#this ask was very thoughtfully written so i took the time to give a thoughtful response :-)

[teruthecreator]

As someone who started reading Side Quest based on the fanart I saw and was blissfully ignorant to most of the problems you pointed out, I just wanted to thank you for your post. The thing that stuck out to me while reading that fic was the entire Toichiro rewriting. Every interaction he had made me so angry while reading and looking back I think a big part of that has to do with how out of character he's been. I had been partway through chapter 11 when I stumbled upon your post and decided to finish it through that new perspective. Tbh, I don't even think I would have needed it to ask myself wtf was going on because once it hit Reigen encountering Toichiro in the tower Toichiro instantly starts calling Reigen a slut. This chapter was already kinda slow compared to the rest because it was just a retelling of what happens in the episodes, and what was interesting about this fic when I first read it was the new scenes that were added, but simply adding unnecessary comments to a known scene and focusing on how Reigen doesn't have sex and doesn't know where he got these accusations from was very off-putting.

As for everything else, aside from not having dealt with anything like that and not immediately noticing how things were worded, I want to say I likely chalked it up to plot. I think I read a lot of things passively just to see what people write about without thinking too much about how they're writing about it. And maybe that's a flaw on my end, just being bored and randomly throwing a dart on a dartboard to consume more media regardless of what it is (mostly, I do have limits).

But I do agree that the author should be more ridged with her tags. I've written fics before and I always try to include every little things I can think of in the tags, even if that might get me less views or "spoil the story" because I'd rather everyone know what they're getting into instead of them getting surprised by it. When I first started reading I was surprised to see that it was labeled "explicit" even though none of the tags clued me into why it was written like that, unless the grooming was more intense than what my baseline thoughts on grooming are, but if said grooming does lead to anything more then it should be tagged as such.

Another thing that has been bothering me about this has been the fact that since chapter 9, the author has mentioned that "there is a fairly explicit scene, marked by <3... it's not just porn... etc." I can somewhat understand not fully tagging an unfinished work, since in my experience I didn't think I'd post a second part to one or I started posting without having the entire story fully fleshed out so things take a different direction than what I originally expected, but I always go back and make sure the tags are fully updated every time I post. The fact that this was mentioned and then nothing in the tags were updated was kind of strange. I skimmed through chapter 12 since it was posted yesterday to see if this scene was finally going to be put it, and low and behold I did see the <3. There's something about continuously reminding people to watch out for the explicit sign each chapter and then it not appearing until 4 chapters later. What's the point of unnecessarily making your reader expect this to show up after every paragraph they read only for it to be 40k or however many words away. Personally, I'd understand warning of this the chapter before it happens and the chapter of (or, you know, in the tags as well), but that far away feels like you're trying to string the readers who want to get to that scene along and just scaring those who are ready to skip it. I haven't read it so I can't say what the scene is about and how fair this warning is, but again being surprised about the fact that this fic has an explicit scene somewhere is something readers shouldn't have to deal with if tagged properly.

This turned out to be a way bigger reply than I originally intended, but if you'd like a few more screenshots to add to your collection here's all of the out of pocket Toichiro replies:

first off, you rlly don't need to thank me for that post, but i appreciate it anyway :-) its something thats been on my mind for a while, and with its rapid popularity i was simply confused how people weren't seeing what i was seeing. i do wanna say that nobody should feel bad/guilty for reading this or liking it without seeing the content i mentioned. as i mentioned at the end of that post, people's personal experiences will inform how they consume media and what blindspots they may have, and i'm certainly not here to judge anyone for that. i Am happy to hear that someone who had been reading the fic was able to hear my criticism and consume the fic in a new light, so thank You for sending this ask!

you brought up a topic that i wanted to touch on but didn't rlly have room on the other post, but yeah toichiro's characterization throughout this fic is strange and Extremely ooc. it feels like she was purposely building him up to be the worst character in the story--a true villain, as it were. which is funny bc mob psycho doesn't even have true villains bc the show is about second chances and connections and trying again. but with the racism, plus the eugenics/creepy remarks, plus the overtly sexual manipulation and grooming, she turned toichiro into a kind of cartoon caricature of a villain. which was wholly unnecessary and, in fact, creepy! and not funny! and strange!

but the thing that annoyed me more than that was how she tried to walk it back. there are several moments where toichiro is calling out to his ex-wife in his sleep, asking for forgiveness and shit. which, for one, would not have happened at this point in the story. it is very explicitly shown through wd arc that toichiro's First moment of realization is when he's down in that basement area with mob, when he flashes back to his ex wife leaving and suddenly realizes what he missed. toichiro before this moment was not thinking mournfully about his wife. he wasn't thinking about his wife At All. he pushed the memory of his family out to make way for his plan, something that then becomes a key point to him accepting help from other people! so like. there's that. but Also having toichiro have these quiet moments of vulnerability feels like the author's way of rolling back her own characterization, which just makes the whole thing messy and hard to read. from the way she's written him, toichiro is NOT a character people should be empathizing with. he is a groomer and a racist and a creep and all of that together is like. a recipe for someone who needs to just be shoved off the face of the planet. but she works in these moments of "humanity" to try and bring toichiro back to where he's at in canon, likely so she can write out some kind of silent redemption (or hint at redemption) like how canon does. but in this case that redemption would feel gross because she turned his character into something so statically evil that it feels impossible to forgive.

and yeah, those quotes are absolutely ridiculous. like they border on comedy, but really they just sound awful coming out of his mouth. i know this phrase has been used a million times over but HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!

also to talk on the topic of tags (which i do agree with you on), i do find it strange that she refused to put ANY tags on the fic with the proper warnings for explicit content, but seemingly had the time to make that reminder each and every chapter. because in reality she really only needed that warning on ONE chapter--the chapter that has the explicit scene! but i do agree that simply tagging it would save her readers the emotional labor of having to keep an eye out for a sex scene they might not be ready to deal with. especially with the content of some of these later chapters (the ones ive seen, anyway), having the looming threat of an explicit scene could make some readers uneasy!!! (im talking specifically abt the chapters where toichiro is making moves on serizawa in an effort to manipulate him. i understand the author did mention in an authors note that this wouldnt happen, but i'd also like to point out that she HID THIS PART OF THE AUTHORS NOTE. so you had to make the decision to "spoil" yourself just to see if someone was going to be sa'd or not. which i think is wrong; an author should always prioritize the safety and comfort of their readers above any potential "spoilers")

and to wrap up with one last thing, just a more general thought: i think there is a difference between content that includes dark topics in a thoughtful way and content that includes dark topics in an edgy way, and this fic definitely leans towards the latter. a lot of these outlandishly mature topics are treated like throwaway jokes or shock value items, which feels inappropriate when we are dealing with topics of such weight like racism, transphobia, child impregnation (again. What.), etc.. i am not trying to police people on what content they are or aren't allowed to talk about--i am saying that, if your story NEEDS to have this content in it (which i would argue that here it doesn't), then you need to treat it with the care it deserves to be treated with. if not for your own sake, then for the sake of your readers. at the end of the day, i just want people to be safe out there

thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, and thank you for being so respectful <3 have a wonderful day!

[stellamancer]

entreat (reader x yuta okkotsu)

notes: hellow hellow! this is actually my first time writing yuta ahaha. he's a sweet boy who deserves the world (like most of the rest of the cast). intially the idea for this fic was a bit different but, i think this is cute too.

this fic was a request written as part of the @/ficsforgaza initiative as a gift for @yutaleks. my requests are currently closed, but if you are interested please do check the ffg tumblr out! there are lots of writers participating!

contains: gn!reader, food (mentions of, eating and sharing), yuta okkotsu being a cutie patoot

Whenever Yuta travels for a mission, he always brings back souvenirs; boxes of ridiculously sugary sweets for Gojo, bags of interestingly flavored potato chips for Maki, eclectic and downright gimmicky foods for Panda and Toge and for you—

Yuta brings back things he wants to eat with you. 

It started with the first-ever souvenir he brought back for you, from the very first solo mission he received after being reinstated as a special grade. He'd given it to you to say thank you for your support because just saying it has never been an adequate expression of gratitude for Yuta. 

But he'd apologized too, as he handed you the box– cookies from Hokkaido using locally sourced butter and cream, the prefecture’s pride and joy. 

Yuta is maybe the only person you know who would say sorry when handing someone a gift. 

“Why?” you'd asked.

He looked embarrassed as he answered. “I didn't know what you would like, but I couldn't just not bring you anything so I… got something that I thought sounded good…” 

His face was the picture of guilt, like he had admitted to the most heinous crime in all of history– not knowing what you would have liked. 

“It's okay if you want to throw it away or give it to sensei! I won't get upset or mad!” 

You remember distinctly thinking that if Rika were still here, she would send you to the grave if you threw away Yuta’s gift. Instead of that, you started to open the box, peeling away the wrapping and the box top to reveal two neat little rows of individually packaged cookies. You’d plucked one out and offered it to Yuta. 

“You said you thought it sounded good right?” you had asked. 

Yuta only stared, obviously unsure of what to do. 

“Come on, take it.” 

He hesitated, clearly not wanting to partake in a gift meant for you and for a moment you both stood there, unmoving. 

“Come on, Yuta, please?” 

That had been enough to get him to give in. You remember being surprised that was all it took. He gingerly took the cookie from you, handling it like a treasure, and you’d grabbed one of your own, knowing there was no way Yuta would eat one if you didn't first.

You'd tucked the box under your arm to rip the packing open and with another thanks you popped the cookie in your mouth. 

Honestly speaking, it had been one of the best cookies you'd ever had; crisp, yet tender, with a subtle sweetness that was nothing short of addictive.

When you had finished it, you stared at Yuta intently. It took him a second to realize that you meant for him to eat his, too, and with both yet another apology and yet another thank you, he delicately tore open the package and ate the cookie. 

You watched as he chewed it thoughtfully, evaluating the flavor. And when he finished, you tilted your head to the side and asked, “So, did you like it?” 

You remember how he nodded and smiled, carefree and innocent– a look you had always felt suited Yuta best. 

In return, you’d offered him a smile of your own. “You don't need to go through the trouble of bringing me back anything, but if you do, bring stuff like this— that we can share.”

And Yuta did just that. 

Now, every time he comes back from a mission, he comes bearing souvenirs from all over Japan: chestnut daifuku from Nagano, gyoza senbei from Tochigi, Kobe pudding from Hyogo… the list goes on. Sometimes, it’s just one thing. And other times, he comes back with two or three, looking apologetic as he tells you that he just couldn't decide. 

You don't mind, though, you never do– in fact, you actually look forward to when he brings multiple. More to share means more time with Yuta.

And this time, this time is no exception, but….

“...this is an awful lot…” you say looking at the array of ten different boxes that Yuta’s brought back from his latest mission. 

“I'm sorry!” He apologizes automatically and then, just like always he adds. “It was so hard to choose… Everything sounded so good.”

He's not wrong. Every single thing he's brought back sounds absolutely delicious and catered specifically to your tastes. It kind of makes you wonder if he's been taking notes all this time, commiting the things you've liked to memory. 

“It's fine!” you insist. “I'm just not sure if we can finish all this together…” 

At least not all at once. The things that are individually wrapped should be fine, but there are a fair amount of things that are probably meant to be eaten in a single sitting. 

“...maybe we should see if the others want some too…” you murmur thoughtfully. It's been a while since all of you ate together, between missions and the like. It would be fun. 

Yuta makes a soft sound and you look toward him. He’s very obviously avoiding your gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. You know him well enough to realize that means he's got something on his mind.

“What's up?” you ask. 

He doesn't say anything, not at first, but it's obvious he's debating whether or not to tell you. If you wait long enough, though, you think he'll say it. And sure enough, after a minute or two Yuta takes a deep breath and says, “I was actually hoping we could still just share everything just the two of us!” 

The words come out in a two-breath rush and you stare at him as the meaning of his words sink in. You did tell him to bring back things the two of you could share, it just never occurred to you that he thought that meant only the two of you. 

Yuta, on the other hand, looks mildly horrified, regret instantly visible, as if it was a mistake to voice his own desires, and so he adds. “But— but if you want to eat with everyone, that's fine! I can call Toge and Panda and–”

“Actually,” you interject and while you don't want to talk over Yuta you want him to know— need him to know that it's fine. It's fine for him to say what he wants, because not only will you always listen, you’ll—

“I take it back. I think we can eat this all ourselves. Just the two of us.”

You’ll never, ever refuse him. 

[the1975attheirverybest]

Pure Comedy

A/N: I think its about time I wrote this one.

Warnings: nuance. If thinking triggers you, skip this one.

----

Matty lit the extra joint that he had left for her, taking a first drag, like a quality assessor, before passing it over to her.

"Do you ever wish that I wasn't so...infamous?" he asked sinking back into the couch, resting his head on her shoulder, with his own joint in hand.

She glanced at him briefly, smiling, "Nah. I love having a rockstar boyfriend."

"I know you do." he giggled. "I said 'infamous,' though. Like....known for being a- 'walking intrusive thought.'" a faint smile flashed, fleetingly, across his face.

She hummed, thoughtfully, considering his question. Matty brought the blunt over to his lips.

"No, you know what? I really don't." she shook her head, the motion prompting him to move his head off her shoulder and sit back.

"that's good."

She turned to look into his eyes, "I know you. Knew what I was in for when I went out with you. The information was disclosed in the girlfriend contract."

He chuckled. "Was it?"

"In big bold letters 'WILL GET CANCELED. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART.'"

"Hmm." He hummed in satisfaction, his foggy eyes zoning out as hr looked in front of him.

A moment of comfortable silence pass them by before Matty spoke again. "Good...that's good." he affirmed, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. "Would hate for you to be affected by it, or like, have people in your life give you shit or something." he kissed the top of her head as his arms squeezed her tight.

"Oh, that doesn't really happen anymore."

"It doesn't happen anymore?!! as in...it's happened in the past?"

she exhaled a puff, "mhm, a while ago, though."

Matty pulled himself away from her, looking aghast, "When?! Why have you never told me?"

"It's- yooo don't just un-hug me like that" she whined, grabbing him by his t shirt to pull him back in. "It's not that important. I can't remember when– maybe after a podcast, or a twitter thing, or something..."

"That's not very specific."

she laughed, accidentally inhaling the smoke and going into a coughing fit. "Does it - uhmm- really matter when it happened? it was like....a few months after we got together. a couple people I knew from college." She cleared her throat, watching as Matty got off the couch and walked across the living room to bring her her water bottle."

"thanks," she took a big gulp. 'Anyway, yeah, I wasn't, like, close with these people or anything. They sent me an article that the Sun had written about you -- i mean, if they're stupid enough to take that bullshit disgrace to journalism seriously then I don't really want them as my friends anyway-- and asked how I associate with you, and I told them where to shove it."

Matty held back a smile, "And...that didn't bother you? or cause you doubt?"

"Cause me doubt? no, not really. Bother me? maybe a bit, but, like, who cares what they think, you know?"

His tense shoulders relaxing as he sat with her words for a moment, Matty sighed loudly. "And your, like, real friends? never said anything to you?"

She smiled, "they have."

"What?! Why hav-"

"You wanna see the texts? I'll show you..." She pulled the phone out of her pocket, scrolling through a group chat exchange for a long minute, "Ah, here it is!"

"This one says, Matty getting banned from Dubai, with a bunch of like emojis and stuff. Is he alright? have you spoken to him?, and I told them that, yeah, I'd called you and you're alright and that you'd already been in Japan by that point."

Matty nodded, recalling the incident.

"So, Francis was like Oh, good! So I can fangirl without feeling bad about it cuz WHAT A FUCKIN BALLSY MOVE!!! And blasting the pride flag?? respecttttt. Ellie replies with Wait, when did that happen? I'm about to get off work. Have I missed something? I explained it to her and she said 'bout to blast 'Loving Someone' with the windows down omw homeeee. with a bunch of hearts and pride flags and stuff."

She handed Matty her phone to look at for himself. Smiling, he nodded and gave it back.

"You've been googling your name again, haven't you?"

"to be fair, when am I not googling myself?"

She giggled, shaking her head. "it's a toxic habit. you really gotta quit it, you know?"

"hmm."

She could tell, from the look in his eyes, that his mind was elsewhere, and she knew why.

"The way I see it is, like, the people who try an cancel you once evry fortnight fall into one of two categories: first, the people whose identity is so intertwined with performative call-out culture that your disruption threatens their sense of who they are; and, second, the people who are like 'oh its repetitive, its immature, i wish he'd just stop and be himself this is bad for him."

"Right."

"the first group...well, its not really even about you. It's just that their thinking is 'either you're down with woke culture and you must examine and call out every little thing, or you're a vile, selfish person who needs to be treated like the villain that you are.' You, my love, don't fit into either one of those options. But there is no room for that in their black and white thinking....like, it scares them to think that....they have to abandon their fundamental beliefs about what it means to be a progressive, or like, an advocate for change. And if they can't think of themselves as that, then that means that they don't know what to think or believe anymore."

Matty had been listening, impatiently, waiting to interject. "and you've never wondered if maybe they're right? that you're just blinded by my life changing dick and angelic voice?"

She laughed, hitting his chest playfully. "sure, I have. before I agreed to commit to you. And, look, i'm not unsympathetic to these people. it's scary, the state of the world that we live in. we all wanna be part of the solution. you're suggesting that maybe this solution isn't really effective, and that persisting with it is a waste of time. You're existing in this third alternative where you say 'there are better ways maybe. have we tried something new?' and thats uncomfortable. like, they do genuinely believe in their way of things. of course they're gonna be upset when someone shakes things up."

"That....is true." Matty shifted in his seat, crossing his legs.

"The second group- well, I guess I get where they're coming from even if I don't think the same way. When they tell you to shut up and sing, or when they wish you would 'just be yourself,' they're not actually asking for authenticity. They're asking for mindlessness. They don't want to have to think. To doubt or double-check or dig deeper into what they see you doing and saying. They just want total entertainment forever. Straight from the court jester to that sweet, sweet dopamine center in the brain."

Matty hummed in agreement. "I get that way sometimes. Its why I watch-"

"Porn?" She grinned at him, slyly.

"I was going with 'trash tv' but...sure, porn too. It's escapism, it's turning off your brain....relaxing."

"Right, and there's nothing wrong with that. But that's not who you are, Matty. You don't make escapism. You couldn't even if you wanted to. It's not in your nature. Fuck, if it were, you wouldn't get into these bi-weekly cancelation cycles. I think you'd be miserable if you tried to shut the fuck up."

"I know, I know. And I don't usually bother- I just-" "You're human. you make mistakes. That's authenticity. not...easy jokes and purity."

"Purity?" Matty's eyebrow quirked.

"Mhm. Purity is for suckers. Art doesn't exist without ambiguity."

" expensive price to pay as an artist."

"yeah, but like you are an artist. You're incapable of being happy doing anything else."

Matty's chest welled up, tears in the corners of his eyes. It was beautiful, being known so intimately by her.

"God, I'm pretentious." He quipped,

"Your heart is in it. That's what matters. Makes it not pretentious."

"Right, yeah. If only we weren't literally getting high and having this deep conversation right now."

,

[diplonimbodocus]

omg i just read your aos lee spock fic and it was SO CUTE!!! if you ever have the time or interest, do you think you could do one with tos spock? maybe with some spirk there ? No pressure ofc!!!

Hello thank you so much!!! Honestly you don't know what that means to me! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! I have written you another little one featuring our wonderful tos boys, and I want to thank you for the ask because I've never written for these two before and it was a really good experience! Sorry it took so long, I just wanted to have it finished before I answered! Thank you again and love to you <3

Here it is~

"And he was so stubborn - well, you know what he's like - that I just had to do something about it. I lunged for him, and it's been the longest time, but he actually fell to the floor, laughing." Jim chuckled, as the lift slid, whirring sleekly between floors. "I really shouldn't be telling you this, he'd kill me."

"Laughing, captain?" Spock questioned with a straight face, the slightest cock to one eyebrow.

"Really, Spock. I'd bet you can hardly imagine our good doctor cracking a smile, never mind a laugh," Jim grinned, laughing more.

"Why laughing, captain?" Completely glossing over the latter remark, Spock remained curious.

Jim started as if to reply in humour before stopping short and turning to his Vulcan friend with a look of curiosity himself.

"Well - laughing, Spock. He was laughing because I tickled him, that's why."

The eyebrow came back down surprisingly fast.

"Ah yes. That most human of phenomena," Spock said, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Well it's not just human, Spock - all kinds of Earth animals are prone to it. But yes, I'll give you it is a bit unusu-" and at this moment, Jim looked at his friend anew. "Are you telling me Vulcans don't have this?"

"Would you be surprised, captain?" Spock answered, eyes on the elevator floor.

"Yes, I suppose not..." Jim looked pensive, and then the doors opened.

The two men walked along the corridor, eventually coming to the captain's quarters. The doors whisked open to let them enter.

Once inside, Kirk paced near the small desk area.

"Now Spock, with regards to the last mission, I think we really need to get our reports coherent to each other before we submit to Starfleet."

"Agreed. I can give you a detailed overview-"

Jim suddenly interrupted. "I'm sorry Spock, I just - is there really no tickling on Vulcan? Not even the children?"

Spock thought for a moment before he answered. "It is... abnormal."

"A-HA! So there is ticklishness in vulcans then?"

"... somewhat, yes."

"So it's the children? And you, what - grow out of it?"

"Vulcan children are born much like human children - they have many of the same traits. However we are raised and trained very differently. We learn to process all physical sensations, logically, from a very young age. Most parents, as I'm sure will be obvious, do not indulge in the practice. It is, illogical."

Jim's face fell. But then, "most parents?" He looked up with a glint in his eye. "What about yours?"

Spock locked eyes with his captain, one eyebrow cocked in a way that gave Jim a distinct feeling that he was in some way being defied.

"I had a vulcan father, and a human mother. My parents were not 'most parents.'"

"So you have experienced it! Something in that really - well - really tickles me, I have to say!" Jim's face gleamed as he laughed.

Spock stood uncomfortably quiet, seeming to deliberate.

"Cheer up, Spock, I won't keep pestering you. At least you've grown out of it!"

Jim clapped his friend on the arm jovially, but the vulcan continued to focus thoughtfully at a point on the ground, as if thinking about something.

And then the penny dropped. Vulcans cannot lie.

"Or have you?"

Spock must have heard the change in the captain's voice, as his eyes bounced up to meet Jim's with a deep and guarded look.

"Are you ticklish, Spock?" Jim grinned.

"Decline to answer," Spock replied.

"Don't pinch me - that's an order, Mr. Spock."

"Do you intend to abuse your power as captain of this vessel, undoubtedly loosing your rank and career in Starfleet, simply to test your hypothesis, captain?"

"If that's what it takes to get you laughing, Mr. Spock."

This game of cat and mouse continued, the two taking a waltz of slow and careful steps around the room, ever just out of reach of one another.

Jim's face was enthused and predatory, a look often seen when faced with a challenge. Spock's was unreadable, his feeling unknowable, save only for the fact that he could easily have called everything off had he really wanted to.

Jim, sensing his chance, lunged. Spock, as always, had reflexes finely-trained, and jumped backwards to dodge the grasping fist, however Jim, anticipating this, went in after with a second arm. He caught a fistfull of his regulation uniform in his fingers, and yanked the taller man firmly towards himself.

Caught off guard, Spock stumbled forward, right into his captain's open-armed grasp. There was a beat in which Spock did nothing.

"We're about to find out if you really are still ticklish, Mr. Spock," Jim said, and clawed at his friend's stomach.

Immediately Spock went stiff, stood upright and then crashed backwards onto his ass, looking dazed. He curled around the fingers currently trying to tear into his soft front flesh, twisting a little this way and then that way with each wiggle of the digits.

Jim could not keep the smile from his face. Spock was squirming! He continued pinching at the first officer's stomach as well as throwing some in sporadically to the sides.

Spock had begun to shudder, his eyes clamped shut with the ghost of a smile tugging there and at his lips. Just when matters couldn't get worse, Jim suddenly used both hands to attack.

"Hahah!" Spock let slip a surprised laugh.

Everything stopped, and Jim took a moment to stare at his friend in wonder and delight, before saying carefully, "Spock?"

Spock remained unmoved from his position, eyes shut, body curled and statue-still, a half-smile still visible. He seemed unwilling to comment.

"Not got anything to say?"

Nothing.

"Oh..." Jim said, though his tone was still playful. "I guess not. Suppose you'd rather do something else instead? Like this!"

Jim dug in again with new vigour, this time pinching all along Spock's sides, and the vulcan was on the floor, turning from side to side with the widest smile imaginable, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh come on, Spock! Where's that laughter? I know you have it in you," Jim teased, grinning all the while.

Spock suddenly shook his head, the first he'd responded to any of this.

"No? You're not gonna let me hear it?" Jim took little pinches at his tummy again.

Spock shook his head again, convulsing.

"That's too bad. Guess I'll just have to continue."

By now Jim was straddling his first officer, using gentle pinches all over his upper body, but when he kneaded his fingertips into his lowest ribs, Spock practically leapt off the ground, and finally Jim found that laughter.

"C-captahahain!" He pleaded.

"Bad spot, Spock?"

"Ahah ahah hahahahaha!"

"I'm going to take that for a yes," Jim smiled triumphantly, kneading in even deeper, and Spock was beside himself. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Spock's hands had come down to wrap firmly around Jim's wrists, but so far had done nothing else.

"Remember your orders, officer," Jim put on his captain's voice through the hilarity.

At this, Spock seemed to deflate, arms and shoulders going limp as his hands loosened their grip and fell away. 

"I'm impressed, Mr. Spock! But let's see how long you can hold out doing that."

Jim kept massaging those low ribs with his thumbs, using the other fingers to scratch at the sides, catching other ribs higher up. Spock acted as if electrocuted, his spasms unable to save him from the ticklish onslaught. His laughter had started deep but was getting higher.

Suddenly, Jims fingertips were moving down, exploring that expanse of waist that had come exposed during the struggling. His short nails scratched against the flat plain and Spock hit the roof.

"Hahaha!! N-no, captahahain!!" He bucked, only really succeeding in throwing himself further into the attack.

"Oh? Is it particularly bad here?" Jim grinned, giving it an extra good scratch, Spock pushing into it and shaking his head simultaneously.

"S-skihihin! Skihihin!!"

Jim looked down, and for the first time considered the skin-to-skin contact.

"Do you want me to stop?" He withdrew immediately, worried he might have gone too far.

Spock heaved some breaths, unable to engage right away. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked directly into Jim's gaze. He looked there for a time, unreadable, and then, unbelievably, cocked an eyebrow and said, "captain, don't presume to think you have broken me. I assure you, it would take much more than anything you could provide to do so."

Jim's mouth fell open as he grasped for a response, but he quickly recovered enough to beam back at his first officer.

"You said, "no, stop", your words!"

"A reflex reaction, and unfortunate," replied Spock, as if he hadn't just a moment ago been completely undone.

Jim stammered, dumbfounded. "And what's all this about skin? I don't understand you."

"Ah. That. I..." And finally Spock was showing some shyness. "It opens a slight telepathic connection."

Jim beamed with the dawning realisation. "Ahhh, I see... And that makes it worse?"

Spock said nothing for a moment, and Jim now noticed the slightest of greenish colouration in his cheeks.

"I'm afraid nothing could be worse than your attempts to get more than a surface-level, knee-jerk reaction from me."

"My attempts?" Jim asked delicately, whether curious or offended, it was hard to tell. "Are you telling me my tickles didn't tickle enough?"

Spock simply tilted his head as if to agree, and that said it all. "I believe the earth-phrase says, 'if the shoe fits'."

Jim snapped his mouth shut and switched to his captain face.

"Where was that spot again... Oh, here," and he locked eyes with Spock as he touched his fingers onto the bare skin. "You'll regret that, Spock, I promise you. Can you feel what I'm thinking? Can you see it?"

Spock said nothing, but the nervous look behind his eyes, the green in his cheeks and the tension like electricity radiating through his skin let Jim know the message was getting through.

"Are you ready to give me some more of those wonderful reflex reactions?"

Laughter filled the room once more as Jim got to work, undoing his vulcan.

[sanerontheinside]

Written for the QuiObi Writing Server's Reclaim the Tag challenge, our answer to the influx of pornbots in our home tags. Prompt by the lovely @luvvewan, from angst dialogue prompts: "Why are you asking me this?" [ao3 link]

“You should take the boy,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was hoarse and strained, damaged by the acrid smoke of Mustafar. Choked with grief. Quiet, both in their cabin and in the Force: Obi-Wan was very careful not to wake the youngling in his arms. “You’ll take him, won’t you? Get him to the Lars family?”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder. His eyes still stung, and he felt as though his tongue and throat and lungs had been coated with ash—dry, grating. Worse than that was the chill that crept up his spine as he imagined taking Luke from Obi-Wan’s arms and turning away from him. It seemed to him that Obi-Wan was barely there as it was. That if Qui-Gon took the child from him, he would be taking away the only tether that held Obi-Wan in this Moment. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of it. After all they’d lost in one horrible, nightmarish day, after all the surreal emptiness—this, Qui-Gon knew, would break him. 

Obi-Wan looked up sharply, as if he’d sensed Qui-Gon’s doubts. “You’ll take him to them?”

Qui-Gon cocked his head, and stalled for time. “Why are you asking me this? Where will you be?” 

You know where they are, Qui-Gon almost said, and I don’t. But he didn’t voice that problem either. It seemed so unimportant, after all, when all he could see in front of him was the fading silhouette of his former Padawan, dissolving away into a cloud of Tatooine dust. 

Obi-Wan had walked away from him many times in the course of their years together. Qui-Gon had always known Obi-Wan would be well without him—until now. 

Now, Obi-Wan was staring at a point on the wall just to the left of his shoulder, chewing thoughtfully at his lower lip. His brow furrowed. “I—he must be hidden, kept safe.” 

“He is not safer with me than he is with you,” Qui-Gon said softly. 

“Of course he is,” Obi-Wan snapped, his eyes coming suddenly, brilliantly alive—though he was still careful not to wake the boy. “I already failed A-An—” for a second Obi-Wan seemed to choke, and shook his head. “His father. I will not fail him, too.”

Qui-Gon’s heart squeezed painfully. “He needs you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s laugh was dry and mirthless; it cut Qui-Gon to the bone to hear the desolation in it. “I am the last thing he needs. I—I can’t—” 

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. His hands clenched on the blanket, turning a bright, bloodless white. 

Qui-Gon moved without thought, crossing the cramped cabin to wrap an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and drawing him into the circle of his arms. Obi-Wan buried his face in Qui-Gon’s shoulder, gasping. 

“How could I have been so blind?” Obi-Wan whispered. “How could I miss—he was—”

“Shh,” Qui-Gon whispered. “The Moment, Obi-Wan. You can’t change what is past.” 

A ragged gasp burst from him. “No. But the Moment is…”

Qui-Gon sighed and nuzzled against his hair, pressing the lightest of kisses to the crown of his head—because he couldn’t bear not to, and didn’t dare to do anything more than that. “I know.”

The Force was jarringly, horribly silent around them. Empty, burnt-out. 

“Stay with me, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered. “I need you.”

Obi-Wan sobbed once, a ragged sound. But the fight seemed to have gone out of him, and he didn’t argue. 

Qui-Gon simply held him, slipping an arm around Luke between them. For a moment it was tempting to imagine they were simply two people with a youngling to care for. That Obi-Wan was his to care for just as much as Luke was. 

“That’s not possible,” Obi-Wan whispered into his collar. 

Qui-Gon buried a kiss in his hair and shook his head. “Then just let me have this?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “I’d give you the world, if only it was in my power.”

Qui-Gon sighed, and nuzzled against his temple. “Just having you here,” he whispered. “I don’t need anything else.”

[na-ta-sh-aa]

This entire universe never ceases to amaze me and make me fall in love with every story. I absolutely loved this chapter. I love so much how the story is progressing and how the various relationships between the characters are developing. Also, I find it really interesting to discover a little more detail about Birdie's past in each chapter.

“Why don’t you just let them make their own play up?” Bunny asked thoughtfully”

Bunny had a great idea!

“Besides, I can’t even read.”

“Your eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“No,” she said softly, looking down and away from you.

I hope that Birdie can teach her to read so that Bunny can discover the pleasure of reading too, it would be such a sweet gesture on her part and above all something that I think would strengthen their friendship even more.

“You knew you were a timid, little thing.”

I love the character of Birdie so much, not only because I love the way you write about her but also because I can totally identify with her.

“Well,” you smiled, “it’s a good thing you won’t have to then. I’m volunteering!”

She is such a sweetheart🥹

“You knew the dangers of approaching men while alone, but you didn’t think you could live with yourself if something awful happened and you had done nothing to help.”

This part struck me a lot. I think it's such a noble gesture that she would put her own personal safety aside to try to help a man who she thinks is hurting.

“The man also seemed a little taken aback as he took you in, realization dawning in his brown eyes. “Birdie?”

“Bradley?”

I have to say I was in suspense the whole time until the man's identity was revealed, I was scared something might happen to Birdie, but luckily it was Bradley

“The top couple of buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and you cursed yourself for the heat that instantly rose to your cheeks as you took in the hard muscle that lay underneath.”

Bradley is always so charming🫠

“Just because I saw it and thought of you,” he replied, pulling out a light blue ribbon with white lace trim from out of his pocket.”

Aww he got her a gift thinking of her🥹

“His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they ran through your hair, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to have his fingers somewhere else on your person. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you willed the salacious thoughts away. A good girl should not being having the thoughts you’re having.”

Me when I think about Bradley's fingers

“Plucking the basket from your hands, he placed his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, guiding you back onto the street.

“Let’s get going then,” he winked”

Bradley always gives me butterflies in my stomach and I love it so much!

I'm so glad I read this chapter, it was truly beautiful! I love how you manage to convey and represent Birdie's character, just as I love seeing the interactions between her and Bunny (and Scout even though she wasn't there in this chapter). I found Birdie's gesture of volunteering to teach Bunny to read extremely sweet. The part I really liked was the conversation between Bradley and Birdie. I found the moment where Bradley asks Birdie if she wants him to stop drinking so endearing, especially since Bradley emphasized that Birdie's opinion matters a lot to him. I found it a very beautiful detail. I hope Bradley does a little like Jake did with Scout, when he found an honest job for her, stopped drinking for her. I love seeing how Bradley after their first meeting, which it was definitely very hot, every time he meets Birdie he talks to her and treats her so delicately. I found this sweetness and delicacy especially in the moment he gave her and fixed the bow in her hair. I love seeing them together so much, if even now with these little interactions between them I have butterflies in my stomach I don't even want to imagine what will happen when their relationship develops further. I loved so much reading it, this was so extremely well written and beautiful!💗✨

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Four

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Four

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Older sibling being harsh on the younger, Allusions to self-esteem problems, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of hangovers, Bradley flirting, One use of "y/n," Reader being a blushing mess. I think that's it, but please let me know if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 2.7k

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

It had been exactly two weeks since your children had decided that they would be doing a play to help raise funds for the new schoolhouse, but still, they were no closer to figuring out what the play would actually be.

“It should be an adventure!” Grinned Billy Seresin.

“Nuh uh,” frowned Josie Carmichael, “it should be a romance.”

“What about a fairytale?”

“I want it to have a fight scene!”

And here you sat, slumped against the wooden counter of the bar, at your wit’s end and lamenting to your friends on what to do. Penny and Bunny kept their hands busy by cleaning the glasses behind the bar and Natasha sat to your left, patting your back sympathetically. You wished the ever practical Scout was around to assist you in your plight, but she and Jake Seresin had left for Baltimore the week prior and wouldn’t be back until after the New Year. Scout had worried what people might think about the two traveling on their own, and you had had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that the two of them were practically engaged as it was, but your words would have been met with a scowl and rant about the perils of gossip. Scout was known to have a bit of a temper, and you weren’t keen on being on the receiving end of it. So, you had smiled placatingly and reminded her that her brother had given his seal of approval, and that had been enough to ease her worries.

“What’s eatin’ at you?” Penny asked you, brow raised curiously. You sighed in defeat, tears springing to your eyes as you thought about your current predicament.

“The children are going to do a play to help raise money for the schoolhouse.”

“And that’s an issue because?” Bunny asked, eyes darting to Penny to see if she could shed some light on the situation. The older woman shrugged, frowning as she turned her attention back to you.

“Because,” you grumbled, “It took us an entire week to settle on doing a play. Now they can’t decide what play to do.”

“Ah,” Penny said, leaning against the bar top, “what are the suggestions?”

“Some want to do Cinderella, some want to do Snow White, and others want to do Sleeping Beauty,” you groaned, feeling your bottom lip tremble as you felt all the frustration from the past week rise up from deep inside of you and to the surface. You were good at shoving the negative feelings down inside of you. Your childhood had given you plenty of practice when it came to that, but now the emotions tended to come out all at once and at inopportune times, something your mother had often lamented about.

“Why don’t you just let them make their own play up?” Bunny asked thoughtfully. Your gaze darted to the girl in front of you, intrigue replacing the sorrow that was once there.

“Let them do their own play?” You asked her. Bunny seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding, a tight smile on her face that came off more as a grimace on her pretty features.

“That way everyone can do something they like?” She said as more of a question than an answer. You felt the stirrings of excitement in your tummy as you mulled over her suggestion. It could work. If the children come up with their own play, then they can work together to make sure everyone has a say and no one would feel left out. It was perfect! Or, at least, that’s what you thought.

Your elder sister often admonished you growing up for being, what she believed, was too naïve.

“Get your head out of the clouds,” she’d snap, a scowl on her face as she looked you over. “The world isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, y/n. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

She was right, but her words had stung nonetheless. You wanted to see the good in everybody and every situation. If that made you naïve or immature, then so be it.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Bunny!” Penny grinned, turning her gaze to you. You nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting across your face as you looked back at the bar girl.

“It really is!” You exclaimed, leaning back and away from the bar. A smirk made its way onto your lips. “Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher?”

“Me?” Bunny scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I can’t even read.”

Your eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“No,” she said softly, looking down and away from you. She shifted on her feet, looking as if she was willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole. You supposed it wasn’t that uncommon for people to not know how to read, but Bunny always looked so put together, that it never occurred to you that the other girl wouldn’t have the skill set. You pursed your lips, wondering if your new thought would be too impertinent to suggest to the other girl. Bunny was someone who was quiet, yes, but she had an air of pride and confidence about her that you often found yourself admiring and wishing you had.

You knew you were a timid, little thing. You were the youngest of two girls, and your sister was the crown jewel of your family. She was beautiful, confident, and had a mind that could accomplish most anything. You wanted to be that way, but you knew deep down that you weren’t. A fact your parents often pointed out to you. Now, seeing the capable woman in front of you looking small at such a minor detail made you want to help.

“I can teach you,” you said finally.

“What?” She chuckled, sounding almost startled. Her gaze flickered back to you as her brow pinched in confusion. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well,” you smiled, “it’s a good thing you won’t have to then. I’m volunteering!”

Bunny’s frown deepened, and you suddenly found yourself second guessing your decision.

“Unless you don’t want to learn?” You murmured, now feeling awkward as you sat at the bar.

“No, I,” she trailed off. She chewed on her bottom lip as she regarded you for a moment. With a heavy sigh, she continued, “I would actually really love that, Birdie. As long as it doesn’t take up too much of your time.”

“It won’t,” you chirped, hopping off the bar stool and making your way towards the exit. The evening crowd was slowly filing in after a long day’s work, and you weren’t keen on being around once the drinking started.

“Let’s start tomorrow, okay?” You called over your shoulder with a wave at the two women behind the counter. You didn’t wait for a response as you pushed through the growing crowd and out the door.

The next morning brought you some much needed free time. Saturday mornings were usually when the town market was in full swing, and you were determined to get there early enough to snag the best tomatoes for dinner that night. Penny insisted that you didn’t have to do much around the house, but you couldn’t imagine not doing anything. You refused to be a burden, no matter how much she assured you that you weren’t.

Of course, you weren’t planning on living in Penny and Maverick’s home for forever. No, once the school was built, you’d move into the new building until your own home was built. However, that was a ways off, and as far as you knew, construction hadn’t even started on the schoolhouse yet.

Lost in thought, you passed the old church, stopping when something caught your attention from the corner of your eye. Underneath the large tree, a figure lay slumped against the roots, a hat covering the face of whoever it was. Cautiously, you approached the figure, different scenarios racing through your mind. Did the heat get to him? Did he need a doctor? Perhaps some water? Or maybe he was hurt? Penny and Bunny told you about the bar fights that sometimes broke out at the saloon where the loser would slink off with a wound or two.

“Excuse me, sir?” You called out. The man didn’t move, and you looked around to see if anyone else was present. The street was deserted, most of the folks either getting ready for another cold snap or down at the market trying to secure the best produce before anyone else. You knew the dangers of approaching men while alone, but you didn’t think you could live with yourself if something awful happened and you had done nothing to help. You approached him quietly, setting your basket down by the entrance as you did so. As you got closer, you let out a relieved sigh once you saw his chest slowly rising and falling. He wasn’t dead, just asleep.

“Sir?” You called out again, this time a little louder. The man stirred, muttering something in his sleep. You were practically standing next to him now, worrying on your bottom lip as you debated how best to handle the situation.

“Sir?”

“What?” The man snapped, snatching his hat off of his face and fixing you with a glare. You blinked a couple of times at the man in front of you as your brain played catch up with what you were seeing. The man also seemed a little taken aback as he took you in, realization dawning in his brown eyes. “Birdie?”

“Bradley?”

Bradley blinked up at you before shuffling to a stand, and you backed up a few steps to allow him room. He smacked at his trousers, attempting to get as much dirt off of him as he could while giving you a sheepish smile.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, eyeing him wearily as he took a couple of short steps towards you. The stench of alcohol hit you almost instantly, and you wrinkled your nose at him as your gaze turned from confusion to mild disgust. “You smell like a distillery.”

“Yeah,” he winced, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Are you drunk?” You asked him, narrowing your eyes as you scanned him up and down. His clothes were wrinkled and smeared with dried dirt. The top couple of buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and you cursed yourself for the heat that instantly rose to your cheeks as you took in the hard muscle that lay underneath. Bradley’s eyes followed your gaze, looking down at the state of himself, and then back at you with a smirk that suggested he knew where your thoughts were heading.

“‘M not drunk, little bird,” he drawled, leaning towards you. He winced when the sunlight his his face, scowling slightly as he leaned back into the shade. “Hungover as hell, maybe. But I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Why is it that you almost sound disappointed by that fact?” You grumbled, scowling at him. Bradley shifted on his feet before giving you a shrug.

“Beats being hungover, I guess.”

“You could just not drink so much,” you suggested, earning a bright grin from the man in front of you.

“Now where’s the fun in that, Birdie?” He chuckled. You pursed your lips, studying him once again. It wasn’t often that Bradley Bradshaw grinned. He smirked, yes, but his grins were few and far in between. They gave him a boyish quality that you found strangely endearing, and you found that you wanted to see him do it more. More so, you wanted to be the reason he smiled like that.

The grin faded from his face as you studied him, and a thoughtful look of his own crossed his features. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pursed his lips and looked over towards the old church before glancing back at you.

“Do you want me to stop drinking?” He asked. You balked at his question. Why was he asking you that? What did your opinion matter? Bradley seemed like the type that didn’t much care for what anyone thought of him or what he did, that much was clear from his illegal activities.

“What I want shouldn’t matter,” you said carefully, clasping your hands in front of you and looking away. You felt his gaze linger on your face as you looked anywhere but at him. You weren’t used to being assertive. No, you were the type to make yourself smaller to please others, and you were fine with that. You didn’t need the attention on you, and you had always been fine with that. But standing there in front of Bradley, for the first time in your life, you found that you wanted the attention on you. More specifically, you wanted to hold Bradley’s attention. That thought scared you.

“It matters to me,” Bradley murmured, leaning towards you again. His eyes were intense as they took you in, sliding down the length of you, and you squirmed under his gaze. An unfamiliar heat pooled in your belly as you met his eyes, the heat becoming stronger as they bore into you, his look almost hungry.

“You should stop drinking because you want to,” you countered, cursing how breathless you sounded, “not because someone told you.”

Bradley regarded you for another moment, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked you over once more. Finally, he leaned back, smirking as he dug around in his pocket. You sighed, thanking whoever might be listening for the slight reprieve.

“I have something for you,” he said, and your eyes widened at the declaration.

“A gift?” You asked him. “Whatever for?”

“Just because I saw it and thought of you,” he replied, pulling out a light blue ribbon with white lace trim from out of his pocket. You gasped, excitement filling you at the small trinket.

“Oh Bradley,” you breathed, reaching your fingers out to touch the shiny fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not much,” he said, suddenly looking shy. You noted how odd the expression looked on him, but your attention was pulled back to the ribbon as Bradley held it up.

“I thought you might like it.”

“I love it,” you smiled, looking up at him. A small smile crept onto his face at the sight of you, and he gestured for you to turn around.

“May I?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” you giggled, turning so that he could replace the lilac bow in your hair with the new one. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they ran through your hair, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to have his fingers somewhere else on your person. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you willed the salacious thoughts away. A good girl should not being having the thoughts you’re having.

Once the ribbon was secured in your hair, Bradley leaned forward.

“There,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your ear and across your cheek. You stiffened in front of him, shuddering as his fingertips danced over your neck. “All done.”

Slowly, you turned back to face him. You looked up at him through your lashes, a soft smile playing on your lips. Bradley returned it with one of his own, fingertips skimming over the soft skin of your cheek.

“Where are you headed?” He asked you, breaking the charged silence between the two of you.

“Oh,” you blinked, moving towards the gate where you had left your basket. “I was headed for the market to get things for dinner.”

Picking up the basket, you turned to find Bradley had followed you, already leaning against the gate as he smirked down at you. Plucking the basket from your hands, he placed his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, guiding you back onto the street.

“Let’s get going then,” he winked. You tried not to think about how warm his hand felt against you, and you tried not to think about the stares people gave you as the two of you walked onto the main street. You certainly tried not to think about the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach every time you caught him looking at you.

A/N: Haven't updated this one in a little bit! Friendly reminder that I have started redoing my tag lists, so if you weren't tagged in this and you would like to be, please make sure you have submitted a request in the form at the top of the post! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! I also post these updates on my AO3 account under sailor_aviator. If you enjoy my work, please consider leaving me a tip!

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[goldcrown20]

Written (late) for Sirius and Harry Saturday hosted by @jmagnabo92

A scene from the summer after third year, after Sirius’s innocence was proven CANONICALLY. And Harry CANONICALLY moved in with him.

Tw: discussions of canonical child abuse, and PTSD

Being watched wasn’t new to Sirius. What was particularly strange was that instead of Aurors and Dementors, it was now his 13 year old godson seeming to analyzing his every move.

It wasn’t very obvious if Sirius didn’t know better. Harry talked and behaved like a normal teenager, albeit a more quiet and well behaved one. But he always seemed to be waiting for Sirius to do something. As he ate, he constantly glanced at Sirius, as if he was making sure the man was doing the same. Or even just hanging around the house, Harry seemed determined to map out where Sirius was at all times. Sirius was overjoyed if Harry wanted to spend time with him, but not if the boy didn’t feel relaxed around him.

At first, Sirius thought Harry wanted something. But Harry denied the books, games, gadgets, toys, any items that Sirius offered to buy him. In the end, Sirius bought him everything anyway. Harry expressed so much gratitude, Sirius was genuinely concerned the kid would just spontaneously combust from the sheer joy. But his godson’s wary behavior didn’t really stop.

So Sirius decided to consult Remus. Both of them had been working on repairing their relationship this summer, and Sirius felt that they were currently in a good place. He had been trying to persuade Remus to move in with him and Harry. Remus had refused at first, not wanting to be dependent on Sirius’s money, but as the summer went on, he had become very close to agreeing.

“I don’t know what he wants from me,” said Sirius, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I’m happy to give him whatever it is, but I haven’t a clue.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully, as he took a sip of his tea. “I’m not entirely sure he wants something from you. I am under the impression that he seems to be waiting for something from you.”

“How is that different?”

Remus smiled sadly. “Honestly, Padfoot, he reminds me slightly of you at the Potters. You were the same, you know. Always seemed to be waiting for someone to treat you like Orion and Walburga did, or throw you out on the street.”

Sirius gave an incredulous laugh. “I knew the Potters wouldn’t do that. They were the sweetest couple alive.”

Remus inclined his head. “Sometimes our bodies and our minds have conflicting ideas.”

Sirius opened his mouth to argue. But then he remembered how his heart rate sped up and body tingled with a seemingly irrational fear after being hit with a cold breeze at the park the other day. Mind body disconnect huh?, he thought sadly.

“I can see how that might happen,” he replied quietly. “Do you think, the Dursleys, were they like Orion and Walburga?”

Remus put down his tea cup and didn’t say anything.

“He agreed to move in quickly, but I thought that maybe he wanted to do magic or access his bank vaults during the summer,” Sirius continued.

“Harry’s not that kind of child,” Remus scolded softly. “He moved in because he loves you. He wants to spend more time with you.” Remus paused. “But yes, I don’t believe Petunia and Vernon treated him like he was a true member of their family.”

Sirius’s blood boiled. His grip on the teacup tightened, threatening to spill the contents on the rug.

“So that’s what he’s waiting for then? For me to throw him out? Or treat him like shit?” replied Sirius grimly.

“I’d wager that to be the case,” said Remus softly.

The conversation rang through Sirius’s mind all day. Even after Moony left (with promises to give up his lease) and Harry returned from the Weasley’s place, Sirius couldn’t stop feeling an abject sadness mixed with guilt. If he had just stayed with Harry, and left Peter to the authorities-

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, timidly. He swirled his spoon through his uneaten bowl of soup nervously.

Sirius kicked himself for making his feelings so obvious to the child, who was already extremely sensitive to the moods of others around him.

“I’m fine, Prongslet,” he replied, struggling to give the child a comforting smile. “I think the real question here is whether you’re fine.”

Harry gave him a confused look. “Yeah, I’m not sick or anything.”

“No, it’s not that.” Sirius paused, trying to figure out the right way to phrase his next words. “We don’t have to talk more about this until you’re ready. But I hope you feel safe and welcome with me and Remus. And as long as me or Moony are around, no one will hurt you here.” Sirius reached across the small kitchen counter to put his hand on Harry’s.

Harry froze, and didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then shakily, he replied, “Yeah, I know.”

Sirius watched as Harry continued to eat his soup. Although the child didn’t open up any further, Sirius could already see a slight release of tension from the Harry’s posture.

Progress, Sirius confirmed grinning with satisfaction internally. He knew it would take time for Harry to feel completely comfortable, but Sirius was prepared to wait all the time in the world. He felt a surge of affection and love inside him as he watched Harry eat. How could he have lucked out this much, to have such a wonderful kid, he mused gratefully.

We’re going to be alright, he promised himself, internally. He sent another silent though to James and Lily. We’ll be okay.

[theladyofdeath]

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Eighteen Part I}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain - Feyre x Rhysand - Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary: (see TVWLM masterlist!)

A/N: Thank you for reading! I can't believe we have only 3 chapters "left" to post...This chapter also had to be split into two...

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

Dear People of the Ton,

With the social season coming to a close, I wonder if the Queen's beloved Diamond will secure a match? With one sister in social banishment and the other just broken at the altar...that poor family simply cannot deal with any more scandal.

Time's running out, Archerons.

The Suriel

It had been five days since Elain left Cassian at the altar. Five days that Nesta had not seen Elain, save for once the following morning when she’d tried to speak to her, only to have the door slammed in her face. After that, she’d given Elain all the space she wanted, avoiding her at all costs, taking her meals in her rooms.

But this morning, Nesta needed to get out of her bedroom. The floral wallpaper lining the room had started to look less elegant and more sinister. She’d noticed thorns in the pattern she’d never seen before and could have sworn some of the roses were coated in blood. It was only her eyes playing tricks on her, thanks to how little sleep she’d been getting, but she sat in the dining room, a plate of fresh fruit, eggs, and bacon before her.

She had just speared a piece of cantaloupe on her fork when two sets of footsteps approached the room. One of them halted as they walked in.

Glancing up, she saw Feyre striding towards her, taking the seat across from her, but then she looked to the door.

Elain was frozen, her jaw locked, hands fisted at her sides. She wasn’t looking at Nesta, she was staring at the marbled floor, which hurt even more.

Her sister couldn’t even bear to look at her.

Nesta looked at Feyre, who nodded with a small smile, before asking, “Elain, would you care to join us?”

Elain took a deep breath before entering and quietly sitting next to Feyre. She filled her plate without a word.

“It has been a good week,” Feyre began, simply, grasping on to any hope of conversation. “The ladies say there has been minimal gossip, and it has all been toward Lord Nazari. Elain has not been in the crossfire much.”

Nesta eyed Elain, but she showed no expression.

“That’s good,” Nesta said, clearing her throat. “I actually have heard from my sources, as well, that there are multiple suitors with their eye on Elain this season, even though it is nearing its end. Including Lord Vanserra.”

Feyre lifted a brow. “Eris?”

Nesta shook her head. “The youngest, Lucien. I believe he is Elain’s age.”

Feyre nodded, thoughtfully. “Ah, I believe I met him months ago during a promenade with the Prince.”

“I hear he’s very kind,” Nesta said, and tried to give Elain a smile.

She was staring at her plate. “I would appreciate it if you two did not speak of me as if I am not here.”

Nesta’s body tensed, but she nodded. “Of course. Apologies. As I was saying—”

“I no longer need your help, Nesta,” Elain said, stabbing a strawberry with a little bit too much force. “I am perfectly capable of securing my own match.”

You wanted Cassian although I objected, and we all witnessed how that turned out. Even as she thought it, Nesta felt guilty…no matter how true it was.

“Elain and I will both be attending the ball tomorrow evening,” Feyre said, as if to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. “Will you be joining us, Nesta?”

Nesta eyed Elain once more, and this time her sister was watching her, waiting for her answer. Her lips were pressed together, eyes hard. She had never seen Elain so angry, and to know all of that anger was directed at her only broke her heart. “No,” she said, and that heartbreak only grew when she saw the relief sag Elain’s shoulders. “No, I will be packing.”

Now Elain froze.

As did Feyre. “Packing?”

“I’ll be going to Adriata first thing Sunday,” she explained, pushing the fruit around on her plate. “It is one of the many stops I will make on my travels. I am going to see which corner of Prythian calls to me.”

For a moment, each of her sisters were silent. Feyre said, “But you love Velaris.”

“I do,” Nesta agreed, her breakfast feeling heavy in her stomach. “However, as already mentioned, I am needed here no longer. Feyre, you are the Diamond. I know of multiple suitors that are ready and willing to make an offer of engagement. And, as I said before, Elain has choices, as well. I have no doubt that you both will find your matches before the season is finished. It is simply time for me to move on.” 

The silence grew, becoming almost uncomfortable. Nesta picked up her fork once more, but nearly dropped it against her plate when Elain asked, “When will you return?”

Eyes on her food, Nesta swallowed roughly. “I’m not sure. I plan to visit each court at least once, and if I find my home along the way, so be it.”

She could hear the unspoken words radiating off of her sisters.

Velaris is your home.

But it wasn’t, not anymore. Not after what had happened, what she’d caused, what she’d done.

“Then you must come to the ball,” Feyre said, and Nesta finally looked at them across the table. They both were dressed and ready for the day, hair perfectly styled and cosmetics applied with an expert hand. She still wore her dressing gown, her hair piled on her head and not a stitch of makeup on her face.

“I have too much to do,” she argued.

“Feyre is right,” Elain said, clearing her throat. She cut into the pastry on her plate. “If it is indeed your last night in Velaris, we must properly send you off.”

She couldn’t bear it, knew who would be there. She hasn’t seen Cassian since he’d kissed her and she’d asked him to meet her after the ball in the woods beside his home. It had almost been a week and she hadn’t decided whether or not that was a foolish decision on her part. She also hadn’t decided if she were indeed going to meet him.

“I have nothing to wear,” Nesta said at last, and it wasn’t a lie. She’d already had all of her gowns packed and stored. She wouldn’t be needing them on the road.

It was Feyre who snorted. “You act like you don’t have two sisters of similar build.”

Nesta glanced between the two of them and down to her ample…assets. Yes, they were all roughly the same size when it came to their waist, but Nesta was nearly three inches taller than Elain and neither of them were as well endowed as she was when it came to her breasts.

“We can find you something in one of our closets, I’m sure,” Feyre said, smiling, and then nudged their sister with her elbow. “Right, Elain?”

Elain sighed, the rigidness in her body deflating as she said, “Yes. Of course.”

Nesta nodded, although nerves filled her body. She wasn’t sure if it was because she would be seeing Cassian or spending a whole evening in Elain’s presence, or if it was because it was the first social event they would be attending since the failed wedding. Nonetheless, her chest felt heavy, her stomach churned, and suddenly eating breakfast hadn’t seemed like such a good idea. 

<.>

Elain had to get away.

She was feeling nervous about the ball, although most of the ton did seem to only frown upon Cassian for the incident. Yet, she was still embarrassed about the whole thing and feared showing her face at such a large social event.

So she went into town for a new pair of gloves, and took the long way home. She asked her driver to stop by the Sidra so that she could feed the ducks, which is what she was doing now as she sat alone on the grassy banks. 

Until she heard his voice.

“Miss Elain?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Azriel, making the finery of his apparel seem casual as his hands rested in his pockets. He gave her a small smile.

“Lord Azriel,” she said, and returned his smile with one of her own. “A pleasant surprise.”

He nodded to the grass next to her. “May I join you?”

She did not hesitate. “Of course.”

He nodded as he plopped down in the grass and stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands. She remembered the first time she had seen his hands, scarred with so many stories to tell. She thought they had been beautiful then, just as she did now.

“How are you?” he asked, after a moment. Usually, it would be such a simple question, but this time it was loaded. 

She laughed quietly as she shook her head. “Would you like the honest answer or the one I have given to everyone else?”

“The honest one,” he said, without a thought. “Always.”

Her smile was soft as she looked down at the ground, but he watched it fall. She plucked a blade of grass and ran it between her fingers. “I am…okay. Which I know seems like I’m lying, but I’m not.” Pausing, she pulled another blade from the ground, dropping this one, and ripping out one more. “I won’t say that I’m not hurt, because I am, by both my sister and Lord Cassian, but I also can’t blame them. The way they look at each other, I don’t know how I was so blind to it for so long. It’s clear that they love each other and I cannot begrudge them that.”

Azriel watched her silently, listening to every word. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, even as the tears slowly started to slip down her cheeks.

“And I did not love him and he did not love me. Maybe one day, we could have grown to love each other, but as it stands, I think…” She turned, finding his gaze. “I think I just wanted to be loved so badly that I took the attention of the first man who offered it to me.” Shaking her head, she sniffled once. “You must think it’s silly of me to still dream of marrying for love.”

“On the contrary,” Azriel murmured and when his warm hand covered hers, forcing her to quit picking the grass, she looked into his face again. “I think marrying for love is the goal everyone in the ton should have.”

She gave him a soft smile, one that actually reached her eyes. She nudged him with her shoulder. “Maybe I should marry you instead.”

Azriel’s body tensed, but Elain was laughing, quietly. A joke. It was just a joke. He told his body to relax, although now he could not, because the thought…

No, Azriel would never marry. He never thought himself to be a good husband, never thought himself to be the type to marry. 

And it had been a joke.

Just a joke.

Azriel forced himself to chuckle. “Yes, what a pair we would be.”

“Indeed,” Elain agreed, and smiled at him. She patted his hand. “Whatever woman is lucky enough to have you, Azriel, is blessed, indeed. You are a kind soul. You have been my saving grace this season and I thank you.”

He was not sure how to handle her compliment. Everything in him melted at her words, but he would not show it. He simply nodded his head in appreciation and said, “Thank you, Elain. You have been that for me, too. And, for what it is worth, I believe you will find the soul in which yours loves. You will find that happiness.”

Her eyes shone again, and she squeezed his hand. Her words were hardly more than a whisper as she said, “Thank you, Azriel. Truly.” 

He smiled, then looked back over the Sidra. The ducks were swimming near their feet, the sun bright and sparkling across the water, but he saw none of it. All he could focus on were those words.

Maybe I should marry you instead.

<.>

After everything that had happened, Rhysand knew that he could not stand by and have Feyre be hurt by their last encounter. Whether he could marry her or not, the last thing he wanted was for her to hate him, and he had acted like a complete ass. 

The hurt in her eyes when they departed, when he spewed those hateful words, were all that he could focus on since the day on the river. Even with all that had happened, all he could focus on was the last time he’d had her alone, when he had completely broken her heart.

If Cassian had taught him anything in the last week, it was that life was fragile. Those you cared about deserved to know where they stood. 

And, despite everything, he truly cared for Feyre, more than he had ever cared for anyone before.

With a few hours left before the ball, he strode up to the Archeron manor and knocked on the door. The doorman opened it a minute later and bowed. “Good evening, your Grace.”

“Good evening,” Rhysand replied, politely. “I was hoping to speak with Miss Feyre. It’s urgent.”

He nodded and let Rhysand in, leading him up to the sitting room where he plopped down on the couch, alone.

The waiting was agonizing. 

After a moment of sitting, he stood to pace but then he felt foolish, pacing in a home that was not his, so he sat back down and twiddled his thumbs.

Feyre entered ten minutes later, alone. Rhysand expected a maid or someone to be with her, but no one was. He was grateful for it. Now, he could speak freely.

“Hello,” Rhysand said, lamely, as he stood. He added, “Good evening.”

Feyre didn’t laugh at his discomfort as she once would have, did not find it charming. “Good evening, your Grace.”

He flinched at his formal title coming from her lips. “I was worried you would be getting ready for this evening. I was worried you would not come.”

“When my doorman says there is a guest here for me, I respect them enough to show,” she replied.

They stood so far apart. The distance made his heart ache. 

“What do you want, your Grace?” she asked. He did not ignore the harshness of her tone.

“I wanted to apologize,” he stated.

Feyre jolted, only slightly, her body language changing just enough for Rhysand to catch it. “For what, pray tell?” 

He longed to cross the room, to get rid of the distance between them, but he could see the fire still in her eyes. He knew approaching her right now would not end well for him, or his balls, so instead, he tried to reason with her. “Feyre, I—”

“Don’t.” She took a step towards him, whether she realized it or not, and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare think you can come in here and act like nothing happened that day.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Feyre, I’m sorry.” He took a chance and stepped closer, waiting to see if she’d retreat. She stood her ground. “I don’t have words to tell you how sorry I am. The things I said to you were abhorrent and I had no reason to, save for fear of losing the promise I’d made to myself. Instead, I broke a different promise. I hurt you, and I cannot even begin to apologize or make things right.”

Feyre said nothing. She simply stared at him, chin raised high. 

“I have thought of nothing since,” he went on. He took another step forward. She still did not move. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you crying; and every time I am awake, I long to run to you.” He shook his head. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, containing those emotions within her slim frame. “I was a fool. Am a fool. Feyre, I have spent so many years resenting my father. I hated him, and if I’m being honest, I still do, even all these years after his death. I loathe my last name. I hate that I share his blood. I have sheltered myself for so long to get back at him that I have forgotten what it is like to feel.” He took another step closer. Feyre did not move. “But you made me feel. You made me feel everything. You made me feel what I feared I would always feel for someone, because it meant that keeping that promise, that vow, to my father…” his words fell off and he sighed. “I’m conflicted. And I know that is no excuse, for there is no excuse for the words I said that I can’t take back, but that is how I feel.”

Feyre’s eyes welled with tears, but she did not balk away from him. Her posture did not waver, her chin did not dip. “And how is it that you truly feel, your Grace?”

Her words were hard, clipped, filled with so much emotion that Rhysand felt his heart being grabbed and twisted. “I care for you. I have cared for you since the moment I met you, since your sassy tongue fought against my every word, since I danced with you and kissed you and held you close. Feyre, I—“

His words quieted and a tear fell down her cheek. “You can’t even say it,” she breathed. 

“Letting that truth see the light of day would do nothing but hurt us both,” he said, reaching for her. As his fingers grazed her skin, he expected her to jerk back, to tell him to get out, but she didn’t. He took her fingers in his and a tremor ran through her at his touch. “Admitting the truth to you will change nothing. I still cannot marry you, Feyre, no matter how much my heart may cry out for you.”

Cursing himself, he watched as fresh tears ran down her face, yet she still let him hold her hand. “You truly hate your father more than you love me,” she breathed, and it wasn’t a question.

Rhysand hung his head, hatred coursing through his veins. He didn’t know why he went to Feyre’s, didn’t know why he was standing before her now. He was only causing them both further anguish.

Because the truth of the matter was yes, he loved her. He was so madly in love with her that his body ached when he wasn’t around her. He only dreamt of her, and longed to be around her from the minute he woke up until the second he closed his eyes for the night. He thought of no other woman, didn’t even look another woman’s way. And if he did, none compared. She was his everything.

But this vow to his father…

He had made it when his father was dying. They were the last words Rhysand ever spoke to his father. It was all he cared about, every social season, since the day his father died. 

Until now.

“You don’t understand,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze, even though her hand remained in his. 

“Then help me understand,” she said, and her voice broke.

Rhysand looked up at her and everything within him disintegrated. He couldn’t help her understand because he didn’t understand it himself. All he knew was how he felt, even if those feelings made no sense.

He cupped her face and dropped his forehead against hers. “All you need to understand is how I long for you, Feyre. You have completely and utterly consumed me.” 

Her eyes closed, another tear falling and he wiped it away before pressing his lips softly against the spot on her cheek where the tear had fallen. 

She trembled beneath him. “I loathe you,” she whispered, but there was no bite in it. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself. 

It was okay.

He loathed himself, too. 

“I want you to find a husband,” he said, their foreheads together, Feyre’s fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. “I want you to find someone who will cherish you, and respect you, and love you as you should be loved. I want you to find someone who worships you. You do not deserve this, what I have put you through, and I will never forgive myself for it. Find someone better than I.” 

Feyre shook her head as she leaned back and met his eye. Agony. It was agony in her stare. It was heartbreak, torment, grief. It ripped Rhysand’s soul to shreds until there was nothing left. “I loathe you,” she repeated, and her grip of his clothes tightened. “But I would not trade a day with you for anything. Every minute was worth it, even if we can never be.” 

“Feyre—”

She kissed him. At the touch of her lips, Rhysand’s body tensed, but it quickly relaxed and he swept her into his arms. One hand went to the back of her head, the other around her waist, holding her body up against his. That kiss deepend, and every ounce of Rhysand’s self control went with it.

Feyre’s hands dove into Rhysand’s hair, holding him to her as tightly as she could. As he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she whimpered and he let himself memorize the sound. As his tongue swept through her mouth, he memorized the taste of her. As his hand splayed out over her lower back, running down over the swell of her ass, he memorized the feel of her. He wished it could be like this all the time, that he could kiss her as freely as he wished, that he could give her the future she dreamed. The future she deserved.

But that wasn’t possible.

Tearing his lips from hers, Rhysand breathed, “I should go. You need to get ready for the ball.”

Her hands remained in his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I do.” She pulled his face back to hers, lips barely brushing. “Will you be there?”

His eyes fluttered shut and he resisted the urge to shake his head. If he did, his lips would be back on hers and he would be lost in her again. “Probably not, but you should—”

The door opened, but there was no time to jump apart.

Both of their heads whipped around to see Nesta perfectly still in the doorway, brows raised. She looked from their mouths that were nearly together, to Feyre’s arms around his neck, to Rhysand’s hands on her ass.

She blinked.

Then said, “I heard we had a visitor.”

Feyre stepped back and Rhysand’s hands slowly fell to his sides. “Apologies, Miss Archeron, we were just—“

“Oh, I think it’s perfectly obvious what you were doing,” Nesta said, looking between them. “And it seems this is not the first time, is it? I had a hunch of where my sister would go in the middle of the night. It seems my hunch was correct.”

Feyre hesitated, but it was Rhysand who said, “What we have done is none of your concern, with all due respect.” 

“Incorrect,” she said, and apparently it was the wrong thing to say because her eyes were now ablaze. “You see, it is my duty to marry my sisters, to find them husbands, and judging by the comfort you held in holding my sister’s assets, I am forced to believe that this little dalliance has gone beyond simple stolen kisses. I hope you realize and accept, your Grace, that it is now your duty to marry my sister.”

The room fell silent. Each of Nesta’s words were clipped, hard, directed to make an impact. Rhysand couldn’t breathe. Stupid, he was so incredibly ignorant. Feyre looked at him but said nothing.

“Truly?” Nesta scoffed. “Nothing to say for yourselves?”

“Rhys and I will not be getting married.” Feyre’s voice was just a whisper but it cut through Rhysand like a knife.

To his surprise, Nesta laughed. There was nothing joyful in it, but her laughter filled the room and Rhysand’s body tensed. “Oh, you will marry. There is not a noble man in this city that will take a defiled bride. He claimed you, he will marry you and I will hear no more of it.”

“Nesta—“

“If neither of you wanted marriage, you should have thought wiser before putting your hands and whatever else where they do not belong,” she snapped. “Viscount Lunasa, you will take my sister as your wife if you have any moral bone in your body. I know you are a gentleman. You must follow your duties as one. Now, I will kindly ask you to leave our home. We will make a plan to soon announce your engagement to the ton. Good day, your Grace.”

“Miss Archeron—“

“Good day,” she hissed, and Rhysand bowed his head in dismissal before glancing once more at Feyre. Her eyes were wide and she looked conflicted, so conflicted and panicked and scared. Rhysand couldn’t bear it.

He left, and when he did, he felt nearly worse than when he had arrived. 

<.>

Feyre hadn’t spoken to her the entire carriage ride over. Elain hadn’t either, but that was to be expected. They had followed through on their promise to find Nesta a dress and it was absolutely stunning. She looked down at the shimmering dove grey fabric and sighed. 

Her last ball in Velaris and she couldn’t wait to leave. The dancing and drinking and faked pleasantries had become taxing and she didn’t know at what point that had happened. The only thing on her mind was seeing Cassian one last time.

Well, that and the fact that she’d caught Rhysand and Feyre in a very intimate situation.

Her blood boiled, thinking of the audacity of Rhysand Lunasa. First, he’d ruined her reputation, rejecting her in her own social season. And now he’d not only sullied reputation but her body. He was a damnation to the Archeron family, but at least he would be a respectable match for Feyre to the rest of the ton. No one knew what had conspired between the two of them and Nesta would do whatever it took to make sure no one ever did.

Which meant Rhysand would marry Feyre.

As a server walked by, she saw that he carried a tray of red wine, usually reserved for the mama’s and lords. The women were expected to drink water, lemonade, or punch, but tonight, Nesta didn’t really give a damn. With a wave, she snagged the man’s attention and she took a glass with a smile. He hesitated, but she didn’t wait for him to say anything, walking away and up the stairs at the back of the grand ballroom.

Pausing halfway up, she looked around the expansive room. Elain was easily spotted, surrounded by not only the young ladies of the ton, eager to hear about what had happened with Lord Nazari, but also quite a few eligible young lords. The truth of Elain and Cassian’s broken engagement had not come to light, and although rumors ran rampant, none had come close to the truth. Aside from that, Nesta didn’t bother listening to them.

But then her eyes found Feyre.

Speaking to Rhysand Lunasa.

Her fingers tightened around her wine glass and she started down the stairs, going to demand that he either propose then and there or leave her sister alone until he was prepared to man up to his decisions.

But then she heard a familiar voice behind.

“Miss Archeron. How’s my former Diamond?”

Nesta spun around, a few drops from the wine glass sloshing over the edge from the hasty move. She quickly curtsied to Queen Amarantha. “Good evening, your Majesty. I am well. How are you?”

Her smile was sinister. “Lovely. It seems it has been a successful social season.” She glanced at the lords and ladies who danced with one another. “Has it not?”

Nesta nearly hesitated. She rarely hesitated, but this woman sent chills down her spine. “Yes, your Majesty, a very successful social season.”

Queen Amarantha’s brow rose. She watched Nesta with pure scrutiny for a moment before she added, “And yet, my dear, my Diamond has not secured a match…and with only one social event of the season left, might I add. I do hope I did not choose another Archeron only to find disappointment.”

Another. Because Nesta had been the first. She had disappointed the Queen, had shamed herself in front of the ton, and had made a mockery of her family. Elain, poor Elain, had not only one public heartbreak, but now two. Anxiety coursed throughout Nesta’s body as she stood under the stare of her Queen.

Perhaps that was the reason why she blurted, “Expect an announcement soon, your Majesty, for Feyre has found a husband, indeed.” 

Queen Amarantha’s shocked expression only lasted for a moment before pure joy flashed across her face. “Truly? To whom?” She looked out over the crowd and found Feyre, who was still talking with Rhysand in hushed tones. Amarantha’s eyes swiveled back to Nesta. “Are you to tell me that someone has at last charmed the Viscount?”

“On the contrary, your Majesty, I think it is his Grace that has charmed my sister.” She looked down at the two of them. The conversation they were having was tense, but they continued to gravitate towards each other, always seeming to find each other. Nesta didn’t know how she’d managed to miss it all season long. “We were waiting to announce it, after all of Elain’s…excitement last week.”

Excitement. The most ridiculous way to explain what had taken place, but she wasn’t inviting conversation about it. With a silent prayer to the Cauldron, Nesta prayed that the queen would let it drop; she wasn’t prepared to lie about what had happened between she, Cassian, and Elain.

With a wave of her hand, Queen Amarantha cooed, “Nonsense. This is cause for celebration.”

Nesta hadn’t noticed the glass in her hand, but her heart stopped as the queen raised it up into the air and clinked her ring against it once, twice, three times. The entire room fell as silent as Nesta’s head, everyone turning towards their queen. From where they stood on the stairs, there wasn’t a single person who couldn’t see them.

Including Feyre and Rhysand.

“Good people of Velaris, I have exciting news,” Queen Amarantha called, voice carrying through the room. “Our Diamond has found her husband.” Even from across the ballroom, Nesta could see Feyre’s eyes widen and Rhysand’s darken. Both were settled on her. “I’m happy to announce that Miss Feyre Archeron will be marrying his Grace, the Viscount, Lord Rhysand Lunasa.”

There were shocked gasps and applause as people, which Queen Amarantha basked in. She waited as everyone turned toward the happy couple, offering congratulations or surprised glances, before adding, “In celebration of their union, the crown will take care of everything for the upcoming nuptials.”

Feyre and Rhysand couldn’t even pretend to be happy. Feyre was in shock, unable to form a complete thought, and Rhysand continued to stare daggers into her.

They were swarmed with people as the band continued to play, surely all of them giving their congratulations, and Nesta took that as her chance to flee.

If it wasn’t enough for one sister to hate her, the other one may as well, too.

She hurried out of the manor and to where her carriage awaited. She could send the driver back for her sisters but not before she got where she needed to go.

She needed to leave Velaris, needed to leave this life that had brought nothing but pain to those around her.

Before she left, however, she had to see him, even if it was just to say goodbye.

____________________________________________________________

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[jikookiekosmos]

Use My Best Colors For Your Portrait || jjk

➥Pairing: best friend!jungkook/reader, boyfriend!jungkook/reader, artist!jungkook

➥Summary: After surprising Jungkook with his own studio room for his paintings, he couldn’t be any more over the moon. All’s well and good until he’s struggling to find inspiration...which you happily provide him with. He’s ecstatic to find his muse in you, and painting your portrait brings him so much joy. Things take a turn however, when he suddenly realizes what else he wants to paint.

➥Genre: established relationship, tiny bit of angst if you squint, fluff, smut

➥Rating: 18+

➥Words: ~7.9k (small drabbles don’t exist for me apparently, oops)

➥Content warnings: most of this at the beginning is just cute fluff domestic times (finally not much angst!), blonde jungkook, jk ties his hair up at some point (my weakness), jk puts paints on the reader, making out, slight hair pulling, cursing, shower sex times, jungkook has a big dick, oral (m. receiving), very slight mouth fucking, dirty talk, fingering (very brief), unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), biting, cumming inside, cute times in the shower, jungkook is actually the sweetest, reader and jk are so in love with each other it hurts, also jk saying ‘only for you’ is a thing i started and can’t stop now oops

A/N: hello! This is part of my Only for You (OFY) Drabble series, but it can be read as a stand-alone! Their relationship will make a lot more sense though if you’ve read OFY beforehand. This fic takes place roughly around six months after the events of OFY (so in between that and the dream drabble I also posted).

Once again, thank you to @dntaewithluv​ for her endless support and always giving me feedback, I forever appreciate you and your friendship is more than I could ever ask for 💜

I’ve written a few other drabbles and will list them below, along with a general timeline:

When I Dream of You - ~1 year after OFY

Stay With Me - a few months after the dream drabble

Also, I hope that if you read this, you enjoy it~

➥OFY Spotify Playlist (songs I listened to for inspo)

➥Series Masterlist

➥All Works Masterlist

taglist: @inlovewiththemoonn​

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

You would do absolutely anything in the world for Jeon Jungkook.

Seeing him happy had to be at the top of your list of favorite things in the world, as it had been for many years as his best friend, and now in the several months since the two of you started dating. Some things just never changed, you guessed.

Which is why you took it upon yourself to change one of the spare rooms in the house you two were renting into a space where he could thrive as the artist he was. Initially, the two of you thought it would be nice to use that space as a work area for you, since your job required you to sometimes do work from home. And for a little while, that’s exactly what you did.

But ever since you found out Jungkook liked to paint – scratch that, he loved to paint, and had been doing so for longer than you thought – the gears started turning in your head.

The current space he was using to create his art was definitely less than ideal. The house had a decent sized garage area, so there was enough room for him to store his supplies and be able to paint without it being too much of an issue. The downside, though, was it was cramped and even though Jungkook said he didn’t mind it, you still couldn’t help the frown from masking your features whenever you saw him huddled up so close to his easel.

For the last few weeks, and with lots of help from internet searches, you’d been slowly converting your space into something like a studio. You didn’t have to worry about Jungkook finding out, either, since he very rarely went into that room seeing as he had no reason to. He respected your privacy the same as you respected his, so this made everything infinitely easier for you in the long run.

The day had finally arrived where you would show the new space to Jungkook. Everything was set up as perfect as you could manage it – at least you hoped so – and you were dying of excitement to show him as soon as possible.

You were also, however, incredibly nervous at the same time. What if he didn’t like it? Even worse, what if he hated it?

Of course, you knew deep down that there was no way Jungkook could hate anything you ever did, unless it was something horrible, but you worried about everything because that’s just how you were. So, when the two of you were sitting at the dinner table one night, you tried hard to swallow the lump in your throat as you listened to Jungkook talk about his newest work.

“I really think you’re gonna like how this one turns out, angel.” Jungkook was offering you a sweet smile as he went to grab another bite of food from his plate. You managed to smile back, despite the hammering of your heart against your chest. He was basically handing you the perfect opening for you to segue the conversation!

“I know I’ll love it, Koo.” You watched as his small smile turned into a full grin, his nose scrunching up in that adorable way that had you falling in love with him all over again every time you saw it.

“Speaking of your paintings,” you started off, clearing your throat while he swallowed down his food. He looked at you with his undivided attention and it made your heart skip a beat.

Ok let’s be real, every damn thing this man did made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah? What about them?” He twirled more of the noodles around his fork while he waited on your answer.

You gulped. “Wouldn’t you like it if you had more space?”

Jungkook chuckled and placed his fork down, shaking his head as he placed on hand on top of yours that was still resting by your plate. You’d barely touched your food and he noticed.

“Baby,” he started, “as much as I would love to have a bigger space, what I have now is just fine. I know you think it’s stifling my creativity in there, but I’m still creating things and am comfortable.” He squeezed you hand gently before returning to his food.

“I get that you think the garage is fine but what if I told you that- that you could have a bigger workspace.” You finally picked up your fork and were poking around at your own food now, avoiding his gaze. You could feel his stare boring into you regardless, though.

“I mean – yeah, hypothetically I could have more space, but it’s not in the cards for us right now and that’s ok, too. Maybe one day.”

The way he always was optimistic about your future together made you feel warm all over. Jungkook liked to look on the bright side of every situation, and it’s been enough to help you keep your own wits about yourself numerous times now.

But this time you wanted to show him that the future could be closer than he realized.

“Koo, can you come with me real quick? I have something I want to show you.”

You didn’t miss the confused look that flashed across his face for a second before his calm demeanor took over again.

“Of course.” He hopped up from the table, that smile you adored now plastered on his face. “Lead the way.”

“Ok but I also need you to close your eyes.” You reached out to take his hand and were rewarded with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed thoughtfully but did as you asked, closing his eyes and grasping your hand tighter so you could lead him wherever you planned to.

You walked through the house pulling him behind you, feeling your heartbeat quicken with every step to where its pace was almost concerning. Whether or not it was mostly from excitement or nervousness, you weren’t sure.

You finally reached your destination and let go of his hand so you could open the door.

“Keep your eyes closed, ok,” you asked. Jungkook simply nodded and you saw a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had no idea what you were about to show him, but knowing you and how much he loved pretty much anything you did, he was sure it’d probably make him happy.

And he couldn’t have been more correct in his assumption.

At the quiet sound of you telling him he could open his eyes he did so, slowly at first, blinking to adjust to the light the now flooded over the both of you. It took him several seconds to register exactly what he was seeing, and when he did he couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare around the room, mouth agape.

Decorating the walls were the paintings he had given you, beautiful works of various sizes and themes. Alongside the far wall was a tall shelf that housed all his supplies (how had you managed to get them past him without him noticing?), and even some new things like paints he’d been eyeing for a while and other tools he hadn’t had a chance to get himself yet.

But in the middle of the room stood his easel and chair, set up in the similar fashion as it had been in the garage. His apron was draped across the back of the chair, and there was even tarp laid out underneath the workspace. You research had paid off because everything was set up in such a way that it created the perfect atmosphere for Jungkook’s creativity to shine through in ways it hadn’t been able to before.

You weren’t aware of this yet, however, because you were still watching Jungkook’s reaction. He still hadn’t said anything, and as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, you started to wonder if this was the right call-

Strong arms were pulling you up from the ground and spinning you around before you could process it, making you squeal with delight as Jungkook twirled you before bringing you back down to pepper kisses all over you face.

“Angel, I can’t believe this, you did all this for me?” He was still holding onto your hips tightly, beaming as he looked down at you. Your nod and giggle was all the confirmation he needed before he pulled you into another kiss, this one slightly more heated than the ones before.

“Do you like it,” you questioned when the both of you pulled away to breathe. Jungkook laughed before taking your face in his hands and brushing his nose along yours.

“Do I like it? Baby, I love it. It’s perfect! Thank you so much.” Another kiss. “I love it and I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

His happiness made your heart soar and you definitely knew that you’d do something like this an infinite amount of times if it meant he’d keep that smile on his face.

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

A few weeks passed by and Jungkook had been using his new studio nearly everyday at this point. His creations had been increasing in numbers and he was starting to receive commissions from others thanks to his small online shop he’d set up with your help. He still worked at the bar as his primary job, but he was also grateful to have a hobby on the side that could potentially yield something lucrative.

Of course, Jungkook’s increase in his time spent on his art still didn’t take away from his time with you. If anything, it gave the both of you another way to spend time together, since now there was enough space for you to sit in and observe him paint when you couldn’t before. You often sat quietly and either did some of your own work or engaged in your own hobbies while he painted, and it was always peaceful.

There came a day, though, that you never thought you’d experience: Jungkook had run out of inspiration. He’d hit his first real artist’s block and it was taking a bigger toll on him than he would’ve liked.

You rubbed his shoulders as he sat in front of his easel one night, groaning in frustration about his current work. “It’s not turning out at all like I want it to. I’ve been struggling with finding new inspiration and it clearly shows in whatever this is.” He vaguely gestured to the canvas, prompting you to place a kiss on his cheek as you ran your hand through his pretty blonde hair. You knew that always helped to calm him down and this case was no exception.

Jungkook sighed heavily, turning to place a kiss on your palm that was still lingering around his face. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get worked up. It just sucks, you know? I’d been on this really good streak of creating things and now I just…can’t. It’s weird and I don’t like it.” He pouted slightly and the sight made you giggle.

“I know, baby, but you’ll figure something out. You always do.” You placed a kiss on top of his head before you walked around to sit on his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and one of his hands cradled your waist to steady you.

He was humming thoughtfully as he looked you up and down, your hands now playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiled slyly. “You.”

You rolled you eyes before returning the smile. “Ok, what about me? I’m curious.”

His hand was rubbing up and down your side. “Nothing in particular, just usually looking at you can help me with inspiration.”

His confession made you gasp. “Really?”

He nodded and smiled wider. “Really. You inspire me a lot.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips before sighing again. “This time though it’s not really working like I’d hoped.”

You watched his eyes close and his brows furrow before an idea popped into your head. “Hey,” you reached down to tilt his chin up so he’d look at you, “It might be a long shot, but: have you ever considered painting portraits?”

He pursed his lips as he thought about it. The simple act made you want to kiss him but now wasn’t the time.

“Honestly…no. I’ve never thought about it before because I usually prefer to paint scenery.”

You searched his eyes as you asked your next question. “Well, if you want to try, maybe you could paint me? Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, maybe it can help spark a new idea or something?”

You watched as his eyes slowly lit up at your suggestion, his face morphing into a smile that you mirrored.

“That’s a great idea! It’s something new and it also includes you, so I already love it.” You chuckled in his lap as he hugged you closer, placing a small kiss on your neck. “Thank you.”

You ran your hands through his hair again before leaning back. “Anything for you. Do you want to start now?”

He thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, we can do that. Is there, uh – was there something specific you wanted to wear for it?”

You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. “Are you suggesting you want to paint a nude portrait?”

Even though Jungkook knew your body better than you did at this point, your words still managed to make him blush as he groaned. “No, I wasn’t thinking that- not that I’d mind of course just you know, whatever makes you comfortable-”

You laughed at his flustered nature before hopping off his lap. “You’re so cute. I’ll go find something to change into, it shouldn’t take long.”

“R-right,” he stuttered, still clearly somewhat affected by what you had said. You shook your head with amusement as you went to your bedroom to find something to wear. You settled for a purple dress that you knew Jungkook loved, and considering a lot of his paintings involved shades of purple and blue, you figured it would be perfect.

You knew you made the right choice when you stepped back into the room and saw Jungkook’s face when his eyes fell on you. He looked like he’d never seen someone so beautiful (he looked at you like that a lot and it always did something to you) and your lips curled upwards into a smile before you could realize it.

You stopped in the doorway and twirled, giving him a full view of the dress. “Is this ok?”

You already knew the answer, but it was always nice to hear him say it.

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s perfect. You can, uh, you can take a seat whenever you’re ready.”

While you were changing, Jungkook had pulled one of the loveseats from the living room into the space so you’d have somewhere to sit or lay while he painted you. The loveseat was a dark blue color and it contrasted beautifully against the color of your dress. You decided to lay on it in a comfortable pose, and you couldn’t help the small giggle you let out at Jungkook’s reaction to your choice.

You had laid an arm behind your head, turning your face so you were looking at him while the rest of your body was sprawled out on the loveseat. One of your legs dangled over the side, making the skirt of your dress hike up somewhat. You were very comfortable, and Jungkook was very happy with your pose.

“Make it pretty, ok,” you joked with him. He smirked at your comment.

“You know I will. I’ll use my best colors, just for you.”

“Wow, I feel special,” you quipped back. You were rewarded with the sound of his beautiful laughter as it echoed off the walls.

“You’re the most special,” he admitted honestly. You gave him a brilliant smile and he felt his heart stutter.

With the way you were looking at him, Jungkook thought that if he didn’t start painting, he may never start. So, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from you so he could find the paints he needed to get started. He tied up his hair, a few of the blonde strands escaped and framed his face but he didn’t seem to mind it too much as he got to work.

Thankfully, since you’d chosen a good position, the process was easier than you thought it would be. You just had to lie there and watch him work, which you happily did. You enjoyed watching his face scrunch up in concentration before relaxing again as he brushed stroke after stroke onto the canvas.

You were so beyond proud of him that it made your heart swell inside your chest.

Jungkook had been painting for a little over half an hour before he announced it was time to take a break. He could paint for hours on end without stopping, but that was when he didn’t have a live subject he was working with. He walked over to you with a bottle of water so you could sip from it without having to disturb your position too much.

You sat up slightly so you could drink, and while you did so, one of your dress straps started falling down your arm. Jungkook immediately went to move it back into place, but as he did, he couldn’t help but stare at the dark contrast of the purple satin against your skin. He thought it was so pretty, and his mind started wandering to how the paint itself might look-

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He may have been covered in paint himself, but that didn’t mean he needed to go putting paint on you.

When you were re-situated on the loveseat once more, Jungkook strolled back over to this easel. Unfortunately, since that thought of you covered in paint first took up residence inside his head, he now found it hard to focus on anything else. While he stared at you to try and resume your portrait, he just kept picturing you with painted streaks covering your skin instead.

You must have noticed he was distracted because soon you were calling over to him. “Kook? Is something wrong?”

He gulped and shook his head. “No, nothing’s wrong! You’re doing great, baby.”

“Do you need me some other way?”

Such a simple statement and yet it was stirring something inside of him. Asking him if he needed you a certain way ignited that desire to once again paint you and he found himself unable to hold back from asking anymore.

“Yeah, I uh, I wanted to try something.” You were confused when he got up and started walking toward you, only carrying his paint supplies. At first you thought maybe he just wanted to get closer, but he didn’t bring the easel with him.

“What are you wanting to try,” your voice was laced with curiosity. He gave you a shy smile.

“I was just thinking about how pretty it would be,” he looked down at the floor then back up at your face before he continued, “if I used you as a canvas instead.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at the request. Jungkook was asking to paint you, not paint you on a portrait, but to paint you. The suggestion intrigued you a lot more than you thought it would, which is ultimately what led to you nodding your agreement. “I think I’d like to try that, too.”

Jungkook’s face broke into such a dazzling smile that excited you to no end. You watched as he pulled his chair close to you, as well as some tarp to place around the area. When he was situated where he wanted to be, he dipped his brush into some of the purple paint on his palette and gently lifted your arm. The feeling of the paint as it brushed along your arm was foreign but not unwelcome. There was something about it that was almost calming.

You were now also recalling all the times you’d told Jungkook how pretty he looked even covered in paint. The pretty colors contrasting with his beautiful, golden skin tone never failed to take your breath away no matter how many times you saw it. You wondered briefly if this is what he was experiencing now as he took his time painting your skin.

He was focusing on your with such intensity and taking great care to only get the paint where he wanted it, so as to not stain certain parts of you or your dress. The sight of his caution made that familiar warmth bloom in your chest again.

He took his time painting beautiful designs along your arm before moving down to paint on your thighs and legs. He was alternating between purple and blue hues now, and the swirling patterns reminded you a lot of his tattoos that you adored. You had spent many nights lying next to him in bed, tracing the lines of his tattoos until you were too sleepy to keep it up. Seeing the patterns against your own skin briefly made you think about if you would ever want to get a tattoo. Before you put too much thought into it, your attention was pulled back to Jungkook who was sitting up now and admiring his work.

The time had passed by much quicker than you anticipated, and it was starting to get dark outside as the light was no longer filtering in through the windows of the room.

He seemed satisfied as he nodded and smiled. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. Stay just like this,” he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. When he returned, he had his coveted polaroid camera in his hands. Jungkook was also big into photography, and every one of his hobbies suited him perfectly in some way.

“Is it ok if I take a photo of you, baby?”

You grinned and nodded, being careful not to move too much from your current position. He snapped the photo and the polaroid was printing immediately after. When he pulled it from the camera, he laid it down on the table next to his easel so it could develop properly.

Jungkook wiped his hands off on his apron before taking it off and drawing his attention back to you. He could stare at you like this all day, but he knew it would probably be best to get you both cleaned up and paint-free.

He offered a hand for you so he could help pull you off the loveseat. When you were up fully, he wrapped his arms around you, careful to not get any of his exposed, paint-covered skin on your dress.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured softly, brushing some of your hair out of your face as his eyes scanned up and down your body to admire his creation. “And as much as I love seeing it, we should probably get this paint off soon. When it dries too much, it can be a bitch to scrub off, and I don’t want that for you.”

You chuckled at that and simply nodded your head. You’d been lying there for nearly 2 hours at this point, so you were pretty tired and ready to just relax for the night.

The two of you hopped into the shower shortly after, helping each other rid your bodies of the remnants of paint covering you both. You always loved taking showers with Jungkook, because whether or not it was a short, regular shower, or one shared after a night of intimacy, these moments were some that you cherished the most and wouldn’t change for the world.

You got lost in the feeling of Jungkook scrubbing shampoo into your hair, letting out soft noises as your eyes slipped closed.

Your noises always threatened to drive Jungkook crazy, and this time was no exception. He couldn’t deny the stirring of his cock as he listened to the little moans slipping from your mouth at such a simple action.

Of course, since he was so close to you, there was no way you didn’t feel him. His cock was hardening against your thigh, and the fact that you were turning him on by not doing much turned you on.

You could feel the wetness start to slip past your folds, but you decided to not make any moves yet, wondering how far you could take this before either of you snapped. You knew that teasing him was one of the quickest ways to get Jungkook riled up.

“Feels so good, Koo,” you shamelessly moaned out as he kept massaging the shampoo into your hair. You heard him let out a small grunt at your deliberate words, feeling him twitch against your thigh as he got harder.

You leaned your head back to give him a better view of your neck, since you knew he loved to mark you up there. His hands were starting to tangle in your hair, but he took care to not pull too hard as he brought his attention back to the task(s) at hand.

He was currently focusing on two things: 1) getting the rest of the shampoo out of your hair, and 2) not fucking you up against the shower wall. Doing the first thing was currently keeping him from acting on the second, but you certainly weren’t helping with that.

Your head lolled around on your neck, your eyes still closed as your sounds got louder. He knew you were messing with him now, so as retaliation he pulled on your hair a little tighter, making you gasp.

“You’re doing this on purpose, angel,” you could hear the dark tone of his voice over the waterfall in the shower clearly, and it just made you more aroused. You chanced opening your eyes to look at him, and the sight you were met with made you moan louder, this time without trying.

Jungkook was staring at you, mouth slightly parted as he let out pants of his own, his blonde, soaked tresses falling in his face and covering his eyes. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he tugged on your hair again, making you reach out to place your hands on his chest.

“You’re teasing me to get me worked up, hm?” All you could do was nod, his husky voice and the feeling of his hand wrapped in your hair making you wetter by the second. There was no use in playing coy any longer. You wanted him, and he wanted you.

The question now was: who would make the first move?

You realized that you wanted to be the one to make the first move, so you did.

“So, what if I am,” you asked sweetly, wrapping your hand around his length and pumping him slowly. His eyes closed and he leaned his forehead against your shoulder, fingers now digging into your waist.

“You know what happens when you do that,” Jungkook warned. You absolutely knew what happened, and you definitely wanted it to happen.

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe you should enlighten me.” You teased him as you gently nibbled on his earlobe, increasing your pace as you continued to stroke him. You heard him let out a soft moan against your shoulder as he placed a kiss there.

With no more hesitation, you turned him slightly and sank down to your knees in front of him, delighted by how his cock jerked in your hold when you steadied it with your hand.

Jungkook stared at you wide-eyed as you started moving your hand around his shaft before placing a gentle kiss on his tip, the prettiest groan falling from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?”

You peeked up at him as you fluttered your eyelashes, knowing that seeing you like this always aroused him beyond belief. You continued moving your hand in slow, languid strokes, and he was almost fully hard now.

He let his head hit the wall behind him, soft curses and praises for you tumbling from his mouth. 

Seeing him like this had to be near the top of the list of your favorite sights to ever witness. And right then is when you figured it’d be the perfect time to surprise him. Without a warning you opened your mouth and took all of him in that you could reach.

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate.

“Hey wait what are y- oh my God, fuck.” His loud moan echoed off the walls of the room, causing a fresh wave of arousal to pool between your thighs. You sucked harder as you hollowed out your cheeks, ignoring the way your throat constricted around him.

“Y/N, shit, you feel so good, your mouth- fuck, angel, I don’t want to hurt you,” Jungkook was panting hard above you, eyes shut and brows furrowed, jaw slack as he unabashedly continued to moan at your actions. He was reaching behind him to try and hold something, but the smooth wall had nothing to offer him. His fingers were slipping against the tile, so he gave up and instead settled for clenching and unclenching his fists.

You pulled off him with a pop, a string of saliva left in your wake. You smiled up at him as you kept stroking him, not wanting his pleasure to disappear in the slightest.

“You won’t hurt me, Koo,” you reassured him, earning another groan from the man falling apart under your touch. He twitched in your hold, and you stuck your tongue out again to run it along the underside of his length. 

Jungkook chanced looking down at you, only to look up at the ceiling a moment later while he muttered a strained “holy shit.” 

“C’mon baby, don’t you want to look at me,” you taunted him as your tongue played with the head of his cock, swirling around him. The low groans coming from above you let you know that he enjoyed that a lot.

“Fuck, angel, I-” Jungkook’s sentence died as a moan ripped itself from his throat when you surged back down to take all of him in again. This time you continued moving, feeling the tears in the corners of your eyes but not stopping.

It wasn’t like you’d never sucked him off like this before, seeing as it was one of your favorite activities, after all. But it was a rare occasion where Jungkook would let you take all of him in one go for fear of hurting you. So, you took these chances whenever they presented themselves, and the reward was always, always worth it.

Tears along with the water droplets from the shower were coating your face but you didn’t care. All of your focus was on Jungkook and how he was trying so hard to restrain himself above you. You watched his fists clench and unclench and you could feel himself struggle to keep his hips from moving forward so he didn’t fuck your mouth.

Yeah, you weren’t having that. You wanted him to let go, wanted him to know that it was ok, that you wanted this. You reached out to grab one of his hands and placed it in your hair, relishing in the way his fingers immediately tangled themselves into the wet strands. You pulled your mouth off of him again, but not before letting your tongue drag slowly across every inch of him.

You looked up at him again as you pumped him leisurely, waiting until he brought his gaze down to stare at you, only for him to quickly close his eyes again.

“God, I can’t look at you, like I want to, fuck do I want to, but you look so fucking good like this, I’m not gonna last-”

You always found his stammering to be cute and you didn’t want to torture him too much longer. Deciding that you’d teased him enough, you took all of him into your mouth again, intertwining your fingers with his unoccupied hand and giving it a squeeze. The intimacy of this particular action was always enough to get both of you going, and it had Jungkook’s hips stuttering as you sucked hard.

“Fuck, baby, always take me so good like this. Always so good for me, I love you, fuck,” he was groaning as his head hit the wall behind him again, his hold in your hair tightening the same moment you felt him buck his hips like you’d been wanting all this time.

Unfortunately, for you, whenever Jungkook would fuck your mouth, no matter how much you wanted to sit there and take it without issue, his size always proved to be too big for you to handle and it had you coughing around his length in no time. Which, of course, always made Jungkook stop what he was doing before either of you had the chance to enjoy it much.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry, are you ok?” Jungkook pulled you up while you kept coughing, brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face and looking at you with worry. You nodded and tried to reassure him, wanting to get back on your knees for him, but he held you in place.

“You don’t want me to continue,” you asked, your voice a little more hoarse than usual thanks to what your throat had just endured.

Jungkook shook his head. “No, angel, it’s not that. If you do keep going, I’ll cum in no time.” He brushed some of the water away from under your eyes, not knowing if it was tears or from the shower. He bent down to place a rough kiss on your lips, such a contrast from how his hands caressed your face.

“I want to be inside of you when that happens,” he murmured against you, gently biting down on your bottom lip and pulling a whine from you, in turn causing more wetness to gush between your legs. “If you’ll let me, of course.”

You almost laughed. “Koo, you know I’ll let you do anything at this point.”

He chuckled. “That’s a dangerous admission, baby. You sure about that?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Of course I’m sure. I’d let you do anything you want because I trust you. Because I love you,” it was your turn to kiss him this time, and it was filled with so much passion it nearly made him dizzy. Jungkook could never get tired of the feeling of your lips against his, of hearing you say that you loved him, of feeling your skin pressed against each other during times like these.

Jungkook was hooked on you and he never wanted to go back to a time where he wasn’t.

You pulled him out of his thoughts as you tugged on some of his hair, earning a delicious sounding grunt from him. You whispered your next snarky comment right by his ear.

“You gonna fuck me now, baby?”

Your bluntness had his cock quickly stirring back to life after it had softened some during your coughing incident. He growled low and dark as he started placing love bites on your collarbone.

“Sure you don’t want me to return the favor first, angel?” He was marking up your skin while he asked this, so you almost didn’t realize what he was asking specifically but then it dawned on you.

“As much I love seeing you with your head between my legs,” you responded, tugging on his hair again, “I’d rather have you fuck me up against this wall.”

He moaned against your collarbone, the action vibrating your skin. He pulled off of you and brought your lips to his in a filthy kiss. “Your wish is my command.”

Jungkook lifted you up then by placing his hands under your ass and you got the message, wrapping your legs around him as he held you up. He turned so your back was against the wall, the only things now holding you up being his strong arms and the smooth tile behind you.

He first plunged two fingers inside you without a warning, making you let out a silent scream. He smirked at the way you clenched around his fingers, scissoring them before pulling them out again. You whined at the loss and he shushed you with a gentle kiss on your nose.

“Had to make sure you’re ready, baby.” He had one arm wrapped around your waist, trapped in between your back and the shower wall. With his now free hand, he lined himself up with your entrance, moaning when the tip of his cock was sucked in by your velvety walls.

“Fuck, you already feel so good and I’m barely in yet,” he clenched his jaw as he sank further into you inch by inch. When he finally bottomed out and was filling you up in the best way possible, you clenched around him to tease him further, making him curse.

“Watch it, angel,” he growled. “You’re gonna make it very hard for me to not blow it if you keep doing that, and I want you there with me when I do.”

“Then I guess you’d better start moving,” you teased, wrapping your arms more tightly around his neck. You knew what was coming next; Jungkook would put you exactly in your place, just like you wanted. And for that you needed to hold on tight for dear life because that man could rock you like nothing ever had before.

Jungkook grabbed your hips firmly in his hold as he fucked up into you, making sure you were held against the wall and weren’t in danger of falling down as he did so. Despite this, each thrust had you sliding more up the wall until he would bring you back down again. When he found a pace that was he was sure he could resume without either of you getting hurt, he finally let go.

To say you saw stars would be an understatement. Jungkook was fucking you with so much vigor that you weren’t just seeing stars, you were sure you were seeing entire galaxies. Your sounds kept dying out on your tongue because the feeling was so overwhelming and it had your trembling around him in no time.

“Can’t make any sounds when I’m fucking you this good, angel?” Jungkook was taunting you now and quite frankly, he was right, he was fucking you so good that you were finding it hard to say anything. And the mixture of his dirty words with the sweet pet name you adored had you clenching even tighter around him, causing him to groan loudly and grip your waist tighter.

You eventually found your voice again when Jungkook hit a certain spot inside of you, pulling an embarrassingly loud whine from your throat. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, tears almost brimming in your eyes once again at how good he felt.

“Fuck, Jungkook, feels so good, oh my God-” your praises made him twitch inside you as he moved his hands now from your waist to hold you up by cupping your ass, squeezing tightly in time with his thrusts. He was bouncing you up and down on his cock now with his strength alone, and the thought of it made your orgasm start to approach at an alarmingly fast rate.

“I love feeling you so close like this, I love you, so fucking much, shit-” Jungkook cut himself off as threw his head back to get his hair out of his face, careful not to let his balance falter or his grip slip on you. He had to do it though because his hair was keeping him from seeing your face now that you were leaning your head back against the wall, and he couldn’t have that.

“I love you, Jungkook, I’m close, fuck,” you were breathing hard as you couldn’t control your moans any longer, eyes squeezed shut and tears falling from just how much pleasure you were receiving and also how much you loved this man. Jungkook was the man you’d loved for so many years before you were finally able to call him yours. He always took care of you in every aspect of life, and you reciprocated it as best you could. And it was because of this kind of love you two had for each other that made these intimate times all the more meaningful. You were sitting here, back up against a shower wall in the arms of the man you loved while he rearranged your guts, and it was such an emotional experience alongside being a pleasurable one that the tears actually made sense.

Jungkook bit down on your shoulder and pulled you out of your reverie, making you cry out as he muffled his own sounds against your skin. You could tell by his thrusts that he was getting close now, his grunts happening more frequently and louder, echoing off the tiled shower walls. The water had already started to get cold but neither of you cared. Nothing outside of the two of you existed in this moment, and that was exactly how you liked it.

“Touch yourself for me, baby, I’m close, want you to be there with me,” Jungkook breathed out, his grip on your ass harsher now and you were sure there’d be marks tomorrow. You loved it when he marked you up, and even though he always felt slightly bad about it, you knew Jungkook loved seeing the marks, too.

You obeyed his command and reached down to rub your clit, nearly shrieking at the new wave of pleasure that washed over you. The sensations on your clit, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you, the way he was holding you, and all the things he was saying to you was enough to finally push you over the edge.

“Jungkook, I’m cumming, fuck-” you barely had time to utter out your warning before you were cumming hard around his length, your body spasming as he held you through it.

He sped up then, chasing his own high now, the feeling of your walls clenching around him making his eyes roll back. “Fuck, I can feel you, always so perfect for me, I’m close-”

His eyes were closed now so he didn’t see you reach for him. You pulled him closer so you could kiss him, hoping to help him along this way, swallowing down every beautiful sound he was making. “C’mon Koo, cum for me, wanna feel you fill me up.”

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned out, loud and long as that was the last thing he needed to get him there. His hips stuttered a few more times before you felt him twitch and fill you up, just like you wanted. Because gravity was working against you due to your current position, you could feel some of it dripping out of you despite Jungkook still being inside of you. The feeling made you scrunch up your nose, and the action made Jungkook laugh and mumble out ‘cute’ as he placed a kiss on the tip of your nose.

He pulled out of you carefully before moving you away from the wall so he could set you down on your feet. Your legs were a little wobbly, so he let you brace yourself against him as he helped you clean up.

The water was nearing a very uncomfortable cold temperature, but the both of you would rather endure that than leave the shower without cleaning off completely. After the workout you both had, there was nothing more you wanted than to curl up with each other in the bed.

After helping each other get clean again, and stealing quite a few kisses while doing so, Jungkook helped you out of the shower since you still didn’t trust your legs and dried you off before taking care of himself. Your heart swelled at the sight of him as it always did when he would take care of you like this.

You just hoped that you were taking care of him in all the ways he needed as well. You were certainly trying your best and would continue to do so for the rest of your life.

Once you were both snuggled into bed, him with an arm under you and you with your face nuzzling against his chest, you broke the silence first.

“If that’s what happens when I let you put paint on me, we should do that more often.”

Jungkook, who was tracing invisible patterns on your back in between your shoulder blades, laughed so hard you shook along with him. When he finally calmed down, he was able to answer you. “I totally agree. Although, I don’t think that happened because I painted you. It happened because you-” he booped you on the nose “-teased me, knowing full well what happens when you do.”

You shrugged as best you could with his arms around you. “You love it, though.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Indeed I do.” He placed a kiss on the top of your head and resumed his earlier soothing tracing of patterns on your skin. You rested your cheek against his chest and could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. The combined actions of his hands and the steady thrum of his heartbeat was enough to have slumber calling your name in a matter of minutes.

Jungkook had something more to say, however.

“Hey,” he called gently, making you look up at him with groggy eyes. He smiled at the sight. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me. For being my muse. I’ve got more ideas now about what else to create, and I don’t think I could’ve gotten there without your help.”

You smiled at him before you placed your head down again and shut your eyes once more, breathing deeply. “You would’ve eventually. That’s just how you are. Maybe I sped up the process, but you would’ve done fine.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed and looked at the ceiling. His glance travelled down to look at your nearly sleeping form, laying on him calm and unbothered. Moments like these topped his list of favorite things, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

“Goodnight, angel,” he murmured softly, not sure if you were asleep or not yet. You muttered something unintelligible back, but he knew you were telling him goodnight all the same, and it brought a smile to his face.

Jungkook wanted to tackle life with you, the good, the bad, all of it; he wanted to do it with you by his side. He wanted to make sure every day of your life from here on out was filled with happiness and love and everything you deserved in the world, just as you wanted to do the same for him. He knew you’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for you.

Only for you.

[tinyhistory]

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

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A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

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Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

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Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

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The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

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Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

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The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

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Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

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Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

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Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

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On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

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Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

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Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

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Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

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Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

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The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

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The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

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Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

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Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

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Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

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Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

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Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

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The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

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When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

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The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

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Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[swbumblebee]

He wasn’t hiding. Jedi Masters don’t hide. Mace Windu doesn’t hide. He just so happened to be in the furthest, quietest part of the archives where it was unlikely anybody would run into him.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the silence as he progressed. This period in time was turning out to be much more taxing than it had been the first time around. Then again, last time he wasn’t trying to formulate a plan to assassinate the Chancellor and decide the fate of a few million potential clones, at the same time as running the order and keeping an eye on two of the most unpredictable boys he had ever met.

Well, a boy and a young man.

Another reason for his journey. He could sense young Anakin’s blindingly strong presence and Obi-Wan’s steady, shielded light, getting closer and closer as he journeyed through the stacks.

What in the galaxy were they doing here?

A high-pitched giggle stopped him in his tracks.

“No Master! It’s Goodd`e da Lodia, otherwise it doesn’t make sense!”

“Alright alright, how’s this? Goodde da Loddia”

“Gooddè”

“Don’t just repeat it Padawan. Sound it out for me, like we do with Basic”

“OK, Goo-dd-è”

“Goodde”

Mace cleared his throat.

“Good day”

Both young Jedi started, Obi-Wan nearly dropped the mug of tea that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand these days.

“Master Mace!” ten year old Anakin cried happily, pushing pleasure into the Force with enthusiasm, to a wince from his Master, who was exuding just the right amount of polite welcome from behind his shields.

“Hello Master Windu” Obi-Wan nodded at him with a somewhat tired smile. He made to get up from the dusty little table squeezed into the alcove and tucked into the wall, but the Master of the Order waved a hand.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eying the various pads and pieces of flimsi littering the table and the floor.

Instead of the usual bouncy response there was an unexpected, rather pregnant, silence and young Anakin gave his teacher a (not terribly subtle) worried look.

“Anakin is teaching me Huttese” Obi-Wan answered smoothly. The boy in question nodded vigorously, and Mace watched with a small amount of amusement as he ever so slightly kicked a piece of flimsy further under the table.

“How…interesting”

“Yes, as you probably heard, it’s not going terribly well” Obi-Wan gave him a self-deprecating smile, no doubt taking note of Mace’s incredulity. He turned to his Padawan.

“Anakin, could you make sure Madam Nu doesn’t close up this section yet, and let her know we won’t be long.”

The boy looked at his Master, and they gave each other a tiny understanding nod. Anakin’s Force signature flared ever so slightly with…fear? before it was quickly soothed by Obi-Wan, Mace assumed.

“Sure Master, be right back” The child took off among the stacks with a smile at Mace.

“Walk please, don’t run!” the young Master called after him, shaking his head.

Mace took the empty seat at the table, taking in the mess once more.

“So…Huttese?” he asked mildly, looking at a nearby pad “and…The Bantha who came for Life day?” he raised his eyebrows at the simple children’s story in Basic.

“Ahh, yes.” The young man chewed on his lip a little as he gathered his thoughts. Mace waited patiently, eyeing a nearby piece of flimsi with the Galactic Basic alphabet written out half a dozen times in shaky writing.

“Anakin is a bright boy” Obi-Wan began slowly. “He has an incredible knowledge of mechanics and electronics, and mathematics comes very easily to him.” He said, unable to keep a proud smile off his face, until he turned serious eyes on Mace again. “There are some areas, however, where he has a lot of catching up to do. He isn’t quite at his age level yet with his literacy.”

Mace frowned.

“Not quite at his age level?” he clarified, with a sinking feeling.

“Ah, no.” Obi-Wan paused again. “Obviously there wasn’t much cause for reading and writing in his previous…position” Both of them scowled at the euphemism “and whilst he can obviously speak it fluently” Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin never learned to read and write in Basic.” he finished, rather apprehensively.

Mace blinked.

“He…can’t read or write?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He crossed his arms in front of himself, wrists aligning with elbows. Mace recognised the nervous tick even if it was usually under his robe sleeves.  

“He is getting there though” the young man implored “we’re working on it, and he’s a fast learner. I assure you he’ll be up to standard in the next few months.”

Mace breathed out, shaking his head. He could’ve kicked himself.

One more way they had all let Anakin Skywalker down. Of course he wouldn’t be able to study at the level of core-educated temple younglings. He was a slave, the very idea was preposterous.

“But…how has he got on with his classes so far? He’s been here nine months already” Mace asked, deliberately keeping his voice light. He wasn’t going to admonish the only being in the temple who had actually been helping the boy. And it looked like, spending all his free time doing it.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“We work on assignments together, Anakin records his comprehension and writing class and we go through it afterwards.”

Mace took a moment to marvel at the kindness of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan” he said gently. “You have your own teaching and advanced training to work on, not to mention the Master level courses.”

He instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing when fierce blue eyes turned on him and the younger Jedi straightened his posture.  

“I am perfectly capable of teaching him Master, he is my Padawan.” He paused, looking down at the table “I won’t put him in a class with the younglings. I won’t allow him to feel like he is less than the other Padawans, like he’s unintelligent.” He said firmly.

For a moment Mace was transported to council meetings with his friend, Master Kenobi arguing his point with words as strong as durasteel and a determination that could move planets. He felt a sudden pang of loss, looking at his friend’s twenty-two-year-old face.

“Of course not” Mace assured, pushing apology into the Force around them. He looked at the table. “But this isn’t sustainable Obi-Wan. You don’t need to do this alone.” He said quietly

The Knight blinked in surprise. Mace nearly rolled his eyes. Had asking for help really never crossed his mind? He made a mental note to focus more of his and Plo’s energy on Kenobi Support Duty.

“Yes.” He repeated firmly. “I will take him for an hour a week” he winced inwardly when he thought of his already busting schedule. Save Skywalker, save the Galaxy he reminded himself. “As, I’m sure, will Master Plo.”

Obi-Wan was giving him a look that was very difficult to decipher, halfway between wary and relieved.

“I…thank you Master” he bowed a little in his seat “that’s very kind of you and I…appreciate it.”

Mace smiled again, satisfied. He couldn’t sense the ball of energy that was Anakin Skywalker yet, obviously still on his quest.

“So you’re teaching Anakin Basic, and he’s teaching you Huttese…?” Mace raised his eyebrows in question again.

Obi-Wan’s ears started to turn ever so slightly pink.

“Ah yes” he cleared his throat. “I just thought…if Anakin considers the way a language is formed and taught, it might help with his own practice. And this way we’re learning together; it might boost his self-esteem a little.” The young Knight paused thoughtfully. “I want to emphasise that learning happens at any age and stage” He explained slowly, and then gave a sheepish smile. “And it’s quite fun” he admitted shyly.

Mace regarded the wise young man across from him. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been wasted in a war, in that other time.

Nerd. He thought fondly.

As Anakin practically skipped back over to them, attempting to sit on his Master in lieu of a third chair, he observed the two Jedi (bickering happily) who could have existed that first time around, if only they’d had more than each other.

Well, this time they had Mace, and Plo. And they’d be dammed if either of their boys ended up carrying the weight of the Galaxy, this time around.

[fridayfirefly]

Sunrise on Gotham

Read Sunrise on Gotham on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 29 - Wait!

Gotham wasn’t Marinette’s first choice for the location of their class trip. In fact, the grim American city hadn’t even made her top ten list. Marinette wanted to go to Amsterdam, a city rich with history and culture. But when Mm. Bustier announced that a vote for the class trip location would be held, the class voted almost unanimously. After all, Lila’s long-distance boyfriend, Damian Wayne, lived in Gotham. Wouldn’t it be great for Lila to be reunited with him? And Lila traveled so frequently that she had already visited all of the other cities Mm. Bustier suggested. Would it be fair to make her go visit a city she had already been to? Marinette scoffed as she overheard the class discussion. She knew that this was just another one of Lila’s lies, perfectly designed to manipulate the people around her into doing what she wanted.

Marinette kept her mouth shut while her classmates all decided to vote for Gotham. But that didn’t stop her from putting her checkmark next to Amsterdam on the ballots Mm. Bustier passed out. Maybe that would have been the end of Marinette’s bitterness if Lila hadn’t “accidentally” glanced at the ballots on Mm. Bustier’s desk she was leaving the classroom. Marinette could still remember Lila’s sickeningly sweet voice, feigning concern for Marinette, asking why Marinette wanted to go to Amsterdam so badly.

As Marinette scrambled for an answer, Alya turned to her with cruelty in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re trying to sabotage Lila and Damian’s reunion. You’re so selfish, Marinette.”

Marinette didn’t bother replying - it never helped. As she left the classroom that day, she could see the disappointment in Adrien’s eyes. Her crush on the blonde model had long since faded, and alongside it went the rose-colored glasses she used to see him through, back when they were both thirteen. Now, four years later, all she saw was a selfish boy who cared more about avoiding conflict than actually solving problems.

Four months later, the plane landed in Gotham just as the sun began to rise. As her class walked from the airport to the hotel, Marinette felt herself zone out. Even though it wasn’t her first choice, Marinette could still appreciate the sight that was the Gotham skyline. Looming silver skyscrapers were framed by the gray, cloudy sky. As Marinette took in her surroundings, she began to wish that she could stop and get her sketchbook out. Ideas for a Gotham-themed fashion line popped up in her mind like weeds, and she needed to stop and pick them before she could properly zone back in. Gray was a color she had never properly worked with, which would make incorporating the color a nice way to challenge herself. In her mind, shades of gray instinctively started organizing themselves into the different ways she could pair them together.

“Wait!” A hand grabbed Marinette’s arm, pulling her back. Marinette gasped as she realized that she was about to walk onto the street, straight into traffic. She whipped around to face her savior.

The first thing Marinette noticed was his height. She was used to feeling short, at 5′2″, most people were taller than her. But he seemed to dwarf her. She figured he was 6′0″ at least. The second thing she noticed was the look of concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” He asked.

Marinette nodded jerkily, trying to control her breathing. Having a panic attack alone in the middle of downtown Gotham would be just about the worst thing for her to do. She was supposed to be Ladybug, the savior of Paris, yet she was so unaware of her surroundings in a completely foreign city that she almost got killed in traffic. “I’m okay, I was just daydreaming,” she babbled, “Usually I’d be more aware of my surroundings, but I just got off of the plane and I’m not used to jetlag.”

The stranger had a bemused smile on his face as he walked her talk. Marinette blushed as she realized how dumb she must look to the handsome stranger. “Your accent, is it French?”

Marinette nodded. “I just got here from Paris. I’m on a class trip.”

“Where’s the rest of your class?”

Marinette looked around, trying to figure out which way her class went, but they were already gone, out of sight. “I’m not sure...” She trailed off. “But I have the address for the hotel on my phone, so I’ll be able to catch up with them there.”

“Gotham is known for being difficult to navigate. I can take you there if you’d like.”

“Sure,” said Marinette, pulling her phone out to check the address. “It’s called the Gotham Grand Hotel. It's on the corner of 7th Avenue and 22nd Street.”

“That’s about twelve blocks away. It’s pretty far. Are you sure you’re up for the walk?”

Marinette nodded. “I’m sure I can make it."

His smile returned as he introduced himself. “I’m Damian, by the way.”

“I’m Marinette,” Marinette introduced herself as Damian led the way.

A moment later, Damian's phone started to ring. He answered it while still walking. "Hello.”

A brief pause, then. “I’m on 4th Avenue, by the Starbucks.” Another pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone conversation. “I’m not free right this moment, but I will be in a few minutes." Another pause. "I'm helping someone get around the city. She got a little lost on her school trip, and you and I both know that the city isn't exactly safe when you don't know your way around it."

Marinette was beginning to wonder who exactly Damian was talking to, but she didn't want to be rude and interrupt. Instead, she got her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text to Alya, telling her that she would be a little late because she got disoriented on the hectic Gotham streets.

"I'll be free until five tonight. Father's insisting that I come and have dinner with the family, and I have my internship afterward, from seven to nine." Another pause, this one longer. "I suppose that would work. I was planning on going out to eat at some point, anyway. I'll just have to ask Marinette if she's okay with it."

Damian put the phone down and turned to face Marinette. "My boyfriend, Jon, offered to pick us both up and drop you off at your hotel on our way to get brunch. If you don't feel comfortable with that, I understand."

"Oh, it's perfectly fine," Marinette assured him.

Damian frowned slightly before replying to his boyfriend. Marinette knew that Damian probably thought she wasn't being cautious enough, but she didn't care. After four years as Ladybug, Marinette was confident that she was capable of taking care of herself.

A minute later, a car pulled up beside them. “This is Jon’s car,” said Damian as he grabbed the door for her.

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled in return as she pulled her suitcase in after her. "Hello, Jon. I'm Marinette."

"Welcome to Gotham, Marinette." Jon leaned past the driver's seat to shake her hand. Marinette noticed that he had a very friendly face: a nice smile and kind eyes. "How are you enjoying the city?"

"It's nicer than I expected, I suppose, but I didn't exactly have high expectations. Gotham has a reputation in Europe for being the worst tourist destination in America."

Damian nodded. "That sounds like Gotham. It'll grow on you, though."

"Like a fungus," added Jon.

"If you say so." Marinette cast a distasteful look out the window of the car at the gray streets.

"Do you have any plans for lunch?" asked Jon.

Marinette shook her head. "Not really. The hotel has a restaurant on the ground floor, but their lunch menu is pretty limited. I'm vegetarian, so my only option is a salad."

"Would you like to come to brunch with us?" offered Jon.

"Are you sure you want me there?" Marinette didn't want to be a third wheel if brunch was supposed to be a date between Jon and Damian.

"Of course," said Damian.

"Alright. I don't think I'll be missing anything if I go with you. Our itinerary keeps us pretty busy at the beginning of the trip, but we were given today to rest up, to help get rid of the jetlag. I switched my sleep schedule a week ago, though, so my body is already running on Gotham time.”

Damian nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to check the itinerary, just to be sure?”

Marinette shrugged. “It can’t hurt to check it one more time.” She pulled the paper out of her suitcase. “Our class doesn’t have anything planned until tonight. We have dinner at a restaurant called..." Marinette consulted her itinerary, "The Coast, and then we’re seeing Wicked at one of the theaters downtown.”

“I've been to The Coast before with my family. They have very good vegetarian options. It is very expensive for a high school class trip,” Damian noted.

“I go to an accelerated school. The school has a very large budget, due to the amount of tuition, and the number of alumni who give back to the school.” Marinette shrugged, a nervous tick. She didn’t like talking about how much her tuition cost. Even with her 50% scholarship to Francois Dupont, tuition was still a struggle sometimes. Her parents didn’t make that much money from the bakery, and compared to the elite professions of some of her classmates' parents, Marinette was often considered to be poor. It left her feeling out of place, guilty every time she felt embarrassed by her working-class parents.

“That sounds-“

Marinette continued to babble. “I’m grateful for the opportunities that François Dupont gives me. Much more grateful than a lot of my classmates, anyway. Some of them only read the itinerary for the first time on the plane ride to Gotham. One of my classmates, Chloé, threw a fit because she believed that the entire trip would be a shopping spree through Gotham. Other students got mad for other reasons. One of my classmates made some promises that she had no business making - telling everyone that we would be getting way more free time than we were actually given. It’s a shame. I used to love being a part of Mme. Bustier’s class, but everything fell apart after...”

Marinette stopped half-way through her sentence and stared down at her hands as she realized that tears had sprung to her eyes. She felt the red flush of embarrassment begin to overtake her face. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. It sounds like you have a lot going on with your class at the moment."

"That's putting it mildly," said Marinette. "It's been... difficult, to say the least."

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Jon.

Marinette shook her head. "Not really. Even if Gotham wasn’t my first choice for our class trip, I still want to at least try to have a good time.”

“What was your first choice?” asked Damian, a hint of curiosity to his voice.

“Amsterdam,” said Marinette longingly. “But Lila wanted to visit her boyfriend in Gotham, Damian Wayne, so the whole class ignored the fact that Gotham is the most crime-ridden city in America, all so that Lila could visit her boyfriend.”

Damian looked shocked. “Did she say her boyfriend is Damian Wayne?“

Marinette nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

Jon snorted. “I know that you like girls too, Damian, but I figured you would tell me before adding a third to our relationship.”

Damian rolled his eyes, quipping back something just as clever. Marinette was too stunned to listen, as she realized that the rich and powerful Damian Wayne whom Lila claimed to be dating was the same Damian who helped Marinette on the streets of Gotham. Marinette stuttered out, “I didn’t- I didn’t realize that you- you’re Damian Wayne.”

Damian chuckled. “I can tell. I have to admit, I’m not used to not being recognized. I'm pretty famous around Gotham."

“The Billionaire Bisexual Ice Prince of Gotham,” quoted Jon with a grin on his face. “The tabloids love Damian.”

“It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. The tabloids obsess over everything even slightly unconventional, and to them, the bisexual bastard son of billionaire Bruce Wayne is the perfect target. Even more so when he started dating another man.” Damian's voice was smooth, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness to it. Marinette got the sense that he didn't often open up about his relationship, for fear that the media would not be kind about it. Marinette sympathized. Françoise Dupont had been a progressive school: they had a GSA and a no-tolerance policy (not that the policy was ever upheld). She hadn’t been bullied, per se, for being bisexual, but she had experienced the all too familiar feeling of being othered for who she happened to love.

“Nice use of alliteration,” said Jon. His words would have lightened the mood if it wasn’t for the slight strain to his voice.

It was obvious to Marinette that this was a sore subject between the boys. “So how long have you two been dating?” asked Marinette, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Two years, but we’ve been friends since middle school,” answered Jon. “Damian was the world's most uptight twelve-year-old, so I took it upon myself to get him to loosen up. We became friends and everything since then just sort of fell into place.”

“An apt recounting, even if it omitted some pertinent details.” Damian conceded.

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that I was the one to ask you on a date, and you were so shocked that I had figured out that you were bisexual that you dropped the glass in your hand, shattering it,” teased Damian.

“I thought I was being subtle about it,” Jon defended.

Marinette giggled. If she could just spend all of her time with Jon and Damian, rather than her class, she might just have fun on her class trip.

Damian turned to Marinette. “He had a pride pin on his jacket and listened to Carly Rae Jepsen. Subtlety is not, and has never been one of Jon’s string suits.”

Marinette noted that she had a pride pin of her own attached to the front strap of her backpack. Most people never took any note of it - Marinette had quite a few pins on her backpack - but Marinette got the feeling that Damian was aware of it.

"We're here," said Jon, parking the car in front of a little café.

"Café Carlisle has good vegetarian options," Damian assured her as he opened up her car door and helped her out. "They make a superb gourmet grilled cheese sandwich and tomato basil soup. I would recommend it to anyone."

"That's pretty high praise. I get the sense you don't give false compliments."

"I don't." It was a simple answer. Marinette was beginning to get a clearer picture of Damian, who didn't waste unnecessary words but was never afraid to speak his mind.

"Then it had better live up for expectations," teased Marinette.

Damian smiled at her as he held open the door to the restaurant. "It will."

As Damian led Marinette to a booth in the back of the restaurant Marinette caught sight of the reflection of her little group in one of the windows. There was a look on Jon's face that Marinette wasn't sure how to interpret. He had a smile on his face, but it wasn't the joking smile Marinette saw a lot of in the car. It was more of an indulgent smile, giving Marinette the sensation that Jon knew something that she didn't. Marinette wanted to turn around and ask him what it meant, but part of her brain begged her not to ruin this budding friendship before it had even begun.

Marinette had only known Damian and Jon for twenty minutes but already had the strangest feeling that there was a connection between them, some sort of relationship that needed nothing more than a little bit of shown vulnerability to create a deep bond. The only thing Marinette could think to liken it to was love at first sight, but it was beyond that. This wasn't infatuation or obsession (both of which Marinette knew well from her days of crushing over Adrien). This was deeper. This was the knowledge that Damian and Jon had seen her vulnerability and had embraced it, showing vulnerability in their own way. Neither boy had said it out loud, but given that they had both closed themselves off from physical affection as soon as they were in public, Marinette made the assumption that any sort of public display of affection was off-limits to them anywhere that the tabloids could see. It put the fact that they had been incredibly open about their relationship in a new light. It reassured Marinette that she wasn't just imagining their connection. Damian and Jon must have felt similarly about her to be able to talk to her about their relationship.

"Marinette?" Damian spoke her name, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts.

Marinette blushed. "Sorry, I tend to daydream a lot."

Damian smirked. "I'm aware. You almost wandered right into traffic the last time I caught you daydreaming."

Jon stifled a laugh. "What could you possibly be thinking of that would make you so focused that you managed to ignore the traffic right in front of you?"

Marinette launched herself into a spiel about her newest design inspiration, explaining as she went that she was incredibly passionate about fashion and designs and that her designs often had her zoning out for hours at a time. Jon and Damian looked so interested in her explanation that Marinette blushed, not used to having anyone's undivided attention.

Marinette wasn't yet certain where she stood with Damian and Jon in terms of the relationship between the three of them, but she couldn't wait to find out.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[imaginesntingz]

Imagine Gaara comforting you when the depression and anxiety hit

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Swearing(?)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is my first post on this blog. I hope you all enjoy it <3 Please don’t copy any of my works. It’s all originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into my pieces. Please ask me before reposting.

————————-

You were curled up in bed staring into nothingness. The past week or two you’ve tried to keep it at bay, but you felt the ever lingering depression creeping its way in. Nothing in particular happened. It was just always there. There wasn’t a time you could remember it not being there. Sometimes it was muffled like background noise and other times the volume was turned up so loud it was the only thing you could hear. It was your constant companion following you like a shadow. And to top it all off, anxiety was right behind it. You thought about overthinking and overthought about thinking. Racing thoughts kept you up sometimes until the sun shone through the blinds.

Everyone wondered why you were so quiet at times, but they couldn’t hear the ass beating you were getting from your own mind that made it almost impossible to be in the present moment. Nor could you find the energy, the language, nor a fuck to give to even begin to explain the war going on inside you. Temari invited you out to what you thought would be a small kickback yesterday that ended up being a full blown party. Gaara, who was supposed to go with you, was inevitably called in for village business. You ended up socially tapped after just a few hours in. Although Temari was with you and you met up with some chill friends . . Although you were surrounded by people, you still felt completely alone. Although you heard the words coming out of their mouths, you couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Although you were physically there, you weren’t there. You wanted so badly to just enjoy yourself like everyone else, but it was what it was. After pleading with your sister in law, you finally went home only to find that Gaara was still in the office. One final push that sent you

Spiraling

down

And there you were exhausted but painfully awake in the darkness of your shared room. You didn’t know how long you were lying there. There was no time, only the bottomless ocean that swallowed anything and everything you tried to drop into it. No amount of journaling, affirmations, meditation, prayer, movement, walking, entertainment, pet cuddling, food, water, medication, vitamins, herbs, epsom salt baths, incense, face masks or any of the methods you’ve tried felt tangible to you in that moment. What was the point when you didn’t even have the will to move? How could you think of going on a mission next week when you couldn’t guarantee you’d attempt to leave your room tomorrow? How were you going to take care of your hair if you couldn’t even braid, twist or put it up for the night? How could you call yourself a caring friend when you’re thinking about canceling the dinner you’ve already rescheduled twice?

“My love? Why are you still awake?”

Your husband’s soothing voice jolted you out of your inner dialogue. You hadn’t even heard him come in, too lost in the wall in front of you.

“ . . . Can’t sleep.”

You heard the sound of the door closing and hushed shuffling as he moved around the room. A few moments later, you felt his weight dip the mattress beside you. A warm arm wrapped around your middle, gently pulling you to his chest. His hand moved to intertwine with yours as he spooned you from behind.

“How did it go with Temari? Again I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go with you. I hope you had a good time.”

“It’s fine. It was fine.” you replied flatly.

Gaara caressed the back of your thumb with his own as silence filled the space between you. His lips met the skin of your shoulder and you felt your body gradually relax into his embrace. He was never one to push you when you weren’t ready to talk and always made you feel grounded back to earth with his very presence. Even amidst his many responsibilities as Kazekage, he always made sure to check in on you and provide whatever you may want or need. He would do anything for you if it meant you would feel loved, safe, balanced and happy. Gaara, sweet Gaara, was the love of your lifetimes and you, his. He knew you better than he knew himself and picked up on every detail. Your likes and dislikes. How you took your tea in the morning. Your sensitivities. Every expression. Your body language. The tone in your voice. The slightest change in your eyes. So it was no surprise that he picked up on the shift in your mood right away.

“(y/n) . . . Sweetheart, It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but please know that I am here. I love you more than words can express. I am here to listen and support you in any way that I can. I always will be. You know that, right?”

And with that, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Your body trembled as he maneuvered you to face him. He wrapped his arms firmly around you, cocooning you into the safety of his hold. You buried your face into his chest and the calming scent of earth and cinnamon enveloped your senses. Your tears and running nose wetted the shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. Soft kisses were pressed to the crown of your head as his fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine, occasionally drawing soothing circles. You turned your head to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart pressed against you before finally catching your breath to speak.

“I-I’m just so tired of fighting just to be okay all the time. I’ve been taking steps to take care of my mental health, but it still feels like it isn’t enough. It’s like one day I’m fine and a couple days later it feels like I’m back at square one. I just want to exist sometimes. No expectations. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be.”

He squeezed you gently at your words, pausing thoughtfully before responding.

“You once told me that your dream is to become the peace within and despite the chaos inside of you. The chaos all around us. You said that you wish to heal yourself and pass on healing to others. I know it is easy to lose sight of it when you’re in the midst of what feels like a never ending battle, but I wanted to remind you of it because I never want you to lose hope.”

Your eyes widened in shock and turned glassy as he continued on.

“You have brought me out of the depths of the greatest despair and have played a huge role in supporting me in healing from my past. Your love is medicine to my heart. There were times when I was lost that you reminded me to never lose sight of my dream. To never lose sight of what truly matters. Even in the most difficult times, you have always found hope where others have felt hopeless. That is one of the many reasons I love you. I am your husband, so let me be your strength when you are tired and feel you can’t go on because you are my strength, dear wife. We can get through this together. Remember that healing is a lifelong journey, not a destination. So take it one day at a time. Hour by hour or minute by minute if that’s what it takes. You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, but look how far you’ve come to be here. Right now. How much you’ve grown. I want you to know that I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I hope that you can come to be proud of your accomplishments too.”

A fresh wave of tears came over you, but for a completely different reason this time. You practically tackled your poor mans onto his back and your lips met in an intense yet equally loving kiss. His hands worshipped the expanse of your hips and time fell away. Vibrations hummed throughout your body as you pulled back to look into those seafoam green eyes. His red hair and pale complexion highlighted by the light of the moon peeking through the window. He was ethereal.

“I love you, Gaara. So much. I am so happy that you exist. Honestly when you speak so openly and directly like that I feel like my heart is gonna burst through my chest . . . fuckkkk. In a good way though! But seriously, thank you for being you. I never thought I’d be able to say this to someone without fear, but . . when I am with you, I know that I am home. You are my home, love. ”

His eyes softened before a huge grin spread across his now blushing features. Gaara didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a sight to behold. It was like feeling the warmth of a sunrise for the first time. An all encompassing glow.

He sat up and cupped both of your cheeks in his hands, tears now mirroring your own. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Do you know how beautiful you are? Truly? Your beauty radiates from the inside out. Honestly, what have I done to deserve you?”

“Sir, have you taken a good look at yourself lately? That’s my line. Fight me. Right now.” you deadpanned playfully.

A look of genuine concern crossed over his face. His hands settled on your waist and his posture noticeably drooped.

“(y/n), I would never fight you.”

“ . . . Gaara, I was just joking. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Mhm.”

“ . . . Right. I should have known. I’ll do better next time.” he sighed dejectedly.

Your body shook with laughter at your man’s adorably serious face. He’s always trying his best. Only Gaara could go from holding space through your tears of sadness, to making you cry from happiness, to having you doubled over with laughter within a matter of moments just by being authentically himself.

“I love you so fucking much, my sweet Gaara.”

“And I, you. My beautiful (y/n).”

You both slept soundly that night in a tangle of limbs, not knowing where one ended or the other began. Two, who together, are one.

[sunjaesol]

My BFB is the one for me!

juke | human!au + brother!reggie | title from BFB // victorious

If someone had to ask her who the one constant in her life was, she would have to say Luke Patterson. Which was depressing, cause the guy went through life pretending to be a 90s heartthrob and, even worse, that list didn't even include her own mother. 

Julie met Luke when she was five and he was six. Her brother Reggie befriended him on the first day of school and the rest was history. "Soul-brothers" they called themselves, which would be cute if they weren't so obnoxious together. Separate, they were somewhat manageable. Put those two in the same room? Chaos would ensue. 

He was there for it all. Weekly play dates, birthdays, the occasional holiday, her mom's funeral, band rehearsals. And when Luke had a month-long falling out with his parents, he stayed with them. 

Realistically, that should make him seem like a brother to Julie. But neither Carlos or Reggie were as infuriating as Luke was! With the stupid band tees and the stupid smile and the stupid, relentless teasing he lovingly bestowed upon her. She lost count how many times he "poisoned" her soda with salt or woke her with a heart attack by playing his electric guitar. At least she had some grip on her brothers, being their only sister, but Luke… 

Luke and her had this interesting, little relationship that she couldn't quite put her finger on and it unnerved her. Like it was an itch she couldn't scratch. (Or maybe he was just an annoying mosquito buzzing around her and should leave her the fuck alone. Probably.)

Hopping down the stairs for her midnight snack, it was no surprise to her to find the idiot gaping into the fridge like a goon. With a nudge of the hip, she pushed him aside. 

'Hey!' 

'Either pick something or save power,' she retorted, grabbing a bowl of grapes. 

He snorted. 'I don't think my indecisiveness is gonna kill the planet.'

She shot him a look, an amused smile tugging on her lips. 'You wanna say that in the cute face of a polar bear?' 

Luke stared at her for a beat, a smile crawling on his own face and shaking his head with a chuckle. The fridge fell shut with the pride of a won argument swelling in her chest. 

'So why're you still up?', he asked as she flitted around him for the bread and peanut butter. Maybe she could sneak up a butterscotch cookie too - her dad won't notice one missing, right? 

Unscrewing the lid, she sighed. 'Mendoza's class is murdering me. I really don't get why we need to learn calculus. We're an arts school, not like any of us are going to use formulas on the set of a movie.'

When she passed him to get the orange juice from the fridge, he took hold of the jar, sliding it between his hands thoughtfully. 

'Just don't overthink it,' he shrugged. 

She rolled her eyes. 'Easy for you, obviously.'

His mouth fell slack, offended, as Julie put the bottle on the island with mirth glimmering in her expression. After years of sparring with Luke, she knew how to press his buttons and took great joy in doing so. 

Suddenly leaning into her personal bubble, he sputtered. 'Are you… calling me dumb?' 

Her hand pushed his face back with a scoff. 'Don't breathe on me. All I'm saying is that you look like you have elevator music playing up there 24/7.'

When she went to grab the jar from his hand, he moved it away. 

'Uh, I think you're mistaking me for your brother.'

'No-' Tried again, moved away. '-I don't think I do.'

'You do.'

She crossed her arms, resolute. 'He's part of the gifted program.'

It unfazed him. 'Yeah. And it means shit.'

She held her palm up, exasperated. 'Just give me the peanut butter, Luke.'

Raising it over his head with an infuriating smirk, the other tugged on a curl. 'No.'

Gah! He was so dead! Did he forget she lived with three men in this house?!

Without a second of hesitation, Julie barrelled into him and jumped to catch it. Luke snatched her wrist before she could with a laugh, a hitched puff coming right after as her elbow jabbed his ribs. 

He set the jar down at lightning speed and grabbed her other wrist. Both their arms were outstretched as her foot kicked his calf, hard. When he yelped, her left hand loosened and dove for the jar. Right as her fingertips grazed the glass, a strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back. An "oof!" left her lips, the breath kicked out of her lungs. 

Luke guffawed in her ear victoriously, whooping the house together. Curse words rolled off her tongue as she repeatedly slapped his forearm to let go. She felt embarrassingly small with her feet hovering above the floor and this power dynamic was not doing it for her confidence. 

'The fuck are you doing?' 

Julie smacked to the floor before the last words were uttered, a flabbergasted Reggie staring at the pair. 

Luke stammered. 'Uh…' 

'Your bestie held the peanut butter hostage,' Julie replied sardonically. 'Did dad wake up?' 

He shook his head, a peculiar expression fixed on Luke. Her gaze shot between the two. Were they having… a silent conversation? With the way their brows quirked an lips twitched, it seemed like some "bro-talk" Julie wouldn't even like to understand. 

'Don't break your head too much over Mendoza, okay?' Reggie added, smiling at her this time. 'Just relax.'

She sighed. Relax. Because the fear of failure got eradicated with the snap of a finger if she just relaxed. 'Yeah. Sure.'

The boys finally left, silence descended, and Julie made her sandwich. For some reason, the quietude made her uncomfortable. 

***

Though Luke was annoying at times, the band he was in - Sunset Curve - definitely wasn't. Reggie, Alex and Luke created it when they were thirteen and overzealous. Reggie and Luke met Alex the same year and bullied him into a friendship, all bonding over cliché lyrics and overused chord progressions. They quickly got better though, earning a small following and a hopeful future in the LA scene. Julie was very proud of her brother. All those hours practicing the bass until his fingers bled was finally paying off with each new gig they rocked. 

And as the Molina's were raised to appreciate good music, Julie often found herself sprawled on the leather couch as they rehearsed. Reggie used to hate it, saying she was being "sticky" and "distracting", but eventually found her useful whenever they needed someone to bounce ideas with. She has co-written many of their songs. It was then that Luke was the least annoying, when he was so entranced and passionate about music that he had no time to pester her. 

(If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that song-writing with Luke was when she felt like herself the most, enjoyed life the most. But Luke was stupid and she definitely didn't feel a vibe when they wrote, so honesty was obsolete.)

'Or else you'll get,' Luke growled in the mic, music crashing together in their signature punk-rock sound. 'Crooked teeth!' 

They shot into an electrifying interlude. Alex headbanging the sweat of his forehead from his fast-paced drumming, Reggie bouncing in his heels as he heightened the bassline and Luke… was being Luke. Julie looked up from her laptop as his strumming came closer, that signature grin fixed on her as his fingers expertly glided across the neck. Her typing paused, amused. 

Why was he so adamant about "impressing" her with a riff? He knew she liked their music (and has caught her looking at his hands… ugh, fourteen year old Julie had bad judgement), he didn't have to prove himself or something. 

She smiled. 'You're going to miss your cue, idiot!' 

Ignoring her exclaim, he bobbed his head to the melody and wiggled his brows. Her eyes drifted to Alex, the blonde staring at Reggie and Reggie staring at the back of Luke's head. This has been happening a lot, Julie realised. There was this weird energy whenever they were all in the same room. For a bit, she thought it was her that was the problem, but if she was, Reggie would've told her by now. 

Now Luke was really in her face, pushing her laptop shut with his knee and making those stupid expressions he pulled whenever Grace talked to him in the hallway. Never one to back down, Julie abruptly stood up and pushed him back with a challenging smirk. The boy was seventeen; he was in serious trouble if he lacked the spatial awareness and common sense. 

‘Sing with us?!’, he pleaded over the crash of the cymbal. Behind him, Alex’ brows went so far up it disappeared into his snapback. A nervous tug knotted in her stomach at his request, like she was afraid to disappoint him, and shook her head. Keeping up the attitude she nodded at the laptop he so valiantly closed for her. 

Pulling it against her chest, she pointed at his bandmates. ‘Go sing about some fucked up teeth more!’

‘Crooked teeth!’, they all yelled in annoyance. Proud to have executed her role an irritating, little sister, she hopped out the studio. If she felt someone’s gaze burning in her back, she must’ve imagined it.  

***

There was something to be said about Grace and Luke. Though it wasn’t Julie’s business (or anyone’s, for that matter), the coupling has always intrigued her. Or lack of coupling, really. Every few months they’d find themselves at each other’s lockers flirting up a storm for everyone to see to then ghost each other again. This vicious cycle has been on loop since sophomore year. Julie felt bad for Grace, the pretty senior girl deserved far better than Luke. 

Last night, Julie couldn’t sleep. “Crooked Teeth” was blaring in her mind and haunted her dreams (and Luke’s stupid face) until she woke up in a sweat. Something was off. Like solving a math question and knowing the result is wrong but unsure where it all went wrong. Around four in the morning, it hit her. The bridge! It was all jumbled and clunky and she had far better ideas on how to craft it! She sat at her keyboard until seven in the morning, only to stop when a frustrated Carlos barged in, threw a pillow at her and yelled to “zip it!” Reggie and dad, naturally, slept through all of it. 

Now, a sleep-deprived, caffeinated and kind of manic Julie was bustling through the hallways trying (and failing) to find Luke. Sure, they butted heads a lot, but music has always been the glue. Temporary glue, but the fact remained that she and Luke were cut from the same cloth when it came to composition and lyrical prowess. (Not that she’d ever admit that. Ew. His ego was large enough as is.) 

And then she saw him. At Grace’s locker. Her breath lodged in her throat at the sight. It shouldn’t. God, it truly shouldn’t. But it did. Because Grace was pretty and Luke had one of those faces and they looked good together and it annoyed the fuck out of her. Like, who decided who went through puberty better. Julie knew she wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t Grace either. Tall and lithe and glossy black hair and a perfect nose. The ugly, green monster in the back of her head snarled about how her personality was probably off-putting, though Julie knew that to be untrue. Grace was, well, graceful. Genuinely kind. Gah! Since when did Julie hate on other girls? Pushing the voice down, she mustered back the previous excitement (the! bridge!) and paraded towards the pair. Luke saw her before Grace did.       

She rushed the last few steps and hastily grabbed the papers from the side pocket of her backpack. 'Luke! Hi, Grace. Okay, I know "Crooked Teeth" is finished, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and I had this amazing idea for the bridge.'

When he didn't react for a beat, stunned by her giddy attitude, her smile mellowed awkwardly. 'I mean… it's your song. You don't have to-' 

'No!', he shouted, frantic. Her brows raised in surprise. 'No, uh-' His hand flew to the back of his head, raking the ends of his hair. 'Yeah. D'you wanna go to the music room? To show me?'

Julie’s eyes flitted to a confused Grace. ‘Um…’

Luke caught on and shot the girl an easy grin. ‘Talk to you later, yeah?’ 

She shrugged. ‘I guess?’

Before she could say anything more, Luke snatched Julie by the wrist and dragged her to the nearest, open music room. The arts school was littered with them, though most had a reserved schedule. Luckily, one was empty. 

‘Okay,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as she slid down in front of the piano. Luke sat next to her, expectant. ‘The bridge right now? It’s fine, but it’s not “wow”, you know? I was thinking about how the verses and chorus sound so visceral and loud, so the bridge should have something guttural. Like, primal. That’s a weird word to use, but, I don’t know, have it sound dangerous? Like - why’re you looking at me like that?’

A strange expression was plastered on Luke’s face. A half-grin and wide eyes, like he was scared he’d miss something, like he’d blink and she’d disappear. In other words: he looked insane. Then again, her exhaustion mustn’t look too appealing either. 

He shook his head, that smile falling away for something more timid. All the bravado he oozed while talking to Grace just moments before, was gone for shy eyes and fingers gripping the chain around his jeans. 

‘Nothing.’ He nudged her. ‘You kinda ambushed me here, Molina.’

Her words stuttered out. ‘I- I was just-’ Zeroing back on the keys with a frown, she said: ‘I’ll just play you the bridge.’

As she did, her mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t weird, right? They’ve done this before. Collaborated, gone to music rooms to bounce ideas back and forth, played until dusk. She knew it wasn’t weird. It was always just a matter of time before the next “ambush” came, as he put it. Soon, he’d barge into her room with half a melody and forced her to finish it. This was normal.

Then why did her skin ripple with anticipation from his intense gaze directed on her temple? 

When she finished, she kept her eyes on the keys. Suddenly, his hand appeared in her vision and softly patted her knuckles, urging her to look at him anyway. He had that strange look again, the sight letting the most peculiar feeling rush through her veins.   

Luke smiled. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna play it for the boys during next rehearsal?’ His brows raised with hope, head leaning her way as if he wasn’t already close enough. And he wasn’t close enough. 

Julie went on autopilot at this point, too enthralled by her emotions running wild. ‘Yeah.’ It came out breathy and foolish and if she had half a brain cell right now, she’d kick herself in the face for how dumb she sounded.  

His hand squeezed hers and then let go, that smile turning nervous. Oh God, did he notice how weird she abruptly got? ‘Cool. Sweet. Perfect. Your- this was perfect. I’ll see you, uh, -’

‘Yeah,’ she squeaked. ‘Whenever.’

When he left the room in a hurry, her face planted itself on the keys and erupted a harsh sound. Fitting, she believed. Her mind was a mess too. 

***

Then stuff began piling on and each time it did, Julie’s heart fluttered like the traitorous bitch it was. 

Like when Luke told her to tell calculus to “bite her” as a joke, but then she actually did during a test and somehow didn’t get a black out. She knew it was likely just a placebo, but the grin she earned later on when she showed him the B+ and he gave her the tightest hug was worth the pseudo-science. 

Or he found her in the hallway whenever they both had a free period and casual small talk turned to slamming each other into lockers or, more recently, pulled her outside to get boba from the place right across the street. Their boba hangouts were probably the strangest development of all, but it was… nice. Pleasant. If she ever secretly thought it was a date, then it must’ve been a sun stroke hitting her. 

Or she’d be doing her homework and he’d waltz into her room (because he was always at their house and that never changed) and randomly help her with a task or question. It was small and it usually slowed her down, but she hasn’t had the guts to turn him away either. She blamed his stupid smile. 

Or just yesterday they were all in the kitchen and she was peering over Reggie’s shoulder as he tried and failed to properly text his crush Kayla, when she said: 

‘Isn’t that weird? That you’re talking to a junior?’

Luke, who was looking over his other shoulder, scoffed. ‘Why would that be weird?’

Pointing at the emoji he should be using (the purple heart - duh!), she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You just don’t see a lot of people date outside of their year. It’s, like, an unspoken rule.’

Reggie pouted. ‘Not helping, Jules.’

‘I am! Use the purple heart!’

Luke snorted. ‘Please, if you were asked out by some senior boy, you’d say no?’

The Molina’s looked up from the phone to shoot him a weird look. The boy shrunk under their stare, fingers nervously drumming island. 

Caution tinged her voice. ‘I don’t know… should I?’

The boys stared at each other for a beat. That “bro-talk” again, Julie presumed with a roll of the eye. Typical.

‘Yes,’ Luke trailed, unsure. ‘You should say no.’

A ball of disappointment dropped to the pit of her stomach at his words - hard. Oh. So he didn’t mean himself then. Julie froze. Why would she even want that? She was not returning to her fourteen year old self that gawked at Luke like an idiot. Nope. Not happening. Just because she felt flushed and ecstatic every Wednesday afternoon when they schedules lined up, that didn’t mean her crush has resurfaced. Totally. 

But then something even more maddening happened. It was Thursday afternoon, right before lunch, when Nick approached her by her locker. She’d been fervently texting a sick Flynn to get better when he started asking about dance class and how on earth he was supposed to master a calypso by Monday next week. He was clearly stressed and Julie gave him a hug. Just as she was going to offer her help (or redirect him to Kayla, as she was an actual dance goddess), a familiar arm draped around her shoulder and pulled her back. 

Julie was fuming. Luke decided to start acting like some jovial prick as he intimidated Nick with all these terror stories about his own dance assignments from last year and that “a calypso was just the beginning.” The poor guy was practically passed out from anxiety by the time his spiel was over. She couldn’t even yell an apology as he sped off and spun around the corner at lightning speed.        

The arm fell away, Luke stared at her ridden with guilt, muttered some half-assed “sorry” and rushed off in the opposite direction. A baffled, angry Julie was left standing there. 

If Luke thought he could be some white knight, he was dead wrong. 

***

She got lucky. Reggie mentioned beforehand Luke was coming over and knew that he, inevitably, would ascend the stairs. A pent-up Julie paced in her room, feeling that fever pitch come to a boiling point. Argh! Why was he so… infuriating?! (And attractive?! And charismatic?! Argh!) 

Then she heard it. His tentative steps up the steps. Like he knew. The fact that she was seemingly predictable left her cold this time, slamming her door open at just the right moment to snatch his wrist and roughly yank him inside. 

Before he could react, she yelled: 'What the hell, Luke?! Why did you do that?' 

Luke was a stammering, embarrassed mess. Good. 'Uh- I- I-' 

'You can't just act all overprotective or possessive like that! What's your problem with Nick? He's super nice and, you know, my friend. I already have two brothers, I don’t need one more!’

'I-'

'You don't get to decide who I talk with! Or save me or whatever fantasy you were living in! And-!' 

'I like you, Jules,' he blurted. 

Julie was blazing though. 'So? That doesn't mean that-' Until the words dried on her tongue, stunned. All else she had prepared to say flew out the window. The constant fluttering in her heart hitched. Did she… hear him correctly? 'W-what?' 

A beat went by, like he couldn’t believe he actually said that, but then word vomit spewed out. 'I- I like you? Like, on and off since I was eleven and I tried to not like you - I really tried - but you're just incredible and pretty and an amazing singer and you keep doing that thing with your lips when you have a thought and it's been killing me seeing Nick shoot his shot and-' 

Julie dove forward and pressed a kiss on his rambling mouth. Stretched on her tippy toes, she saw him freeze and stare at her in wonder. Slowly, her poor heart began to beat again, fast and fond and for him and oh my God, what was happening? 

'Did you just-', he croaked. 

Shit. Should she have asked to kiss him first? Her hands didn't leave his shoulders, alarmed. 'Uh… you just kept talking and-' She swallowed back her nerves and mustered a smile. 'If you wanted to be my boyfriend, you could've just asked.'

Luke blinked, completely in awe by her words. 'What?' 

Alright. Time to take life by the balls, Molina. 

'You didn't think I might like you back?' 

An incredulous laugh puffed from his lips, looking from her hands on his shoulders and then grabbed onto her waist. Jitters burst in her stomach at the sudden touch. This was actually happening. Holy shit. But God, how could she deny that bright smile and his warm smile and that giddy feeling that rippled her skin each time they hung out? 

'Can we try that again?', he breathed. 

His grin captured hers before she could fully nod, his hands slipping to her lower back and jaw without hesitation. Her arms slung around his neck, finally getting a feel for his soft locks of hair. Heat grew from her chest to her toes, curling from bliss. She felt deliciously empty and full of glee all at once. 

Her back fell against the door with a giggle. Just as he went back in, she pressed a finger on his lips. 

'Still doesn't make it right what you did.' 

'Yeah.' He kissed her again. 'Sorry.'

She tried saying more, but each word was muffled by another warm kiss of his intoxicating lips and all she could do was melt against him. The odd lyric that “heaven was his lips and larger than paradise” passed her by, hopefully reminding her of its existence in an hour or two. 

His fingers slipped under her shirt and dug into her heated skin. They became lazier, the kisses open-mouthed and smiling and already so amazing at first try. Julie has kissed a handful of boys before, but this? Unmatched. 

Two sudden knocks against wood. ‘Julie?’

They froze, Julie slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his inevitable snicker. 

‘Have you seen Luke?’, Reggie continued, confusion lacing his voice. 

‘No!’, her voice squeaked, still affected by their make-out. Cringing, she tried to level it. ‘Uh, maybe he’s gone to the, uh-’ His lips grazed her neck, teasingly. She pinched his arm, but he didn’t lean back. Asshole. ‘-uh…’

‘Julie? Everything okay?’

‘Yeah! Yeah! I’m fine!’ Julie pushed Luke back again, this time the boy giving her some space. The wolfish smirk he was sporting was one she either wanted to slap or kiss away. ‘Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Annoying Carlos? The studio?’ Not my room!  

They held in their breaths as they waited for a reply. Her mind was failing to catch up to what she’s just done. Here she was, with flushed lips and tingling skin from Luke’s actions as her brother was meandering on the other side of the door. How did she end up here? 

He blew a raspberry. ‘Okay…’ They sighed. ‘When you’re done making out, can you force Luke to start our project? Kind of an important assignment.’

Luke’s face crashed into pure horror, mouth falling agape and skin pale as a ghost. Julie snorted despite herself, dropping her head on his shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles but failing horribly. Of course, Reggie knew. His dreamy nature made anyone forget how observant he actually was, yet here he instantly he had his pulse on the facts. Or he’s always known about Luke’s crush on her. Probably both. 

Her smile stretched against the fabric of his shirt. Luke had a crush on her. Luke liked her. 

Reggie’s footsteps faded away, his bedroom door falling shut. Their gazes met again. 

Luke gulped, green eyes wide and oh so adorable. ‘He took that surprisingly well.’

Her chin raised, haughty. She hasn’t forgotten about that infuriating face of his just one minute before. ‘You kissed my neck.’

That look returned as he hummed, edging closer. ‘I did.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

His face brightened at her words, weaving a hand through her and making her sigh just like that. She was gone and she didn’t even know it. ‘And you’re-’ he murmured, softly kissing her lips, ‘-into that.’

How desperately she wanted to keep this going, she has heard what Reggie said. An important project due. She shouldn’t trouble her brother like that, even if making out with his best friend was far more appealing than anything else in the world right now.

The measly words puffed out. ‘You have-’ kiss ‘-a project-’ kiss ‘-with Reggie.’ kiss.  

‘Hmm…’ Letting her stand between his legs to be even closer and consequently shutting down any rationale, Luke mumbled against her lips: ‘One more minute.’

In the end, Luke stayed for another thirty minutes before Reggie barged in, dragged the boy from Julie’s bed by the collar and wordlessly trucked back out the room. When later that night she received a text saying goodnight jules 💙 she knew she hadn’t been dreaming.

And when Luke kissed her square on the lips the next day for everyone to see, Julie had inkling this interesting, little relationship of theirs was the just the beginning.  

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @sophiphi @ourstarscollided