evan and Regulus reading together*

*Evan raises a hand to poke at Regulus's cheek*

Regulus, without missing a beat nor lifting his eyes from the book: no

*Evan slowly retracts his hand*

-

James: regulus...

*Regulus hums in answer*

James: can I touch you?

Regulus: you know the rules, in public only I initiate.

James, whining: but you never touch me

*Regulus rolls his eyes and stretches out a hand*

*James stares at it, confused*

Regulus, obviously teasing him: Oh, so head scratches aren't enough I take it?

*James, because he's not an idiot to haggle, immediately settles under the offered hand*

[cellophaine]

Chapter X: APPROACH

Masterlist

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x F!Reader, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan

Warnings: Angst.

Author's Note: I'm not going to apologize for what I've done, but I will apologize for uploading this chapter 10 minutes late.

GIF Source: @/spookyrps

2019. New Rochelle.

There was no music in the elevator, you noticed. You were alone with your thoughts that echoed back and forth in the chamber of your mind. Sleep didn't come easy the night before, even with the help of the prescribed sleeping pills you hardly ever reached for. After all these years, being face-to-face with Art still managed to draw a reaction from you. One that didn't make much sense. You were a different person now, as he was. Things had happened, and you had changed. Knowing that you were in the same building as Art Donaldson, separated by mere floors, shouldn't make you toss and turn in your bed. You were such a fool; you scolded yourself. He probably slept fine next to his gorgeous wife, with their adorable child in the room next to theirs.

Your likeness on the glossy surface of the elevator door appeared well-kempt, but it wasn't a truthful reflection of how you felt on the inside. The little makeup you used did its job, concealing the dark circles and adding colours to your face. Right there along the seam of yourself was the fatigue, worming its way into the slight slouch in your posture, weighing down your body's effort in keeping it upright. Remembering how your mom used to strike at your upper back so you would sit up straight, you straightened up out of an innate reflex.

The elevator door opened to reveal the first floor. You headed for the hallway Jennifer had led you down, barely passing the peripheral of Art as he stood there in the lobby, talking to a man you didn't recognize. You kept your face away from his direction and quickened your pace, hoping he hadn't spotted you yet. You sighed as the almost empty hallway welcomed you in, save for a couple of people ahead of you chattering about the seat placements. But the relief didn't last long. A familiar voice that you'd tried to forget for years called your name. The marble floor echoed the voice's owner's intention of catching up to you, hurried and rushed as if you were to disappear at any moment. You turned around, stopping him in his tracks – only a few steps from where you were standing.

Art was wearing casual attire, a fitted white t-shirt and black pants, yet he still managed to make them look phenomenal. He looked like he was about to head to practice. You remembered it, all those mornings after spending the night together, watching him getting ready for the day.

For a long moment, neither of you talked, only drinking each other in with your sights. Art broke the tension first, seeming to reprimand himself for staring at you.

"You look great."

"You, too."

You reciprocated, albeit a little cold. There was no reason for you to lie and no excuse for the conversation to be longer than it already was.

"It's good to see you."

You sighed and decided to cut to the chase.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a challenger."

"No, I meant here, right now."

You pointed to the distance between you. His answer lingered on the tip of his tongue, undecided, but eventually rolled off and made itself audible to your ears.

"I … I want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

You shook your head. Art took one step closer to you.

"I know that I'm not entitled to your time, but I've missed you."

The latter part ignited the anger in you. How could he say that so easily? You scoffed at his audacity; your own response came with a bite that aimed to hurt.

"I don't think your wife will appreciate what you've just said."

To your surprise, at the mention of the sore subject for the two of you, his resolve remained unchanged.

"Tashi has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with us."

"Not when she resents me."

For the first time in your tense exchange, you relented. You searched for Art's eyes, looking for a hint of betrayal, of deception, but instead, you found defeat. Your resolve softened, and you felt the familiar pull of a memory from when you first met at the Stanford cafeteria thirteen years ago. Two lonely people meeting one another, and now, finding themselves in each other's paths again.

But it should end here.

"Your marriage problem isn't my responsibility to solve."

"I know, and I'm not asking you to. I just … want to talk about us."

You shrugged, keeping your tone nonchalant.

"There's no more us."

At that moment, a mix of voices from a group of people came out from the conference room area, chatting among themselves. The two of you involuntarily took a small step away from each other as if the guilt by distance association was enough to make anyone suspicious. Art's desperation was clear as day.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

You couldn't say no, so you settled for the next best thing.

"I have to go."

"Can you at least think about it?"

Art closed the distance, reaching for your hand. You were pliant to his gentle touches, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that lapped at your conscience. A piece of paper was placed in your palm.

"Text me. I'll figure out something for us."

You said nothing to his promise and walked away; your skin felt hot from his touch. You headed straight for the conference room, and your hand slipped the note Art gave you into the pocket of your blazer.

Art's number had not been a resident in your contact for a very long time. You stared at the ten digits later that night in your room, and your fingers itched to do something about it. Burn it or throw it away; it didn't matter. You knew you should do either of those things, but in the end, you couldn't.

At about 12:40 AM, Art sent you the address to a local restaurant that was about a ten-minute drive from the hotel.

Tomorrow night. 7:30.

As the day drew closer to night, the knot in your stomach tightened even more in anticipation. You sat in the car in the restaurant's parking lot for a while despite being there early. When it was 7:38, knowing you couldn't delay it any longer, you straightened your simple outfit and walked into the restaurant. You were greeted by a bored hostess on a slow night; the place was almost empty, save for two other occupied spots. Art's table was in a more secluded area, where privacy was afforded by the enclosed booth with fake vines cascading down to the back of the leather seats in intricate weaves and big leaves. Art stood up when he saw you. The familiarity of the scene stirred a long-forgotten memory that happened seven years ago.

2012. Columbus, Ohio.

Your first book tour. After the reading and signing event, you were free to do whatever you wished, and that meant roaming the aisle of a grocery store, browsing for juice, painkillers and some chocolate. Your eyes pored over the nutritional value, or lack thereof, of a pack of chips when you felt a pair of eyes on you. That, on top of the fact that they wandered into your peripheral and hadn't made the slightest move. You did a double-take when you saw Patrick Zweig standing within arm's reach with a self-assuring smirk on his face.

"Hey. It's you."

"It's… you."

You echoed his recognition, but on the contrary to his amusement, yours was the faintest touch of dread.

"It's been a while."

"It has been. How are you?"

You turned to face him fully. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

"I'm … great! You?"

"I'm good. What are you doing here?"

Patrick looked around the aisle as if the answer was obvious.

"In this grocery store? I'm getting groceries."

You looked at the basket in his other hand. It was filled with chips, soda and some bananas.

"Right. No, I mean, in the city."

"I'm here for a challenger. Well, was."

"What happened?"

"I got eliminated."

He dipped his head and averted his eyes from yours, seeming embarrassed by the admission of the fact.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's alright. At least I'm $300 richer now."

Patrick gestured to you.

"What about you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a book tour."

"Ahh. Sounds like you're doing very well for yourself."

"Thank you."

You felt sheepish at his compliment. The two of you fell into a lull of silence, your eyes intertwined in a languid game of cat and mouse. Patrick looked like he wanted to tell you something, but you had nothing to say to him. So you broke the silence first.

"Well, uh, it's very nice to see you again. I should go."

He stepped forward, trying to capture your attention in the way his body language created an invisible enclosure that temporarily held you in.

"Wait. Can we go somewhere else to talk? I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Do we?"

You levelled him with an incredulous look. But he met you with earnestness.

"Yes, we do."

"I don't think so."

"They got married last month."

It took you a brief moment to understand. Still, his decision to break the news to you in an abrupt manner took you by surprise. Your heart seemed to drop into a bottomless pit, and you could feel the frantic beat of it thrumming along every inch of your skin. You quickly fixed your frown into a forced smile.

"Well, that's great to hear. I'm happy for them."

Patrick gave you a look that said your effort was all in vain.

"You don't mean that."

"We all have to move on at some point. Unlike you."

The venomous bite of your words didn't go unnoticed by the dark-haired man before you.

"If you knew what I know, then you would be just like me."

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

"Please, we're not the same. Stop being cryptic and just say what you want to say."

He tilted his head at you, an idea dancing in his blue eyes.

"How about this? I'll tell you over dinner. We can use some catching up."

Your lack of a response made him feel like he needed to apply a little pressure.

"You'll want to know what happened. Trust me."

You rolled your eyes. You couldn't believe you were seriously considering his offer. You exhaled deeply and decided then that spending some time with your ex's wife's ex-boyfriend was better than a night alone in the hotel room.

"Where and what time?"

His smirk deepened, and you wanted to wipe that off of his face.

"There's an Applebee's nearby. How about we meet up there … around 7?"

"Fine."

That was how you ended up here, sitting across from Patrick Zweig, sipping on a Rum and Coke while waiting for your food. Whatever he wanted to say to you might pair better with the taste of alcohol. You hadn't even bothered to change out of the sundress you wore just hours before when you ran into him.

"How's it going for you career-wise?"

Patrick took a sip of his drink to delay answering your question.

"Oh, you know, it's … good. I'm making a name for myself."

You recalled his grocery haul, the pair of shorts that resembled pyjama pants, and the state of his car when you arrived around the same time as he did. The interior was messy, with rolled-up socks and clothes draping all over the back seat, trash and parking tickets in the front. Doubt swelled in your head.

"Are you? I have a feeling that you wouldn't be sleeping in your car if that was the case."

A playful smile appeared on his lips.

"Ouch. The hostel I was staying in had bed bugs, so my car was the next best option. I'll go to a motel after this, though."

You hummed, thinking back about what Art had told you about Patrick.

"Isn't your family rich?"

"They are. Not me."

His long middle finger traced the rim of his drink in a pensive mood.

"Why don't you ask them for help?"

"I don't want to. Let's just say we always fail to come to an agreement when it comes to the choices that I've made."

Your acknowledgement came in the form of slow nods of your head. You understood him for not wanting to depend on your family for anything. It would only give them one more reason to call you a disappointment for daring to seek their help.

The waiter brought out your food, and your conversation was pulled into a lull of quietude as you ate your food. You dabbed the corner of your mouth for a drop of the creamy pasta sauce, while Patrick munched on three pieces of fries. You picked up what was left off moments ago.

"You're still privileged in a way, you know? You could give up and crawl back to your family's mansion. I'm sure they'll welcome you back with open arms."

"I could. But there's no fun in that. Besides, I prefer being a disappointment anyway."

You shared a small chuckle. Under the low light of the restaurant, you allowed yourself to take him in fully. Curly dark hair, contrasted with the soft edges of his face. The light stubble along his jaw added a rugged charm to his laid-back attitude. You couldn't help but compare him to Art. Patrick's confidence was loud, veering on cocky. Art's was quiet, but full of surprises when the moment called for it.

The heady allure of Patrick and his association with Art had started to draw up dangerous ideas in your mind. You inhaled sharply, your fingers rubbed your temple in small circles in an attempt to bring yourself back to the conversation. The one you needed to have the moment you settled in the booth of Applebee's.

"So … they got married."

"Yeah. Pretty recently. Didn't even get an invite."

A sardonic huff of air escaped your lips.

"Join the club. I found out about their engagement last year, but I didn't think …"

You trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. But the silence did it for you. Patrick nodded.

"Art moves fast. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. And no one can tell him otherwise."

"I know it all too well."

"Little fucker."

You took a sip of your second Rum and Coke. A deep sigh escaped your lungs.

"I get it, though. She's beautiful, she's passionate about tennis. She can help him in ways that I can't."

At that, Patrick stayed quiet. His eyes took you in, all of your honesty and insecurity displayed in a glass case in front of him. You felt the briefest brush of vulnerability on your spine and shivered, but you ignored it. Despite the lack of dialogue and contact during the short period Patrick visited Stanford, your shared history ran deeper than the surface-level interaction that you had.

Patrick set down his burger and wiped his mouth with the napkin. His fingers created a rhythm on the wooden table, but then, the dull melody was cut short.

"Art is devoted to Tashi, but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

You prompted him to continue.

"Tennis is not everything to Art. But to Tashi, it is."

"I figured as much. It's not new news."

An inkling that Patrick was deliberately withholding information from you came to your mind. You sat up straighter, setting your fork down.

"Spill, Patrick."

He relented after a moment.

"I was in Atlanta last year. A couple of months after they got engaged."

You looked at him, unsure where he was going.

"Both of them were there for the Atlanta Open. I … saw Tashi in the hotel they were staying that night, and we … slept together."

You searched for a hint of deception in his face, only to come up with none. His face remained unreadable, betraying nothing, leaving only sincerity despite the irony of the situation. Your mouth opened, and closed, as you were at a loss for words. Patrick shrugged as if what he had just confessed was no more than a harmless, made-up tale.

"She wants an obedient little dog to carry out her fantasy of being a great tennis player. And Art is more than eager to do that for her."

He continued, seeming oblivious to your lack of response.

"She didn't seem happy, being engaged to Art. And if I can be honest, I think Tashi only likes Art because he's loyal to her to a fault, and he'll do anything to please her. I don't think she even loves him."

That somehow took you out of your bewildered state.

"Are you even listening to yourself? He was your best friend."

"My best friend? Who sabotaged my relationship, stole my girlfriend and basically abandoned me for her?"

Your rebuttal shot forward like a bullet out of its chamber.

"So you slept with her? To revenge? Even though she was engaged to Art? You're no better than him, Patrick. Two wrongs don't make one right."

You shook your head and couldn't help the thought that rolled off of your lips.

"You tennis players are such fucking assholes."

Patrick only nodded in agreement and didn't say anything. You sighed, asking the question you'd wanted to know.

"Does Art know?"

"I don't think so."

You shook your head, feeling a wave of fatigue taking over.

"I've had enough of you people. Just leave me alone."

He held his hands up in defence.

"All I'm saying is, you still have a chance if you want it."

You gave a rueful smile.

"Am I an idiot for wanting to believe you?"

He took his time, roaming over you with a pensive gaze. You felt exposed under it, after the confession you had never dared to verbalize out loud. Perhaps it was both of your positions in this game of tennis, the back and forth that inexplicably wove the four of you together in these intricate patterns, so tightly entangled with one another, that made you feel like Patrick would recognize. There was only understanding, and no judgement. The irony was that. Tennis was a simple game when you stripped it down to its barest principles, but the interconnection between everyone was anything but simple.

"No, you're not. You must really love him."

You looked down at your empty glass, unable to meet his eyes.

"I hate that I still feel this way about him."

Even though both of you were hurt by Art, you couldn't help the question that came afterward.

"Do you miss him?"

Patrick was his best friend, and Art was his. They had a life-long history between them that you weren't privy to. Your pain and his were different in kind, but you could understand all the same.

"I do."

The rest of the meal was cast in a sombre hue, with both of you mulling over a mutual understanding and the similarities you shared. Neither of you was the winner, but that didn't matter now.

/

"You didn't have to pay for my meal as well."

He said as you walked together to his car. You came here by taxi, and Patrick had offered to give you a ride back to your hotel. You waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't mention it. Giving me a ride back is enough."

His car was only within a few strides away when Patrick stepped in front of you.

"I can do more than that, you know? To pay you back."

"How?"

"I, we, can make Art jealous."

You halted and repeated your previous question. He arched an eyebrow, his expression said nothing but trouble, and when understanding dawned on you, you levelled him with a glare.

"No. Sleeping with you is the last thing I need right now."

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

You scoffed at the obvious bait, sidestepping him to reach the passenger side of his car.

"We can make out, take a photo, and I'll send it to Art. Make him realize what he's missing."

"If you want to kiss me, just say that. No need to make up excuses."

You rolled your eyes at him and realized just how much closer Patrick was to you than moments ago. He dipped his head to look at you, his gaze traced the shape of your lips and drifted to your eyes. When he spoke, his voice softened, low and careful, and your curiosity responded, pushing back the guard your inhibition had put up.

"I really do."

He leaned in, and you rose on your tiptoes to meet his lips. The touch was gentle and slow at first as you tested the pieces you needed to fit together. Then Patrick took over, and you followed his lead. His presence was all-encompassing, sweeping over your senses. Your lips lapsed and locked together in a feverish rhythm, a playful and exhilarating chase of lust. His tongue prodded at your entrance, and you opened yourself up to him. Your tongues intertwined, determined to draw whatever you needed from the other.

You didn't know when Patrick had pushed you up against his car, but you were grateful as your strength had become dependent on him. The cold metal of his car and the solid yet soft feel of his body created delicious friction on your skin. You grasped at each other's body, groping and pulling, your lips barely parted for a much-needed gulp of air. He grunted when you bit his lower lip, and that earned you a harsh, handful squeeze of your ass under your sundress. Your body called to his, and yet, a small part of your mind beckoned you to resurface, to come to the admission of the truth that you had been running away from.

Your ardour exchange slowed as you parted to breathe. Still, you met each other in the middle for brief touches, and you eventually pulled away. Patrick's thumb rubbed at the curve of your bottom lip as if he were admiring his work of art, which was swollen and glistening with his mark. His whisper was warm on your lips.

"Did you think about him?"

You nodded and swallowed.

"Did you think about her?"

It took him a moment, but he nodded. A woeful smile graced your swollen lips.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Revenge is always a good idea."

You touched his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"You don't win by sleeping with me. I don't want to be a perpetual pawn in the game that all three of you play. Besides, I don't think Art cares anymore."

Patrick shook his head.

"About what happened all those years ago? Maybe not. But I think he still cares about you."

"It doesn't make a difference though, does it?"

"I guess not."

You playfully and gently pushed him back, making Patrick set you down on your own shaky legs. Your front brushed against his arousal, and you bit your bottom lip in amusement.

"Come on, you still have to drive me back."

Before getting out of his car in front of your hotel, you reached for his hand.

"It was nice to see you again, Patrick. I really mean it."

His hand came up to meet yours, giving it a soft squeeze.

"You, too. I'm glad that we got to catch up."

You left his car without saying another word. Your heart was heavy, but at ease. Moving on and forward was your only option, but it felt much easier now. Still, you wished you would never have to see any of them ever again.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

���I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[captainsophiestark]

Nothing Wrong With Emotions

Platonic!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024! Requested by Anon! Hope you like it, Nonnie, and thanks for being patient through the delay!

Fandom: Star Wars

Day Twenty-Six Prompt: "You were the first."

Summary: Anakin's at the beginning of the worst two days of his life. Thankfully, his best friend is there when he needs them, and they're more emotionally intelligent than some of the other Jedi.

Word Count: 4,903

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

My mind whirled as I marched through the halls of the Jedi temple, the length of my to-do list rapidly creeping towards overwhelming. This war had been going on for far too long, and even worse, there'd been a growing disturbance in the Force that had been nagging at the back of my mind for days. I kept glancing outside, expecting to see dark storm clouds through the windows to reflect the storm I felt coming with every fiber of my being, but the bright blue sky was unobstructed.

Something was wrong. I knew it, and so did the entire Jedi Council and then some. But none of us could quite figure out what.

Until anything more concrete could be figured out, we all still had mountains of work to accomplish. I needed to visit Jocasta in the Archives, check out five different books, bring a few to the Creche, meet with Master Windu-

My mind and body came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway like I'd physically run into a wall. My to-do list, the lurking low-level disturbance in the Force, and just about everything else in my mind had just been shoved violently to the side by the feelings being put out by my best friend, who was apparently just down the hall from me.

Anakin Skywalker and I had met when he became a Padawan. We'd crossed paths regularly enough and spent enough time together that we'd bonded quickly, and now, he was probably my closest friend in all the worlds. As a result, I could usually read and feel him through the Force better than anyone else. But with the knot of negative emotions he was putting out right now, I was betting a Jedi in the Outer Rim would be able to notice.

I frowned, dropping my data pad on the nearest table and turning to go after Anakin. I had no idea what could've caused the hornet's nest of energy my best friend was putting out, but there was no way I was going to go about my day and ignore it.

I had to jog a little to catch up to him, since he was walking away from me. I caught him at the end of one of the Temple's hallways, seemingly headed for the hanger. I grabbed his elbow before he could round the corner, and he whirled on me with such a fierce scowl that, had it been anybody else, I would've flinched.

"Ani? What's wrong?"

Anakin practically growled, his shoulders up by his ears and his jaw clenched. Still, he had the gaull to say, "Nothing."

I scoffed. "My friend, I've never seen a more obvious lie in my life. I know you much better than that, although you apparently don't think so."

That negative air around Anakin instensified. He was clearly hanging on by a thread. I glanced around the hallway, and although no one else was around, I knew from first-hand experience that the Jedi Temple wasn't always the best place to process strong emotions.

"Alright, how about we go somewhere else?" I suggested, gently taking Anakin's arm again. He kept his glare trained on me, the swarming storm still clearly raging, but he didn't try to pull away from me either. Gently, slowly, I led Anakin away from the Temple, and thankfully, he followed.

"Where are we going?" Anakin barked, the first words he'd managed since his lie in the hallway. I glanced back at him with a smile.

"A place that's good for processing shit. Just trust me for a minute, okay?"

Anakin didn't respond, but he didn't make a move to leave, either, and the dark cloud centered on his chest didn't get any bigger. We climbed into my speeder, and after a short ride, parked at the top of one of the tallest buildings on the planet. The sun had just started to set, painting the sky in beautiful colors that didn't match the lurking darkness at all.

I hopped out, and when Anakin didn't immediately follow me, I motioned for him to do the same. After another moment's hesitation, he slowly climbed out of the passenger seat, glaring doubtfully around us.

"What is this place?" he asked. His tone had lost some of its gravel, which was a relief. I smiled and spread my arms wide, gesturing to the rooftop before us.

"This is paradise," I said. "A smaller, separate loction to the Coruscant Gardens. I made friends with the gardeners here a while ago, and they agreed to let me come up here and hang out whenever I wanted, as long as I don't hurt the plants. It's become my favorite place to be when I need... space. From the rest of the Jedi, to process things, from the war and the senate and whatever else... for anything, really."

"What do you mean, when you need space from the rest of the Jedi?"

I turned back to Anakin with a raised eyebrow. The set of his shoulders alone told me he knew exactly what I meant by "space from the Jedi", but they also told me he might not be in the mood to be teased about it.

"Well... you know, sometimes the Council and everybody can get a little... stuffy. And they taught me a lot of great techniques for managing my emotions, but meditation takes a lot of fucking practice and doesn't always work for me, especially in the middle of a storm. So, I've found other strategies for when the regular Jedi ones don't work. And from the energy you're putting out into the world right now, I thought you could use something like that."

Anakin frowned, but he took a few steps closer to me, away from the speeder. I gave him a tentative smile.

"Are you saying meditation doesn't work for you? That... that what the masters have taught us doesn't work for you?"

I shrugged. "A lot of the time, it does. More and more the more I practice. But sometimes, no, Ani, it doesn't work for me. The feelings are too strong or get too built up, and I need another way to bleed off steam before the kettle boils over, so to speak. Like this!"

I turned from Anakin and raised my hand, using the Force to start the program I'd put together up here years ago. To the side of the garden, in the empty parking space next to my speeder, a plate shot up and into the air. I used my blaster to shoot it before it could come back down, and I grinned as the thing shattered to pieces. Then, I turned back to Anakin with a smile.

"It's more satisfying to smash the plates by hand, but I can't do that from a distance, and I wanted to show off."

Anakin just stared at me for a long moment. To my relief, his surprise and confusion seemed to be taking over some of the space his anger had been occupying before.

"Are you really telling me that when you're angry... you come up here and smash plates?"

"When I get angry enough, yeah. It's not a fix, though, it's just a pressure vent. When I really feel like I'm going to lose it—like when I heard about what General Krell did, and all I wanted to do was go kill him in his cell—I come up here and let some of that rage vent off. Then, it's easier for me to use other, less destructive strategies to manage things. But Ani, I don't think I need to tell you, trying to mediate when you feel like your blood is boiling and every nerve in your body is screaming? It's... not the easiest thing to do."

"No," he said, voice grim and the scowl back on his face. "No, it isn't."

"So then let's smash some plates! Come on, I promise it'll help. And then maybe you can tell me a little bit about what's wrong. Talking usually does wonders for strong emotions, too."

Anakin looked dubious, but we'd been through so much together that he trusted me enough to try.

Anakin moved into the space I'd specfically designed as a sort of protected area for plate-smashing, picking up the first thing he saw. He held it up, but paused briefly and turned back to me. The rage swirled around so strongly, I swear it almost manifested physically around him.

"And you won't tell the Council about this?"

I snorted. "No! Fuck the Council! Smash some plates!"

Anakin huffed, then didn't wait another second to do as I said. He moved like lightning, grabbing one plate and then another, hurling each one into the ground. He kept going, getting more and more worked up, the anger rising up and around him as he let it all out. He became more and more frenzied, then slammed one last plate into the ground so hard that parts of it became dust, before letting out a long, loud scream.

I just watched him, being careful not to let my emotions bleed out through the Force too much. Watching my best friend clearly in so much pain was tearing me up, but I knew Anakin would hate the pity, so I needed to move past it for both our sakes.

Finally, as the scream died out with the last of Anakin's air on that breath, he slumped forward, breathing hard. Still, his shoulders were lower than his ears for the first time since I'd found him in the hallway, and that roaring wave of anger had quieted a little, being joined with frustration and sadness.

I gave him a second, then slowly approached when I was sure he wasn't going to reach for another plate. I put a hand gently on his shoulder, and when he turned to face me, I found him with tears streaming down his face and the same fierce scowl he'd had earlier.

"Anakin," I said, trying to strike the right balance of calm and firm. "Talk to me."

"I can't," he ground out. "I can't talk to you!"

"Why? I swear, everything stays between us. But the plates are just the first part, Ani. The second part is talking things out and finding a way to move forward-"

"No!" He'd been shaking his head for most of my speech, but he broke in when he couldn't take it anymore. "There are things you don't know, that I can't tell you!"

I studied his face, trying to figure out what exactly he might be referring to. I had a couple of theories, but Anakin still didn't seem to be in a good place to respond to theories, so I decided to take a different approach.

"Okay... is there any part of what's bothering you that you can talk to me about? Even something smaller, that's been part of the buildup? Or you could just tell me about the feelings without talking about the cause."

Anakin took a few deep breaths, clenching his jaw as he took heavy breaths in and out. He looked to be at war with himself, so I just concentrated on putting out calm, non-judgemental energy and hoped for the best.

Slowly, Anakin straightened. I let my hand drop back to my side, but I didn't take a step back. A lot of the manic energy had disappated from Anakin, but none of the emotions had yet.

"Master Windu doesn't trust me. I- I found the Sith Lord."

"What?" I cried, leaning forward and grabbing Anakin's forearm. "Anakin, are you serious?"

"It's Chancellor Palpatine."

I just blinked at him for a few moments, trying to take that information in. Then it was my turn for some fear and negative emotions to take root in my chest.

"Shit. Are you sure? Of course you're sure. Oh, this is the absolute worst-case scenario. Anakin, did you tell Windu? What did he say? If he's not going to do something, we-"

"He's going to confront the Chancellor with Masters Fisto, Tiin, and Kolar. I told him that the Chancellor is very powerful, and that they might need my help. I offered to go! But he refused to let me come. Told me to sit and wait for their return in the Council Chambers."

I frowned again, my mind racing a million miles an hour. I didn't let go of Anakin, and I could feel just how carefully he was watching me. Knowing that Windu and other Jedi had gone after the Chancellor was simultaneously scary and a relief, but in both cases, it meant he was currently someone else's problem. I could put that on the backburner to pay attention to my best friend, at least for now. I took a deep breath and shook my head.

"You think Windu told you to wait in the Council Chamber because... he doesn't trust you?"

"I know it. He told me himself I'd earn his trust only after he returned from confronting the Chancellor, only if I was correct."

I narrowed my eyes and huffed. "That's fucking ridiculous."

"You sound angry."

"I am angry. You've been here for a long time, Anakin, and you've done so much for the Order and for the galaxy as a whole. If Windu has a problem, he at least could've put it a little more diplomatically."

"I don't think I've ever seen you angry before."

The shock of that statement was enough to shake me out of my thought. I met Anakin's eyes with surprise.

"What? Yes you have."

"No, I haven't," he said, a bit of irritation in his voice. Thankfully, it was the kind I normally heard from him whenever we bickered, not the more serious kind. "Jedi don't get angry, just like you, and just like Obi-Wan, and just like every other damned Jedi but me!"

"Anakin... what? Of course Jedi get angry! Do you not remember me threatening to kill Kenobi when he threw out the Outer Rim delicacy I tracked down while we were out there because 'he thought it looked spoiled'? I literally almost punched him in the nose!"

"No, I don't remember that!"

"Kriffing hell! You must've been training or something with Ahsoka. Whatever. The point is, Anakin, everybody gets angry. Everybody humanoid, at least! It's emotion, which all of us have. Even Obi-Wan, who I'll admit, is remarkably good at not letting anything get to him."

Anakin just stared at me, looking absolutely thunderstruck, so I continued.

"We also, like you and everyone else, get sad and scared and exhausted and irritated. And happy and excited and impatient! It's normal to feel, Anakin. I'm sorry if somebody made you believe otherwise."

He started shaking his head, slowly and then much more quickly and frantic.

"No. No, that's not the Jedi way. The Jedi aren't supposed to feel, we aren't allowed to feel."

"If that were true every last one of us would've been kicked out years ago! Anakin, you can't control your feelings. You can control how you handle them, and that's what they're always trying to teach us at the Temple. But there's no amount of training or pratice or meditiation or whatever that can just magically make you not feel anger, ever again."

I saw Anakin's mind working as it processed what I'd just said. He seemed to accept it, at least, before I could feel his attention shift in the Force, and his fierce scowl returned.

"Even if you're right, no amount of 'handling' would help me."

"What are you talking about? Come on, Ani, I'm your best friend! If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"

"No one! I already told you, no one! I'm... I'm running out of time..." The sharp storm of anger changed abruptly into one of fear as Anakin's attention shifted away from me and back to the city. "We've been here too long. I need to go, now!"

He started taking off for the speeder, and it took my brain a few moments to catch up to his 180 degree shift. Once it did, I ran after him.

"Anakin, stop! Please, talk to me!"

I caught the edge of his robe and pulled it back. The moment I did, Anakin whirled on me, his expression a storm that threatened to bowl me flat. Still, I didn't flinch, and I didn't give up an inch.

"I can't be here! I'm running out of time! Padmé-"

He stopped abruptly and scowled even deeper, but the name was already out of his mouth.

"I knew this had something to do with her! Come on, Ani, talk to me. What's wrong? Is she okay? Is she mad at you? Is somebody coming after her again?"

"It's... It's none of your concern!"

Anakin whipped around again, pulling his robes out of my grip, but I called after him.

"If something's wrong with my good friend and my best friend's wife, then it's absolutely my concern!"

That got Anakin to stop dead in his tracks. He turned back around to me, his expression wild as the wind from up here blew his hair. I just stared back with a raised eyebrow.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded. I scoffed.

"Anakin, please! I'm your best friend, and the two of you are absolute shit at hiding it! I literally walked into the kitchen on one of the Cruisers and found you guys making out."

"When?" he demanded, sounding indignant.

"You'd know if you'd had an ounce of awareness! You were so busy making out with your wife that you literally didn't even notice I was there. I turned around and walked out because I did not want to see that for another second, and you clearly wanted to keep it a secret on some level. But this was months ago."

Anakin looked like I'd just shoved him over. I put a hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to recover from his shock enough speak again. When he'd just about got there, I continued.

"Now seriously, Ani. If something's wrong with Padmé or your future child that you conveniently forgot to tell your best friend about, I want to know about it. I want to help you."

Anakin blinked a few more times, then finally sighed. He took a few steps towards me (and away from the speeder), his shoulders slumping.

"I... I've been having these dreams. I haven't been able to tell anyone but Padmé about them, and she keeps telling me they're nothing. But they weren't nothing when I was having dreams about my mother."

I closed the rest of the distance between us, putting an arm around Anakin as I eased him into sitting on one of the garden's benches, close to the edge of the parking lot. His hands shook as he held them up to emphasize his speaking, and the second he noticed, he shoved them between his legs.

"I keep having nightmares about Padmé dying with our children, as she's having them. There's something very wrong, but she won't believe me, and I can't talk to anyone else about it without telling them about our relationship. It's on me to save her. The Chancellor seemed to know, seemed to want to help me... and I don't know that I have another choice anymore."

"...Anakin. You just told me yourself that he's a Sith lord."

"But what other choice do I have?" he cried, exploding again. "I won't lose her. I won't let her die! I was too late to save my mother, I won't be too late to save Padmé. Master Windu says he doesn't trust me because he can feel my fear, but how else am I supposed to feel?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I put my hand on Anakin's shoulder again. He was seething, but he tolerated it.

"Your fear is valid, Anakin. If I had recurring nightmares about losing you, I'd be sticking to you like glue on missions. And that's without the factor of children! But if you starting taking rash, drastic actions as a result of that fear—like trusting a Sith lord who's been lying and manipulating his way through the Jedi for years—it might just cause exactly what you're scared of in the first place."

"So what are you saying? You're telling me I should do nothing, too?"

"No! Just... take a few deep breaths, and make your decisions with as rational a head as you can. From what I remember you telling me, Anakin, the dreams about your mom were actually visions happening in real time. And I'm sorry to remind you of that at all, but that means they were different than your dreams of Padmé. I saw her walking around the senate chambers today. She's not already dead."

Anakin took a deep breath as, to my relief, my words seemed to manage to get through to him, at least a little bit. When he spoke again, it was at a normal volume despite the words being a bit strained.

"That doesn't change the fact that she's in danger. Just because she's alright for now doesn't mean that she won't be-"

He broke off, clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut tight. I moved my hand from his shoulder to take both of his hands in mine.

"Has Padmé gone to her doctor lately? To check out whether anything is wrong? She's due soon, isn't she?"

"Yes. She's due soon. I don't know if she's been to a doctor since the dreams started. The Jedi... things have been keeping me from her recently."

"Well, okay then. For Padmé's sake and your own, let's sit up here and take a few deep breaths. I know that sounds like what everyone else in the Order's been telling you, but we did smash plates earlier, so I'm hoping you'll trust me. Then, once we're acknowleding the fear but making it take a backseat on decision-making, we can go see Padmé. We'll talk to her, and go see her doctor, just to check everything out and make sure it's all okay. I'll go with you to maintain the 'friendship' cover as much as possible. With all of the technology and medicine available to us, Anakin—especially since Padmé serves in the senate and you're a Jedi—any complications should be completely treatable and preventable. Then, once you're feeling alright about that, we can make a choice."

Anakin narrowed his eyes, then raised an eyebrow at me.

"And what choice is that?"

"If you want to stay with Padmé, we stay with Padmé. If you want to talk to Windu, we work together and come up with a plan for you to talk to Windu. Hopefully, by the time we get back to the Temple, he and the others will have defeated Palpatine and we can put all this behind us. But one way or another, we can practice and work out a conversation starter for you to discuss with him why he doesn't trust you, and how that makes you feel. It might not change his mind, but I really think it'll make you feel better to get it out there and talk about it with him. Calmly, though. As much as you might want to yell at him, and as nice as it might feel in the moment, it'll only make you worse off in the end. Which is why we come up here to smash plates first."

To my immense relief, that last part made Anakin crack the smallest of smiles. The knot of fear and lingering anger was still there, but much smaller, and confined to just a part of my best friend. That overwhelming knot I'd noticed earlier was almost entirely gone.

"I... think I like that plan. At least the first part of it."

"Good, then let's go do it. Just remember, Ani: I'm here for you. Odds are good that you're going to feel really scared and really angry again as we deal with the next few days. And that's normal. We just have to practice managing it, and I'm here for you whenever you need help with that."

"...Does that mean I officially get access to this place whenever I want it?" He gestured to the garden and smaller plate-smashing station around us, and I smiled.

"Sure. But you're gonna have to do some shopping for cheap plates before you come up here again. Believe it or not, I'm just about out."

"Seems like a pretty low number of plates you had up here. Aren't you supposed to be more prepared than that as a Jedi Knight?"

"Plate shopping was on my long list of errands for today. But... I ended up having more important things to do with my day."

The two of us shared a smile, and although Anakin's was weak, it felt like the sun shining down on us to me. We weren't out of the storm yet, but looking at my best friend in that moment, I knew we were both going to get to the other side okay.

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

"Oh... my stars."

I grinned, my feeling echoing Obi-Wan's as the two of us and Ahsoka were led into the delivery room. Padmé laid in the bed, a baby cradled in her arms, and Anakin stood beside her with the other baby in his.

After Anakin and I's long talk on the roof, and after getting through some of the immediate aftermath of dealing with Chancellor Palpatine being a Sith lord, he'd finally decided to share his and Padmé's "secret" with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, along with Rex, Cody, and a few of the other clones we'd been to hell and back with. Literally all of them had already known, but everyone other than Obi-Wan pretended to be surprised for Anakin's sake, and the knowledge meant a lot more to all of us now that Anakin had voluntarily shared it with us.

Even after all the doctor's appointments and support from his friends, I could feel the weight that had lifted from Anakin's shoulders with Padmé sitting in bed now, tired but healthy, their babies just as healthy and delivered in their arms.

"Wanna hold her? Her name's Leia," Anakin said, gently holding the baby in his arms out to Obi-Wan. He looked about knocked flat, but gingerly held his arms out all the same.

"Of course I do."

Anakin smiled, gently putting Leia into Obi-Wan's arms. Ahsoka headed over towards Padmé, and I was about to follow her when Anakin caught me, taking my arm and gently pulling me aside.

"Do you have a minute?"

I nodded, following Anakin as he led me just out of the room and into the hallway. I raised an eyebrow, but I could tell from Anakin's energy and the smile on his face that this was nothing bad.

"I have something to ask you."

"Okay... spit it out then. Dad."

Anakin's smile was enough to outshine the sun, and it warmed my heart to see him like that.

"Well, Padmé and I talked, and... since both of our lives are so dangerous, and since I may or may not be able to continue in the Order depending on how well we can continue to hide our secret..."

I scoffed, but Anakin ignored me.

"We wanted to make you the honorary, support-parent of the twins. I'm not going to let anything happen to us, but if something ever did... we want you to take them. And either way, we want you to be involved in their lives as... a mentor, of sorts."

"Anakin... I don't need a title or an official invitation to do everything I can to be in their lives. Frankly, not even death could stop me. Since Force ghosts exist and all."

Anakin grinned. "I know that. But I want you to have the title anyway. I mean, who better to help guide my kids through life than the person who made sure I didn't let my fear ruin any shot at actually seeing them?"

"...Surely someone else has told you that emotions are a normal, healthy thing for you to be feeling?"

"Believe it or not? You were the first."

I smiled, then moved forward to wrap Anakin in a tight hug. He didn't waste a second returing the gesture.

"I would be honored to play a role like that in the twins' life, Ani," I said, not letting go of him as I spoke. "Thank you for trusting me with it."

"Thank you for helping me get a hold of everything. I love Obi-Wan, but... he never managed to teach it the way you did. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't found me when you did."

I squeezed Anakin tight, letting the seriousness live on for another moment before pulling away with a grin.

"Are you kidding me? I'll always find you, whether you want me to or not. I'm your best friend. You can't get rid of me, and you can't hide anything from me. And don't you forget it."

Anakin scoffed and rolled his eyes, but I could see how genuine the smile on his face was. I clapped him on the shoulder and took a step back towards the delivery room.

"Come on. I'm honorary guardian of the twins, and I haven't even met them yet. Obi-Wan's been holding Leia for long enough, it's my turn now."

"Good luck getting her back. Did you see the look on his face? I think I'm going to have to force him to let her go."

The two of us shared a laugh as we reentered the delivery room. The past few years of the war and the past few weeks especially had been brutal, on all of us. And there was still a lot of work to be done putting things right. But some very, very good things had come out of it, too, and no matter what came next, we'd always have each other.

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

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